by Ron Carter
Matthew interrupted. “What happened between then and June?”
Billy shook his head in wonderment. “Things I never would have dreamed. The newspapers were filled with articles from both sides, and I never saw such things in writing. Then both sides went out into the little towns that were to send delegates to the June convention in Concord, and started making promises and deals with just about everybody, to get support. A man named Benjamin Bellows somehow got to be the delegate from Walpole, and rumor was that he secretly changed the record of the votes to do it! The town of Hopkinton held a special election so they could tell their delegate he was not bound to vote against ratification. In Boscawen, the citizens drew up a petition that declared the recent election was illegal, and started over. Things got a bit testy, and we sent Eli with his rifle and tomahawk to be sure no one got hurt.” He shook his head. “There’s something about that tomahawk.”
Old Tom laughed out loud, and the others grinned. Billy went on.
“Anyway, before the June convention, we counted six delegates who had changed from the opposition to our side. Then the time came for New Hampshire to elect its new governor, and Langdon was voted in. In his inaugural address, he spared no words. He gave a spellbinder speech that left no doubt—New Hampshire would ratify the Constitution, or it would pay a high price in poverty and internal troubles.
“We convened at the North Meetinghouse in Concord on June eighteenth. Our people got there first—of the one hundred thirteen gathered on that first day, ninety were ours. We got the rules we wanted, and by the time the opposition showed up the next day, the debate was in progress. The opposition found out we had a slight majority, and I never saw such twisting and turning to adjourn, or postpone, or do anything to avoid a vote. It didn’t work. The vote was taken June twenty-first. I tell you now, we thought it would come out very close to a tie, but when the tally was made, we won by ten votes. Caught everyone by surprise.”
Billy stopped speaking for a moment, then said, “One more thing. We heard that Virginia was getting close to a vote at about the same time. Our people wanted to be the ninth state if we could, so New Hampshire would go down in history as the state that ushered in the Constitution and the new government of the United States. The secretary at the convention reported the vote as having been final at 1:00 o’clock p.m., just in case Virginia ratified later that same day. Have you heard anything from Virginia about their vote?”
Matthew shook his head. “Nothing. I know they were expecting a vote sometime in the past few days, but no news yet.”
Billy leaned back and rubbed tired eyes with the heels of his hands. “Well, that’s about the nub of it. There’s more in the detail, but that will come later.” He put his hands on his knees, then stood. “I think I’d better go on home.”
They saw it in his eyes. He wanted to see Brigitte. He had been gone too long.
Matthew stopped him. “How are things with Eli?”
Billy looked directly into his face. “Good. You should see the respect they have for him over there. He could have about any public office he wanted, where he lives. And Laura? Do you remember Mary? How she looked? The beauty in her face?”
“I remember.”
“Sometimes when you look at Laura, you’d swear you were looking at Mary all over again. That girl is special. Worships her father. And both of them—Eli and Laura—made me promise to bring their greetings. They’ll be coming to see us sometime this summer.”
“We owe that man. Did you tell him that?”
“I did. One more thing I should tell you. The Ohio River Valley is just opening for settlement. Eli took some time to go look. He says he might consider going. New country, free land, opportunity. It’s tempting.”
Matthew pointed to the door. “Go on home to Brigitte. She’s been counting days.”
Billy picked up his bag from his desktop and walked to the door with the four men following. They watched him walk rapidly through the men and the freight and the ships on the waterfront, hurrying toward Fruit Street and home. For a moment Matthew watched his back as it disappeared in the crowd. Langdon, Sullivan, Madison, Hamilton, Jay, Jefferson, Washington—the big names. History will remember the big names. But Weems, Stroud—the little people who stood up and made it all happen? Who will remember them? Who?
With an ever-quickening step Billy walked away from the waterfront toward the Commons and Brigitte. He saw the picket fence and the yard, and the square house, and his heart leaped. He pushed through the gate, and to the door, and it opened, and she was there. She threw her arms about him and he dropped his bag and wrapped her to him, and he felt the tremor of a sob in her, and they stood for a time, clinging to each other, lost in the silent flow and exchange, give and take, that was the foundation of their lives.
Notes
The essays Adam Dunson is reading in this chapter were written by James Madison, John Jay, and Alexander Hamilton, who followed the custom of the day by writing them under an assumed name, in this case, “Publius.” They were published in many New York papers, and then in newspapers in all thirteen states. There were 85 in all, the first published October 27, 1787, the last published May 28, 1788. The essays were collected and became known as “The Federalist” papers, and remain today probably the most comprehensive and authoritative expositions on political thought of the revolutionary time period. See Cooke, The Federalist, pp. 3–595. For an authoritative analysis of the key essays and an explanation of the process, see Bernstein, Are We to Be a Nation? pp. 230–42.
Billy Weems’s narrative in this chapter includes the basic facts of the ratification process that occurred in New Hampshire. The dates of the conventions, with the several delays and incidental events are accurately stated, along with the participants named as being the leaders, with John Langdon and John Sullivan, both of whom eventually served a term as governor, and had commanded soldiers in the war, chief among those seeking ratification of the Constitution.
New Hampshire was in fact the ninth state to ratify, thus becoming the state that secured the Constitution for the United States. Four days later, June 25, Virginia ratified, to become the tenth, and one of the most important states, to approve the new constitution.
For full detail, see Conely and Kaminski, The Constitution and the States, pp. 181–200; Berkin, A Brilliant Solution, 185–86; Rossiter, 1787: The Grand Convention, pp. 289–90.
For a schedule showing the order in which the states ratified and the dates on which each ratified, see Warren, The Making of the Constitution, pp. 819–20.
Boston
June 30, 1778
Epilogue
* * *
You can all come to the table now,” Margaret called.
The men rose from their chairs in the library of the Dunson home, while the women came from the kitchen to gather in the dining room, where the table was set with glowing white linen, china, and silver. Talking stopped as they waited for the matriarch to speak.
“It just seemed right,” she began, “to bring us all together for this supper. We have a new country, with a new constitution and a new government, and everyone in this room is partly responsible.” For a moment her chin quivered. “I talked with John about it last night, and he said he’d be here, and I believe he is.”
She paused to clear her throat and regain control. “Anyway, Matthew, you sit at the head of the table. Kathleen, you there on his right. Billy and Brigitte, next, then Prissy. I’ll sit at the far end, opposite Matthew. Adam, you and Caleb and Dorothy and Trudy sit up that side. John, you squeeze in between your mother and father. Kathleen, are the twins all right? Louise and Linda?”
“In your bedroom asleep.”
They all saw the soft glow in Margaret’s eyes as she said, “Those little darlings. Well, enough of that. Take your places and kneel beside your chairs. Matthew, you return thanks.”
They knelt, and Matthew waited for quiet before he clasped his hands and bowed his head. “Almighty Father of us all. Our hea
rts are full as we gather here to share the bounties of thy goodness to us. We thank thee for this new nation raised by thy hand, and the blessings of freedom and liberty that are ours. We beseech thee to guide us in preserving it to our posterity. We thank thee for the fruits of the earth that are prepared for our table and seek thy blessings upon it, and upon us to turn it to good. Most of all, we thank thee for each other and the bonds that bring us together. May we never forget. Amen.”
For a moment a hush held, and then Margaret rose. “All right, you women help bring it in from the kitchen.”
They came with steaming platters of meats and smoking bowls of vegetables, and condiments and sauces in crystal dishes, and warm bread on plates, and pitchers of cider, buttermilk and water. Talk flowed while the food was passed around and plates were filled. Quietly, almost unnoticed, an unexpected feeling came creeping among the men. Matthew glanced at Billy, then at Caleb, and he saw it in their faces. Memories were beginning to flow. Bright images from days long ago were passing before their eyes. They ate the food, and they smiled and laughed as the chatter continued, but they were seeing things hidden from the others.
April 19, 1775—Concord—the blasting of muskets and cannon—Billy down with a British musketball and bayonet through his side that should have killed him—John Dunson down with a great gout of blood on his back, dying from a musketball in his right lung—
“Matthew, please pass the cider.”
June 17, 1775—the fight across the bay at Charlestown—Bunker Hill, Breed’s Hill—the terrible carnage of redcoated British regulars slaughtered as they climbed toward the guns of the Americans dug in—
“Billy, did you have any trouble with the Indians in New Hampshire?”
March 4, 1776—the Bahamas—blowing the doors on the British arsenals to capture their cannon and gunpowder to bolster a failing American army—
“Kathleen, did I hear the twins awake in the bedroom?”
August 27, 1776—Long Island, New York—the destruction of the Continental Army by General William Howe with his regulars and the German Hessian mercenaries—the sick retreat—the beating absorbed at White Plains—the disaster at Fort Washington—the wild disintegration of the Continental Army—the run across New Jersey—Washington’s crossing of the Delaware—the camp of beaten, sick, starving Americans at McKonkie’s Ferry—
“Matthew, are you all right?”
December 26, 1776—Trenton—the brutal fight in the blizzard—the killing or capture of the entire command of Hessian mercenaries—their commander, Colonel Rahl? dead—
“Give me the platter. I’ll get more roast beef from the oven.”
January 3, 1777—Princeton—shattering the British garrison under command of Colonel Mawhood—
“Could I have one more slice of bread?”
Eli Stroud—more Iroquois warrior than white—fearless—read the forest like a book—wanting to learn more about Jesus and George Washington—
“Have you been to visit Silas and Mattie lately? She seems to be getting better.”
The summer of 1777—Americans losing the battle of Brandywine Creek—the stand-or-fall fight at Saratoga on the Hudson River—the American victory over British general Gentleman John Burgoyne—his surrender—the shock experienced by King Louis XVI of France when Benjamin Franklin made the report—the decision of the French to enter the war on the American side—
“Caleb, tell us again about Pennsylvania. That boardinghouse thing.”
December 19, 1778—Valley Forge—an army sick, starving, naked, freezing, dying, five hundred each month—the German officer Baron Friederich von Steuben—the miracle of training the Continental Army—
“Mother, is there any more gravy?”
July 1779—the heartrending treason of Benedict Arnold—how could it be?—how could it be?—
“John, sit straight and use your fork.”
September 23, 1779—twelve miles off the coast of England—the Bon Homme Richard and the Serapis—the sea battle at night—John Paul Jones—“I have not yet begun to fight”—Tom Sievers up in the rigging—shot—dying in Matthew’s arms—
“Be careful with those china bowls.”
August 16, 1780—South Carolina—Camden—American general Horatio Gates abandoning his command—the terrible loss in the fight with the British—
“We need more butter.”
October 7, 1780—South Carolina—the battle at King’s Mountain—the British scattered, beaten—
“I’ll go to the root cellar for more butter.”
January 17, 1781—South Carolina—Cowpens—General Dan Morgan—the hated British commander Banastre Tarleton—the American riflemen, including Caleb and Primus, cutting down the redcoated regulars with their Deckhard rifles—the British shattered, running—
“I’ll clear some of the dishes away and we’ll serve dessert, if you’re ready.”
September 5, 1781—the French and British fleets—Chesapeake Bay—the battle—the British retreating south, beaten—General Cornwallis and his army landlocked at Yorktown—the siege—storming Redoubt Number Ten—Sergeant Alvin Turlock—burned and hurt by a cannon blast—Billy carrying him out for help—the British surrender—the end of the war—the treaty—
“Prissy, you come help bring in the saucers for dessert.”
Matthew turned to Kathleen. “I’ll go check on the twins.”
Margaret and Prissy brought the warm fruit cobbler from the oven, and scooped it onto waiting saucers. For a time no one spoke, lost in the sweetness of Margaret’s dessert. Some took second helpings, and a mellowness settled over the table as they talked and sipped at cider and buttermilk and laughed and gossiped about everyone they knew in Boston. It was Brigitte who finally stood.
“I can’t remember a better evening. I just loved it. Mother, we’re going to help with the dishes.”
Margaret pointed her finger. “I can do that.”
“I know that. We’re still going to help.”
Margaret shook her head. “Where did that girl get such independence?”
Everyone laughed, and the other women stood, and began gathering the dishes.
Deep dusk had settled when they gathered at the door and Matthew and Billy put on their coats. Matthew looked at Billy and Caleb, and a silent communication passed between them while the women hugged everyone. Brigitte and Kathleen tied their bonnets in place, and with the twins in the baby carriage and Matthew holding John’s hand, they walked to the front gate. Billy and Brigitte and Matthew and Kathleen and John stopped at the front gate to wave at those framed in the light of the doorway and walked into the cobblestone street.
The heavens were alive with an eternity of stars. There was no breeze, and the evening air was still warm from the heat of the day as they walked together, caught up in their own thoughts. They stopped near Fruit Street and stood for a moment in the quiet of the town that had been theirs since birth.
Matthew looked at Billy, and for a moment the two men locked eyes in silence. Neither knew the words, nor did they try, nor did it matter. Kathleen hugged Brigitte, and the two couples separated toward their separate homes.
Later, in her own kitchen, Kathleen quietly called for Matthew who was in the library. There was no answer, and she removed her shoes to walk silently to the door. It was open, the room dark. She looked down the hall, where a faint light glowed beneath their bedroom door. Softly she opened the door. Matthew was inside, on one knee beside the cradle in which the twins lay sleeping. He turned from gazing at their sleeping faces, to look up at her, then back at the babies. She came to the bed and sat down, waiting, watching, sensing something was happening between her husband and their two children.
Minutes passed before Matthew rose and took his place beside her on the bed, and she turned to look into his face. He nodded toward the twins, and his voice was a whisper.
“What have we given them? I mean this country. What have we given them?”
“A new land. New governmen
t.”
“That, and maybe more. Freedom. Liberty. The right to decide. They will grow up in a land like no other.”
“I know.”
Matthew did not continue for a time, and then he went on. “It will demand a price. The right things always do. Tonight, at Mother’s, I was thinking about the price that has been paid to give all this to them. Thirteen years of blood and heartache and fear and struggle.”
Kathleen nodded but remained silent.
“What price will they have to pay to keep it all?”
“I don’t know.”
He sighed. “Well,” he whispered, “only time will tell.” He waited for a moment, then said, “I think I should go make a report to father. Would you mind?”
“You go. He’ll want to know.”
She followed him to the door, and waited while he put on his tricorn. She reached both arms around his neck and peered into his face. “I love you.” He drew her close and kissed her. “I love you. I won’t be long.”
He walked slowly, thoughtfully in the familiar streets, into the graveyard near the church, on to the modest headstone with the name JOHN PHELPS DUNSON engraved upon it. He removed his tricorn, and went to one knee, holding his hat in his hand.
“Father, there are some things I need to say. The fight we started there at Concord, it’s finished. We have our freedom. A new constitution. A new land. Liberty. The right to choose. This new country is like nothing you ever knew, at least while you were here with us. It’s hard to believe that the whole thing has been given to the common people. Like you, and me, and Billy. No king. No monarch. We choose our leaders now, and we have the power to get rid of them if they do wrong. I wish you were here. I wish you could see all this.”
He stopped and for a moment touched his hat before he continued.
“It was not without cost. Your life, Tom Sievers, thousands of others. Was it worth it? I hope with all my heart it was worth it. Oh, how we missed you. How we missed you.” He stopped, and for a few moments wiped at his eyes.
“Mother’s fine, but I think you know that. Don’t worry about Caleb. He’s changing. He’s coming back. And Adam? Fine boy. Brigitte and Billy are married. I’ve never seen either of them so happy. Prissy’s a beautiful young lady. Some young man will come to the door soon, asking for her. Our shipping business is doing well. Young John is going to be a lot like you, and the twins—Louise and Linda—are healthy and beautiful.”