Washington gave a slight bow. “Dr. Franklin, I see you’re again moderating merriment and good fellowship.”
“We’re talking about ballooning. You were a surveyor in your youth. Do you think balloons will allow one surveyor to do the job of twenty?”
As with many aspiring young men, Sherman had also been a surveyor. He had heard about the balloon craze sweeping Europe but had failed to see why they captivated people’s attention. The possibility of surveying from the air had never occurred to him—the idea seemed implausible. Still, the question showed him that he had not considered the implications of this new science.
“I’m more concerned with the use of balloons in war,” Washington responded.
“That’s why the British are so keen to have their own balloonists,” Franklin said. “Much inventiveness is prompted by their rivalry with the French. Inventiveness and chicanery. We must keep a wary eye on both. And the Spanish as well. We’re but a small, weak child in a world filled with ravenous giants.”
“The French are our friends,” interjected Mrs. Bache. “Surely with them on our side, we need not fear the British?”
Glancing at Mrs. Bache’s Parisian dress, Washington said, “The French will be on our side as long as we oppose the British and buy French goods. We can’t assume that we’ll align with France forever.”
“Unfortunately, the money to purchase foreign goods grows scarce,” Franklin said. “Our general justly worries about the defense of our new nation, but we must delay this discussion. We’ll have plenty of time to resolve issues once the convention starts. This simple old man foresees a future bright with marvelous innovations, stunning fashions, and liberty unshackled from European intrigue.”
“My dear doctor,” said Gouverneur Morris, “your views refresh my worrisome soul. Perhaps, when our sessions get stormy, you can use your wit, like your famous lightning rod, to dissipate the negative energy.” Morris added with a wink, “Little Jemmy’s grand innovation may not rise as easily as one of those celebrated balloons.”
Sherman followed Washington when he saw the general move away from the crowd.
“General, may I have a private moment?”
“Of course, Mr. Sherman.”
They stepped around the corner of Franklin’s home to a quiet spot. As Washington faced him, Sherman marveled at his immaculate dress. The buff and blue colors had a hint of the military without looking martial. Washington’s shoes glistened with a luster that could only come from fastidious care. Sherman couldn’t help but glance at his own scuffed footwear.
“What’s on your mind, Roger?”
“As I’m sure you’re aware, many of the small states feel uneasy about the plan that Gouverneur Morris alluded to. Perhaps we’re unduly apprehensive, but fear is the handmaiden of the unknown.”
“I gather you have a specific request?”
“I believe a Committee of the Whole will alleviate anxiety and hold the convention together at its crucial beginning.”
“Is there a threat to bolt the convention?”
“I didn’t mean to imply that.”
Washington only stared in response.
Sherman tried to regain the initiative. “A Committee of the Whole is a standard practice for delicate issues. It would be seen as a sign of fairness and would engender goodwill.”
Washington looked thoughtful. Sherman knew he was calculating. A Committee of the Whole, like any committee, could not pass resolutions but only report out recommendations. Declaring the entire assemblage a committee created something like a rehearsal. As issues were debated and voted on, the parliamentary device would expose strategies and the strength of coalitions. A second vote would be required when the Committee of the Whole dissolved and the actual convention reconvened.
A long moment elapsed before Washington spoke. “If I agree to support you in this, will you promise to argue for careful reflection by the hesitant states? More important, and crucial to my support, will you keep Connecticut at the convention?”
Now it was Sherman’s turn for silent contemplation. He knew the proposition would carry a price, but he hadn’t expected it to be so personal. If he agreed, he would have to represent the small states’ views, while arguing for their continued consideration of the plan: a difficult thread to weave.
“You have my word, General.”
“Good. Then I will use my feeble influence to get a Committee of the Whole.”
Sherman smiled. “I’m sure your feeble influence will be sufficient. You undoubtedly will be president of the convention.”
“That’s a responsibility I neither seek nor covet. The convention must make its own choice.”
“General, this convention needs your leadership to garner the support and energy necessary for our great task. Surely you won’t decline?”
Washington turned his back to Sherman and walked two paces. He stood there a second and then spoke without turning around. “Others have made your argument.” Another hesitation. “I will not decline, but I’ll consent with great reluctance.” The general appeared to have a new thought and turned back to face Sherman. “If a draft does ensue, will you encourage the small states to support my candidacy?”
Was this another condition for a Committee of the Whole?
“General, I’d be honored to urge your election to my fellow delegates. I believe it both necessary and richly deserved.”
“Thank you, Roger. I appreciate your confidence.”
As Washington turned to other guests, Sherman wondered who had got the better of the exchange.
Sherman migrated with others toward the dining room. A servant with a deep melodic voice had delivered the call to supper. No one hesitated. The aromas had roused people’s appetites, and all the guests were anxious to experience one of Franklin’s famed dinners. Book-lined walls, expensive rugs, beautifully crafted furniture, and a perfectly arranged table promised a refined meal. Six uniformed black servants stood silently against the wall as the guests milled around, looking for their name placards.
Sherman took his assigned seat and looked down from his end of the table toward Franklin and his daughter. Americans thought of Benjamin Franklin as a diplomat and philosopher. In Europe, his reputation as a scientist gave him entry into the most exclusive circles. Women found him charming and attentive. In Philadelphia, many admired him for his wealth and business acumen. Most of the delegates, however, didn’t take Franklin seriously. They loved his hospitality but grew tired of his anecdotal manner and believed his political skills enfeebled. He had grown old and had been out of the country far too long.
Sherman disagreed. He vowed to watch him carefully.
The guests quieted as the servants disappeared. Once everyone had settled, Franklin tapped his glass, saying, “Welcome, and thank you all. You delight an old man with your presence. This convention is a momentous occasion, one that will challenge us. This afternoon, however, remember that our convention has not yet started, so there is no need to bore ourselves with talk of politics. Enjoy yourself, eat heartily, and freshen old acquaintanceships. We’re about to engage in an arduous endeavor. Let us approach it with camaraderie and cheer. I’d now like to offer a small prayer to inaugurate our auspicious undertaking and this distinguished gathering.”
At the end of Franklin’s short prayer, the servants emerged in pairs, one carrying a large tureen, while the other bore a soup ladle as if it were a scepter. The servants paused just long enough for the rich aroma to waft through the room, and then swiftly dispersed to three points around the table to eloquently ladle a portion of cod chowder to each guest. The table, already set with breads and porter, suddenly became a tangle of reaching arms, clinking glasses, and genial conversation.
After the first course, Franklin again gained everyone’s attention. He remained seated but spoke in an engaging manner, as if talking to each guest individually.
“Prior to our next course, I wish to propose a toast.” Franklin looked up and down the long table
. “I hope great good from our meeting. Failure will strengthen the opinion of some political writers that popular governments cannot support themselves.”
Raising his porter, Franklin said in a slightly louder voice, “To our company of delegates, men of character and ability. May they work in harmony and with unerring wisdom to grant us an energetic republican government.”
The guests shouted, Hear! Hear! and other affirmative noises from every corner of the room, as they raised their glasses in toast and acknowledgment of their host.
Once again, the six servants reappeared with a flourish, each bearing a platter of oysters. This time they dispersed to six points around the table, bowed slightly in unison, and then extended the platters to guests.
Sherman looked around at his dinner companions. He had been seated with the delegations from New Jersey and Delaware.
George Read, of Delaware, following his gaze, said, “Strange that they seated us together. I’d have thought the Pennsylvanians would have wanted to keep us apart.”
“They don’t fear us talking to each other; they fear us talking to those who might waver,” Sherman said.
“You believe they’re plotting the convention?” Read asked.
“Of course,” Sherman answered matter-of-factly, his attention on the other end of the table. Talent seemed disproportionately distributed to the large states. Sherman wanted to see who conversed with intimate camaraderie, who inclined their heads with conspiratorial intent, and who seemed argumentative.
Paterson ignored Sherman’s obvious distraction. “We cannot allow the large states to dictate the proceedings. We must fight.”
“Not the early moves. The Virginians are too well organized. We’d lose.” Turning his full frame to face his dinner companions, Sherman explained, “The general will be a fair presiding officer, and his election cannot be stopped in any case. If the rules reported out tilt in their favor, we’ll have an opportunity to challenge them or quit a treacherous affair with honor.” Sherman looked directly at Paterson. “Most important, we don’t have an alternative plan. We must begin working on one immediately.”
Paterson’s eyes blazed. “We must challenge them immediately. Why wait to write a plan?”
“Because we have no choice,” Sherman answered. “The Virginians, and their friends from Pennsylvania, have the votes to control the early days of the convention.”
“Then we ought to go home. They can’t form a government without us.”
“Of course they can,” Sherman said. “And without our participation, it will surely match your worst fears.”
“Then we’ll reject it.”
“Connecticut isn’t ready to go it alone. The wisest course is for us to concentrate on designing a superior plan—one acceptable to the states and to Congress.”
“I don’t like passivity,” Paterson said. “Do you know what’s in their plan?”
“Only the same rumors you’ve heard. But I know their inclinations and Madison’s mind. The plan will be far too ambitious.”
Washington interrupted their conversation to offer another toast. “To the good doctor, since no one entertains more respect for your character, none can salute you with more sincerity. Thank you for this enchanting afternoon.”
As glasses were again raised, the six servants swept back into the room, bearing huge platters of pork, roasted beef, turkey, and chicken pieces. Each platter had a ring of potatoes, squash, and asparagus surrounding the meats. Even as a provincial New Englander, Sherman knew this opulent display of meat was uniquely American, a way of celebrating their new abundance and escape from European scarcity. He suspected that Franklin served a different meal to his friends visiting from Europe.
Paterson fidgeted beside him and then said angrily, “My instructions won’t allow me to participate in any scheme that threatens to dissolve the states.” Sherman noted that Paterson’s jaw jutted out so far, he could hang a lantern on it. “We cannot sit idle.”
Sherman sighed. “For the moment, we must allow the Virginians to believe that they control events. Our initial strategy must be to simply present our views without threat. Meanwhile, we prepare, and then act when we can startle and bewilder their coalition.”
Read looked uncomfortable. “This intrigue is beyond my skills and temperament. Delaware needs Dickinson in Philadelphia. I intend to write him this evening and urge him to hurry.”
“Excellent,” Sherman said. “John can add weight to our side.”
John Dickinson was an old friend and political compatriot. Sherman had been disappointed to learn that he hadn’t arrived yet and was glad to hear that Read would try to hurry his departure for Philadelphia.
Sherman returned his attention to the other end of the table. He noticed a collective angry gaze from the far side of the room.
Chapter 6
Wednesday, May 16, 1787
“Mr. Madison?”
Madison had started to merge with the throng moving toward Dr. Franklin’s dining room. When he turned, he felt annoyed that the hand on his shoulder belonged to Charles Pinckney. “This isn’t an opportune time. We’ve been called to dinner. It would insult our host to tarry.”
“This herd will take forever to file into the house. We have a few moments.”
“Can we talk during the meal? I’ll be seated next to you.”
“This is private.”
Remembering Sherman’s foray into the South Carolina camp, Madison made a decision. “Let’s step out of earshot.” While everyone else gravitated toward the house, Madison led Pinckney to a quiet corner in the garden. “What’s on your mind, Charles?”
“I’ve written a proposal for the new government.”
“Do you mean improvements to the Virginia Plan?”
“No. I’ve drawn up an entire system. It has similarities to your plan but diverges in critical areas. I wish to present it to the convention.”
Madison realized that the threat to South Carolina’s allegiance came from someone other than Sherman. “This is awkward and your timing poor,” Madison said. “We must join the other guests.”
“A simple ‘yes, of course,’ takes but a moment.”
“My answer cannot be that simple. You have promised to support the Virginia Plan. The introduction of a competing scheme will throw the convention into chaos.”
“You refuse to give my plan a hearing?”
“Surely you don’t intend to go back on your word?”
“I’m a gentleman,” Pinckney said with more strength than Madison would have expected. “You’ll have my vote in the initial round, but if we reach a stalemate, I believe my alternative can save us from a debacle.”
Madison had spent thousands of hours studying ancient and modern governments, argued their flaws with the greatest minds, designed a faultless system, and artfully secured powerful patrons. Now Pinckney, idle and vainglorious, had jotted a few notes and demanded the stage.
“Mr. Pinckney, I don’t control the proceedings, but I assure you that every alteration will be entertained if we reach an impasse. I’ll keep your kind offer in mind.”
“My offer is not an alteration. It’s a unique design based on populist principles.”
“In that case, will you make a copy for me? I’ve made a life’s study of governments and am always eager to examine well-conceived innovations.”
“Perhaps … but at a later date.”
“The convention will start soon.”
“I must polish the finer points.”
Madison felt his irritation abate. Pinckney’s answer meant that he probably had no plan. “We really must rejoin the party.”
“I deserve an answer. Yes or no?”
“I promise you’ll receive a hearing if a deadlock ensues. I’m pleased that you’ve thought ahead. If the need arises, we’ll be in your debt.”
Lightly gripping Pinckney’s elbow, Madison steered him toward the house. He tried to quell his indignation, knowing he would spend the next few hours with Pinc
kney. He must disguise his shock and consternation.
Madison’s previous meals at Franklin’s home had been small affairs, and the few guests had been dwarfed by a room designed to seat twenty-four. This recent addition to the house was a combination library-dining room, built after Franklin’s return from Paris. The room stretched to over thirty feet and was half as wide. A European marble fireplace interrupted the formation of bookcases along one wall, while busts of great men sprinkled the opposite wall of books. Windows at the north and south ends let in soft afternoon light.
The room exhibited two busts of Franklin next to sculptures of some of the greatest men in history. Most of the delegates probably hadn’t noticed the tall clock ticking away just outside the door, uninhibitedly adorned with a portrait of their host.
The long mahogany table was set with fine imported porcelain and silver. A crumb cloth stretched under the entire length of the table to protect the expensive, brightly patterned carpet. The Virginia and Pennsylvania delegations had worked together on the seating. To accommodate the large group, three nut-brown chairs had been interspersed with twenty-four white Windsor chairs.
Franklin, gout ridden, had already been assisted to his chair in the middle of the expansive table. Madison had asked to be seated between Pinckney and Butler, his intent to keep South Carolina tethered to their commitments. After his garden encounter with Pinckney, Madison thought the cautionary move prescient.
Washington held a place of honor at the head of the table. Alexander Hamilton, representing New York, sat to his immediate left and Robert Morris, to his right. Madison saw that most of the delegates had already taken their seats, but no one seemed to notice his tardy arrival. Everyone was in a merry frame of mind. People enjoyed a feast seasoned with animated discussion. Franklin hosted the event to build camaraderie, temper ill-will, and soften inflexible positions. As Madison’s sour mood faded, he hoped the celebratory mood would carry over to the State House.
Tempest at Dawn Page 6