by Ron Carter
Rufus King was on his feet. “I move that the power to vote for membership in the house of representatives of the national legislature ought not be according to the rule established in the Articles of Confederation, one vote for each state. It should be according to some equitable ration of representation.”
Some delegates were sitting with narrowed eyes, brains straining to comprehend the proposals that were now starting to swirl, and to calculate the principles on which the proposals finally came to rest.
John Dickinson’s voice cut in. “If the money contributions are to be the basis for the voting power of the states, then it must be based on the actual contributions of each state, and not on what the rule indicates they should pay!”
Rufus King took the floor again. “It is uncertain what mode might be used in levying a national revenue, but it is probably that imports would be one source of it. If the actual contributions are to be the rule, then the nonimporting states, such as Connecticut and New Jersey, will be in dire circumstances indeed. With almost no imports, it could well be that neither of those states will have representation at all!”
Benjamin Franklin raised a hand and spoke. “I have anticipated this debate by putting some of my thoughts on paper, which my colleague Mr. James Wilson has agreed to read.”
Wilson rose, took a deep breath, and launched into a discourse that rambled and reached and touched many issues. It commenced with Franklin’s attempt to raise the delegation above pettiness and faction before it fragmented.
“Until this point the debates have generally been cool and tempered—if anything contrary has on this day appeared, it should not be repeated—we are sent here to consult and not to contend—declarations of fixed opinions and of resolutions to never change them neither enlighten nor convince—positiveness and warmth beget the same reactions from others and tend to promote harmony and union which are extremely necessary to our councils.”
Wilson took a breath and went on.
“Whereas my original opinion was that members of the national congress would deem themselves representatives of the whole, and not of a particular state, it is obvious by now that such was not to be. That being so, members of the national congress ought to be selected by the vote of the people, but that would give larger states power over the smaller ones, and that seems now to be the impasse. However, on close analysis I do not see the advantage the greater states would have in swallowing up the smaller nor do I think they would attempt it—rather, I think it would come to the same result we observe in the arrangement between Scotland and England—you will recall Scotland was fearful that with inferior representatives in the English parliament they would be ruined by the greater number of English representatives—but history has shown the fears to be unfounded—Scotland remains and is satisfied.
“Lacking a workable arrangement for sharing the power in congress, I beg leave to provide one that I believe practical and equitable. Let the weakest state among us say what proportion of money or force it is able and willing to furnish for the general purposes of the union. Then let all other states oblige themselves to match such contribution in equal proportion. Grant Congress power to make any necessary adjustments. You will recall this is the arrangement which the United States shared with England when we were still colonies.”
Wilson finished the discourse, shuffled the papers together, and announced, “I move that we add to the pending motion the words ‘in proportion to the whole number of white and other free citizens and inhabitants of every age, sex, and condition, including those bound to servitude for a term of years and three-fifths of all other persons not comprehended in the foregoing description, except Indians not paying taxes, in each state.’”
A startled hush settled. Three-fifths of all other persons? There was but one category of other persons. The African slaves! Were the slaves going to be “other persons,” and not called out for what they were? Slaves?
Then Elbridge Gerry rose and in his own cryptic, acrid style opened the slavery wound. “I cannot agree that property should be the rule governing representation in the national congress. Why should blacks, who are property in the south, be considered in the rule of portioning out the voting power, any more than the cattle and horses in the north? After all, the cattle and horses in the north are simply property, like the blacks in the south!”
Stunned delegates sucked air, trying to believe what Gerry had just done. With the volcanic issue of big states versus small states framed not thirty seconds earlier, Gerry had chosen to plunge the already muddled convention into the second issue that could smash the entire union. Slavery! The tension became like a living thing. The delegates from the southern states set their jaws and stared their defiance, while those of the northern states glared back their condemnation of the practice.
Gerry had laid out the raw, garish truth in terms that could not be misunderstood. Slaves not human beings? Property, like cattle, horses? For a few moments, sick, unbearable silence settled in the room like a pall. It seemed the air was charged with electricity. Strong men, wracked by consciences seared by white-hot torment as never before, dropped their eyes and refused to raise them.
Washington sat like a statue, face a blank, studying the delegates with an intensity unnoticed by most. Will they survive it? Will they recognize that either they rise above their regional differences and compromise? Or will they let their differences destroy the United States?
Roger Sherman of tiny Connecticut brought it to a head.
“I move that the question be taken whether each state shall have one vote in the senate. It is clear that everything depends on this. The smaller states will never agree to the plan on any other principle than an equality of voting power in this branch of the national congress.”
Sherman’s colleague from Connecticut, Oliver Ellsworth, exclaimed, “Second the motion.”
Gorham called for the vote, and the only sounds were Jackson calling the names of the states, and the response of the spokesmen.
Connecticut, New York, New Jersey, Delaware, Maryland. Aye.
Massachusetts, Pennsylvania, Virginia, North Carolina, South Carolina, Georgia. Nay.
Five “Ayes,” six “Nays.”
The big states had won by the narrowest margin possible. The house of representatives and the senate in the new bicameral congress were to be elected by the people on the basis of popular vote. For a brief moment Washington watched the delegates from the small states. Will they walk out, as they implied?
The small state delegates sat firm, silent, jaws clenched, but they did not rise, nor did they utter a word of condemnation against the large states. Rather, they raised their eyes to Gorham, waiting for the next issue to come before the committee.
The day wore on with smaller, less significant issues being debated, some hotly, some with near disinterest. Should there be a guarantee of republican government, and for territory, for each state—how was the constitution to be amended—should oaths of loyalty toward the national government be required of members of the state governments? The small states debated the issues without rancor and cast their votes when Gorham made the calls.
It was deep in the afternoon when the session adjourned, to convene the next day, June twelfth. At 10:00 a.m. Washington called the convention to order and delivered the dais to Gorham, and took his place among the delegates, relieved that the delegates from the smaller states were in their places. They had not bolted.
With the startling events of the previous day bright in their minds, the committee gingerly avoided the unsettled and explosive question of dividing the voting power and moved steadily into the question of how long men should serve in the house of representatives, and how long in the senate.
Elbridge Gerry took the floor, and several delegates leaned back in their chairs, heads tipped back, eyes closed in resignation as Gerry launched into it. It was not by accident he was often referred to as the “Grumbletonian.” He grumbled about everything that he himself had not thought
of or introduced on the floor.
“We in New England propose a term of one year for the representatives. They are accustomed to annual town meetings where local officials must answer to their neighbors.” He thrust a bony finger toward the ceiling as he finished. “We in New England look on elections every year as the only defense the citizens have against tyranny, and we will never give them up!”
So far as Gerry was concerned, he had put the entire matter of tenure at rest. The representatives would serve one year at a time and be accountable to the people at the end of each year.
Madison rose. In his quiet manner he explained, “If the opinions of the people are to be our guide, it will be difficult to say what course we ought to take. No member of the convention can say what the opinions of his constituents are at this time. We ought to consider what is right and necessary in itself for the attainment of a proper government. Might I recommend that representatives serve for three years? A three-year term would allow them to learn of the interests of the other states and become familiar with the national scene. I further suggest that seven years would be an appropriate term for senators. With seven years to become competent in their office, they should be able to check the passions of the lower house elected directly by the people.”
The vote was called. The longer terms won. Three years for representatives, seven for senators. Gerry grumbled.
On the question of how much to pay the representatives and the senators, Benjamin Franklin cleared his throat, and the hall became silent with anticipation.
“I move to change the compensation provision from ‘liberal compensation’ to ‘moderate compensation.’”
For the first time in forty-eight hours chuckles were heard. The vote was called, and it came down a resounding, unanimous affirmative. The members of the new congress would be paid a “moderate” compensation. Not a “liberal” one.
Washington stifled a smile. He’s pulled them back together.
The proceedings inside the East Room ground on. On June thirteenth, the delegates learned of a Massachusetts newspaper that had published an editorial begging the people to be patient.
“Ye men of America, banish from your bosoms those demons, suspicion and distrust. Be assured, the men whom ye have delegated to work out your national salvation are men in whom ye may confide—their extensive knowledge, known abilities, and approved patriotism warrant it.”
The delegates read the words, and wished mightily they had as much faith in themselves as that Massachusetts editor.
On Tuesday, June fourteenth, in stifling heat, Gorham opened the floor to debate only to have William Paterson of New Jersey rise abruptly.
“It is the wish of several deputations, particularly that of New Jersey, that further time might be allowed them to contemplate the plan reported from the committee of the whole, and to digest one purely federal, and contradistinguished from the reported plan. It is our hope to have such a plan ready tomorrow to be laid before the Convention.”
Franklin scanned the delegation. Mr. Paterson has deceived no one. He’s offered a direct challenge to the plan of Randolph and the Virginians. Well, we’ll see. We’ll see.
Gorham closed his ledger. “Adjourned until tomorrow morning, June fifteenth, at this same hour.”
The delegates heaved a sight of relief before they rose, gathered their papers, and walked out of the building, most of them due east toward the taverns and restaurants lining the Delaware River, hoping for a cooling breeze to relieve the relentless heat. But the delegates of the small states turned east towards the Indian Queen hotel and a closed-room caucus, to lay their plans for their all-out assault on the Virginia Plan of James Madison that had overwhelmed the convention from the first day.
Friday, June fifteenth, a curious, focused committee of the whole took their places at ten o’clock, and all eyes were intently turned on William Paterson when Gorham gave him the floor.
“I came here not to speak my own sentiments, but the sentiments of those who sent me. If the sovereignty of the states is to be maintained, the representatives must be drawn from the states, not from the people. And we have no power to vary the idea of equal sovereignty.”
Large state delegates leaned back in their chairs, eyes narrowed as they braced for the battle they saw coming.
Paterson plucked up a stack of papers from his desktop, scanned them briefly, then began his delivery.
“The plan I propose is set forth in sections, which I request shall be substituted for those in the Virginia Plan already voted in the committee of the whole.” Mutterings were heard, and he paused and waited for silence before he delivered the shock.
“Section One. That the Articles of Confederation ought to be so revised, corrected, and enlarged as to render the federal constitution adequate to the exigencies of government and the preservation of the union.”
Chairs groaned as men shifted their weight and shook their heads in disgust. Amend the Articles of Confederation? That was settled two weeks ago when we abandoned them. Are we going to thrash it out again?
Paterson ignored the obvious and laid it out, one section at a time. The Articles of Confederation to be amended and remain the controlling document of government; congress to be granted new powers to raise money through import duties and stamp taxes; to regulate commerce; to compel delinquent states to honor requisitions; an executive composed of more than one man to be elected by congress; a supreme court to be appointed by the executive and added to the machinery of the confederation; the executive be authorized to call forth the power of the confederated states to enforce the laws and treaties of the United States in the face of state opposition.
As they listened, the faces of the delegates subtly changed from listening, to questioning, then to puzzlement. Who had drafted this document that seemed to meander about from one subject to another, sometimes in conflict with itself? They thought they could hear and smell Paterson, Brearly, Sherman, Lansing, and Luther Martin in some of it, but who was responsible for the rest of it? They puzzled and conjectured, but could not decide.
Paterson finished his discourse, and John Lansing of New York stood. “It is my earnest desire, and that of some other gentlemen, that the convention not go into the committee of the whole on the subject until tomorrow. Clearly, we are to decide between a national government that is without precedent in the history of mankind, and which vests power in the people, and a federal government based on the Articles of Confederation, that vests power in the states. In the delay of one day, the supporters of this new plan will be better prepared to explain and support it, and more important, copies will be available to all delegates.”
Heads nodded. Gorham shifted in his chair and adjourned the meeting for one more day, to June sixteenth at 10:00 a.m.
At ten o’clock the following morning, the delegates each took their seat with a copy of the plan of the small states and now championed by William Paterson of New Jersey and John Lansing of New York, locked in deep concentration as they worked with the proposals one at a time, trying to force them into a coherent, consistent document. Within minutes they were calling it the “New Jersey” plan, as opposed to the “Virginia” plan of Randolph and Madison.
Washington convened the delegates and turned the dais to Gorham to preside over the committee of the whole. Lansing stood, Gorham recognized him, and instantly the East Room was plunged into the collision that had held the entire convention in fear from the beginning. Large states against small, with the pending threats from each that they would walk out and destroy the union if the other won, and no one able to conceive a way to avoid it.
“I call for reading of the first resolution of each plan,” Lansing declared, “which are in direct conflict. The plan of Mr. Paterson sustains the sovereignty of the states, and that of Mr. Randolph destroys it.”
There could be no clearer definition of the battle lines, but few expected what Lansing did next. He did not attack the merits of either plan. Rather, he attacked the power o
f the convention to even consider the Virginia plan. Delegates sat mesmerized as he ripped into it.
“I point out emphatically we who are delegates in this convention and this committee are not empowered by the terms of our commissions to even discuss, or propose, the plan of Mr. Randolph—the Virginia plan.”
He stopped and for a few moments stared defiantly into the eyes of the supporters of the Virginia plan, then others. Their faces were set, noncommitttal, defensive.
He plowed on, his voice rising. “Further, it is clear to me that it is highly improbable it will not be adopted in any event!” He stopped, then continued. “The commissions the various states have issued to its delegations to this convention have specifically limited the powers vested in us to the amendment of the confederacy! We can amend the Articles of Confederation, but we can not go one step further!” Murmuring rose and subsided. He waited for silence, then rose onto his toes, with one hand thrust high to go on.
“I can assure you, New York would never have concurred in sending deputies here if she had supposed the deliberations were to turn on a consolidation of the states, and a national government. Is it probable that the various states will adopt and ratify a scheme of government which they have never authorized us to propose? The states will never give a national government the power to veto their own state laws. At this time, if our vote some two weeks ago for the Virginia plan did away with the confederacy, then all states here today stand on equal footing as sovereign states, which gives each state, large or small, equal standing. If that be true, then why do we not vote so right now?”
He paused to let the logic sink in, then continued.
“On the other hand, if the vote two weeks ago did not kill the confederation under the Articles of Confederation, then we are still bound by the articles, and if we are, that document dictates that we are absolutely bound under article five that gives each state one vote, and further, under article thirteen which dictates that no alteration can be made of the articles without unanimous consent.”