by Ron Carter
Gorham sat down and Rutledge stood, eyes flashing. “I have had my fill of the tediousness of such proceedings!”
Oliver Ellsworth, with a faint cloud of snuff dust hanging in the air about his bald head, stood, chin thrust out defiantly. “We grow more and more skeptical as we proceed. If we do not decide soon, we shall be unable to come to any decision at all.”
A voice rang out, “Call for the vote!”
The vote was three in favor, six against—two to one against the torment and the delay of starting the debates all over again in the committee of the whole.
Benjamin Franklin moved his legs, adjusted his spectacles, and looked about the room with eyes that saw and felt. They’re ready. Anxious. Impatient. No more delays. They’ve had a glimpse of the end of it, and they want it finished.
Under the watchful and skilled eye of George Washington, they collectively took a deep breath and settled into the intense, tedious, mentally punishing work of taking the entire proposal of the Committee of Detail apart, one article, one paragraph, one line, one word at a time, and putting it back together.
They attacked the preamble first. “We, the people of the States of New Hampshire, Massachusetts, Rhode Island, . . . ” Each state was named.
Gouverneur Morris shook his head. “Too many words. Cut it back. ‘We the people of the United States . . . ’” With his gift for power and simplicity in writing, he completed the preamble.
Move on.
Which citizens are to have the right to vote in the elections for the new national government? Persons who own land? Persons who own shops? Businesses? Persons with education? Whites? Blacks? Chinese? What is to be done about the fact that each state has its own qualifications for voters, and none of them are the same? What age must a person be to vote? And worst of all, what would the citizens of the separate states do if they suddenly discovered that the new qualifications for voters excluded them from voting in the national elections at all? Would there be a rebellion?
August eighth came, and the debate ground on with but one conclusion. Owing land would not be one of the requirements for voting in the new national government. Other issues were left undecided.
August ninth, hot, sweaty, the convention picked its way through the question of which government should control the times and places of the election for national offices. The states, or the new government? In his quiet, methodical logic, Madison persuaded them. If it is to be a national election, the national government ought to address the terms, or some of them. Further, should vacancies appear in congress, the governor of the state in question would be vested with the power to appoint a replacement.
The days came and went in a blur in the sweltering heat, with the delegates beginning to show the stress and strain. Debate became less lengthy, more pointed. Tolerance faded, replaced by bluntness. New leaders emerged. Gouverneur Morris lifted everyone with his wit that saw the convention through otherwise dark days. Benjamin Franklin sprinkled his well-chosen wisdom at crucial moments in snarled debates. Dickinson recovered some of the stature he had lost in a dull July. The men who had led the convention from the beginning—Madison, Wilson, King, Read, Mason, and others—held the debates to a high level of relevance and decision as they steadily plowed on.
What qualifications must a person have to become a congressman?
Senator? Thirty years of age, a citizen of the United States for nine years, and a resident in the state represented.
Representative? Twenty-five years of age, a citizen of the United States for seven years, and a resident of the state represented.
On Monday, August thirteenth, tempers flared and harsh words flew when the issue of which branch of congress, the House or the Senate, had the power to originate revenue bills. Most delegates thought that matter had been forever settled during the battle that resulted in the Great Compromise between the large and small states, at which time the power of raising revenue had been given exclusively to the House of Representatives, to soften the blow of granting the small states power in the Senate equal to the large states. To now rob the House of their bargain was treachery. The new vote, on August thirteenth, continued to favor the Senate, but one thing was certain: the convention had not seen the last of that issue.
What should be the pay for members of congress? The proposal before the convention was simple:
“The members of congress shall receive a compensation for their services, to be ascertained and paid by the state in which they shall be chosen.”
“Ridiculous!” exclaimed King and Wilson. “If the states pay their representatives in the national congress, they are simply state employees, not national representatives! The very thought destroys the entire concept of a national government!”
The arguments raged. William Pierce of Georgia moved that “the wages should be paid out of the national treasury!” Oliver Ellsworth hotly disagreed. “The wages must be paid by the states, since the property in the various states differs so greatly!”
The vote was called, and the majority decided that the national treasury, not the states, should pay the national employees.
The next issue was handled in short order. How much should senators and representatives be paid?
Once again divergent views filled the chamber, ranging from “liberal compensation,” to “no compensation at all,” with the question posed and discarded, should the actual dollar amount be included in the constitution itself? The issue was resolved by amending the clause to declare that the wages would “be ascertained by law.”
August fifteenth saw the convention reaffirm their previous vote, that the president of the United States should have veto power over laws passed by Congress, however, his veto power was subject to override by a two-thirds vote in both the House and the Senate.
From his place on the dais, Washington glanced down at Franklin, and a silent communication passed between the two men. The checks and balances are slipping into place on every issue—no one branch of this new government will have unlimited power.
The small, endless, thorny issues that demanded resolution continued amid the sweltering heat in the closed room, to grind at the resolve of the men who had no choice but to take them one at a time, word by word, harangue, argue, amend, vote, and move on.
What powers should Congress have?
Establish a uniform rule of naturalization; coin money; regulate the value of foreign coin; fix standards of weights and measures; establish post offices; appoint a treasurer; create courts below the Supreme Court; establish rules as to captures on land and water; define and punish piracies and felonies committed on the high seas, as well as counterfeiting the currency of the United States, and offences against the law of nations. What powers should Congress have regarding the army and the navy? Madison and young Pinckney made their proposal. Congress was to have power to raise and support armies and maintain a navy. The vote of the delegates agreed. Included was the power to make all laws that should be necessary and proper for carrying into execution all the foregoing powers, and all other powers vested by the new constitution, and that included the power to define treason and punish those found guilty of the heinous offense.
The morning of August twenty-second, Washington stared at the business of the day long and hard before he drew a resolute breath and called the convention to order.
“The debate on Article VII, Section 4 shall be resumed.”
Slavery! The word did not appear in Section 4. What did appear were restrictions on taxes and the rights of navigation, which could essentially end the slave trade. If navigation laws struck at the right to carry “other persons” in commerce, and tax laws were strict enough, those who had an aversion to slavery could strangle the commerce of the southern states, which depended on slave labor for economic survival.
George Mason of Virginia came to his feet, eyes flashing, face flushed in anger. “This infernal traffic originated out of the avarice of British merchants. It was the British government that constantly under
cut the attempts of Virginia to abolish it altogether. This issue does not concern just those states that are now importing slaves. It concerns the entire union! The effect of slavery on the United States is deplorable! Slavery discourages the arts and manufactures. It prevents the immigration of whites! Every master of slaves is born a petty tyrant!”
Madison was shocked. George Mason was himself a slave owner!
Mason paused and waited until the room was silent before he raised a hand, one finger pointed to heaven.
“Slavery brings the judgment of heaven on a country. As nations cannot be rewarded or punished in the next world they must be punished in this! By an inevitable chain of causes and effects, providence punishes national sins, by national calamities.”
He stopped with his words ringing off the walls, and not one delegate moved or made a sound as they realized they had just received a prophecy from a man whom all considered both qualified and capable of delivering one.
Mason waited until the spell began to dwindle and then concluded.
“It is essential in every point of view, that the general government should have power to prevent the increase of slavery.”
Young Charles Pinckney waited until murmuring broke the silence before he took his feet. He cleared his throat, and began.
“If slavery be wrong, it is justified by the example of all the world. In all ages, one half of mankind has been slaves.” He paused while delegates glanced at each other. “If the southern states are left alone, they will probably voluntarily stop the importation of slaves. I would vote for such a proposal. However, any attempt by this convention to take away the right, as it is now proposed, will result in serious objections—perhaps fatal—to the constitution which we all wish to have adopted.”
Young Charles’s second cousin, Charles Cotesworth Pinckney came to his feet, and it was obvious he had no intention of being as gentle in his words as his young kinsman.
“If I and all of you sign this constitution and exert all our influence, it will be of no avail towards getting agreement from the citizens of South Carolina. South Carolina and Georgia cannot survive without slaves. Should this convention attempt to stop slavery by law, South Carolina will rebel. The importation of slaves will be in the best interest of the entire union. The more slaves, the more produce, the more consumption, and the more revenue. Take heed of the cost of eliminating slavery. It can split the union.”
Nerves frayed raw from weeks of engaging in intense debate, fretting over endless details, and enduring insufferable heat, frustration, and mental exhaustion, finally gave way to hot anger.
John Rutledge jerked to his feet, voice loud, ringing. “If this convention thinks that North Carolina, South Carolina, and Georgia will ever agree to a plan that does not guarantee their right to import slaves, that expectation is nonsense! The people of those states will never be such fools as to give up so important an interest.”
John Dickinson was speaking while he rose. “It is inadmissible—absolutely inadmissible—on every principle of honor and safety that the importation of slaves should be authorized to the states by this constitution. The true question is whether the national happiness will be promoted or impeded by the importation of slaves, and this question ought to be left to the national government, not to the states who are importing slaves.”
John Langdon of New Hampshire spoke from his chair. “I cannot in good conscience leave it with the states to decide if they will traffic in slavery, when the clear opinion of this convention is to the contrary.”
Roger Sherman of Connecticut stood. “A tax on slaves clearly makes them property! Not persons! Should the power be given to the national government to prohibit such a thing, that power ought to be exercised!”
The arguments raged on, back and forth, with the leaders dividing into two opposing camps that were without question preparing for a collision that could split the convention.
In desperation, a proposal was thrown out for consideration. Why not appoint a committee to study the matter and report? It was not that the proposal was so attractive, but that at that moment it was the last clear hope of saving all they had accomplished. The proposal was approved, nine votes to two, and one delegate from each state was appointed to the committee: Langdon, King, Johnson, Clymer, Dickinson, Martin, Madison, Williamson, the senior Pinckney, and Baldwin, with William Livingston of New Jersey as chairman.
Two days later, on Friday, August twenty-fourth, the atmosphere inside the sweltering room was charged with electricity when Washington took his place on the dais.
“Mr. Livingston, is the committee prepared to report?”
Livingston rose, and every eye was on him as he spoke. “We are.” He picked several sheets of paper from his desk and walked steadily to the desk of William Jackson, the secretary, and laid them down, then returned to his desk.
Washington peered down at Jackson. “The secretary will read the report.”
Jackson picked up the papers, perused them for a moment, and with the room in total silence, read.
“Strike out so much of the fourth section of the seventh article as was referred to the committee and insert, ‘The migration or importation of such persons as the several states now existing shall think proper to admit, shall not be prohibited by the legislature prior to the year 1800—but a tax or duty may be imposed on such migration or importation at a rate not exceeding the average of the duties laid on imports.’”
For a moment no one breathed, and then there was the sound of breath being exhaled and murmuring broke out. There was no solution! The committee had solved the immediate problem by avoiding it for the next thirteen years! What would happen in thirteen years was for that generation to thrash out. In the meantime, if the convention voted in favor of the committee’s proposal, they could move on with the detail of finishing their work.
The vote was called and Jackson recorded it. Seven in the affirmative, two in the negative. The bizarre proposal had passed! The last great barrier to their work was behind them. Relief was nearly a palpable thing as Jackson read the remainder of the committee’s recommendations, and the votes were taken, up or down. With the slavery issue left a matter for future generations to solve, the flow was almost uninterrupted.
Monday, August twenty-seventh, the convention made short work of the new court system. There would be one supreme court, lower courts as needed, all to become the third branch of government, independent of and equal to the executive and the legislative branches. The judges? To be nominated by the President, with the advice and consent of the Senate, as a check on the President. Always, always, always, a check and a balance on any power granted to any part of the new government. And, to protect the supreme court judges from reprisals, they would serve for life, or during good behavior, and their compensation could not be reduced while they were serving.
What of the coin of the realm? Should Congress be authorized to print and circulate paper money? Too many of the delegates remembered the forty-two times the old Continental Congress, under the Articles of Confederation, had printed and circulated paper money, called Continental Dollars, until they were worthless. The worst epithet in common usage was to condemn a thing as not being worth “a continental.” States had circulated their own paper money until the country was awash in it. The delegates would not soon forget that at one time, a pair of shoes in Virginia cost five thousand dollars. Yet, there was also the memory that the worthless money had saved the Revolution. It had paid for beef and muskets and flour for the army. But in the balance, the convention shuddered at the thought of paper money.
It was voted down. The coin of the realm would continue to be gold and silver, not paper.
Every delegate was aware of plans laid by ambitious men to reach westward to organize new states. It was no secret that Benjamin Franklin had already created a plan for a new state to be called Franklin. It was to be in the lush Tennessee River Valley, west of North Carolina, which had claimed the valley as her own. Three years earl
ier, the pioneers and settlers in that wilderness decided North Carolina was not looking out for their interests, so they declared their independence, elected a governor, set up their own militia, and provided for the collection of taxes to pay for their new state. Because no one had money, the taxes were collected in tobacco, fruit brandy, or beeswax. And, the new state of Franklin had recently sought acceptance as the fourteenth state in the foundling new union.
The dilemma was plain. If Franklin became the fourteenth state, what was to prevent other groups of disgruntled citizens from declaring their independence from a mother state and applying for admission into the Union? And, if they were admitted to the Union, should they have all rights of the other states previously admitted?
The answer was not long in coming. No state could be created from within the boundaries of an existing state without the consent of Congress, and, new states properly constituted would be admitted with all rights of all other states.
What of religion? The Puritans had come to this new land to worship the Almighty according to their own consciences. And they saw to it that those who disagreed left town, or were thrown in jail. In many states an oath was required of those elected to public office that they would worship according to the dictates of the church designated in that state. The delegates shied away from it; Thomas Jefferson despised the notion of a state-mandated religion. The convention dealt with that issue by providing the following mandate:
“No religious test shall ever be required as a qualification to any office or public trust under the authority of the United States.”
Friday, the last day of August, the bone-weary delegates raised their heads and realized they were very close to the end of their incomparable odyssey. The Constitution was very nearly finished. With it came the recognition that creating it was one thing; establishing it as the foundation for the new government was quite another.
Washington called them to order and plucked up his daily agenda. “You will recall that on August sixth the Committee of Detail made its recommendation for ratification of the constitution as follows: ‘Item XXI. The ratifications of _____ states shall be sufficient for organizing this constitution. Item XXII. This constitution shall be laid before the United States in congress assembled, for their approbation, and it is the opinion of this convention, that it should be afterwards submitted to a convention chosen in each state under the recommendation of its legislature, in order to receive the ratification of such convention.”