Tempest at Dawn

by James D. Best

  “Where’re you from?”

  “Connecticut. I’m a superior court judge and mayor of New Haven. I represent my state at the Federal Convention.”

  “You didn’t apprentice with your father?” The boot maker had disapproval in his voice.

  “Yes, but I was too ambitious. I became a surveyor but soon went into politics, where I’ve remained ever since.”

  “Fathers want sons to follow their footsteps. Two of these industrious young men are my sons.” With this, the boot maker led him over to the workbench. He picked up a boot and handed it to Sherman. “Look carefully at the stitching. I’ve trained them well.”

  “Excellent, but as much as I admire your boots, shoes are what I need at the moment.”

  Without hesitation, the tradesman picked up a shoe and handed it to Sherman. “Our shoes are worn by the best gentlemen.”

  Sherman turned the shoe over and examined the sole. “How much?”

  The boot maker looked at Sherman’s feet, as if calculating. “What style?”

  “Simple but made from your finest hide. I don’t dress fancy, but I demand well-made shoes.” Glancing down, Sherman added, “Unfortunately, their appearance suffers long before their utility.”

  “Twenty Pennsylvanian dollars or four sovereign crowns.”

  “You have confirmed my second fear. Do you accept Connecticut shillings?”

  The man held up both palms. “They have no value in Pennsylvania.”

  Sherman drew his purse from his waistcoat. He untied the leather cord, unfolded the flap, and peered inside as if the contents would be a surprise. He couldn’t spend four of his six sovereigns. With no hard money, Sherman would feel destitute. “I haven’t exchanged my personal funds yet.”

  “There’s a money changer around the corner. He’s honest and will give you as good a rate as available in Philadelphia.”

  Despite the boot maker’s endorsement, Sherman wanted to shop around. Experience taught him that money changers’ rates fluctuated wildly.

  “Thank you, I’ll see him, but possibly not until tomorrow. Can we start the measurements in the meantime?”

  The boot maker looked thoughtful. “My shoes are custom; they won’t fit another.” Then with an engaging smile he used to close a sale, he added, “Since you’re an esteemed delegate to the Federal Convention, I’ll start for a single sovereign. They’ll be ready late tomorrow. Of course, delivery requires three additional sovereigns or sixteen Pennsylvania dollars.”

  “Of course, but if you use paper to calculate, you’ll see the remaining tariff is fifteen Pennsylvania dollars.”

  “My error. I’m sorry, but I would’ve had the correct figure by the time you arrived in the morning.”

  “Very good, let’s proceed. May I select my own hide?”

  “Of course.”

  Sherman moved to the racks of tanned hides, thinking that shopkeepers were the same the world over.

  A small bell tinkled as Sherman pushed the door open. In contrast to the well-lit cordwainer’s shop, the dimness of this office signaled the miserly environs of a money changer. A barrier stretched the width of the office, confining him to the foyer. Soon, a short, pudgy man, wearing glasses perched at the end of his nose, stepped from behind a screen.

  “May I help you?”

  “I’m looking to exchange Connecticut shillings.”

  “Twelve to one,” the money changer said without preamble.

  Sherman blanched. After checking two other money changers, Sherman had hoped the one recommended by the boot maker would offer a better rate.

  “Such a disappointing exchange will limit my commerce in your fair city.”

  “There is nothing I can do. Once a month I risk transporting Connecticut money to my New Haven correspondent.” He lifted both palms skyward. “I am subject to his avarice.”

  Sherman calculated that his Philadelphia purchases would cost nearly a third more than back home. The wealthy delegates used English and Spanish coin that carried a premium value. Shopkeepers negotiated splendid deals for the chance of acquiring foreign money. He was sure none of the Virginians had found it necessary to visit this forlorn establishment.

  The money changer interpreted Sherman’s hesitancy as equivocation. “I know the hardship, but I must heed my own cost and substantial risk. I’ll tell you what, if you exchange a hundred and ten shillings, I can give you ten Pennsylvania dollars.”

  This was the best offer of the day. Sherman noticed that the money changer also sold notions.

  “Two hundred and twenty for twenty dollars—if you include a 50 sheets of stationery.”

  “Twenty,” countered the money changer.

  Sherman hesitated but then carefully counted out the currency.

  After Sherman handed over the paper currency, the money changer disappeared behind his screen. Whatever else the convention accomplished, Sherman thought, they must fix the money system. The United States would never be a nation as long as a fair exchange required English or Spanish money.

  The money changer quickly returned and counted out sixteen bills and other miscellaneous coins to reach the agreed-upon exchange. Then, picking up a handful of stationery, he deftly separated twenty pages from the stack as if it were paper currency. Sherman had no doubt that the count was exact. He said thank you and escaped to the cheerful people on the street.

  Mrs. Marshall served supper at four in the afternoon. Sherman found her an excellent cook and hated to miss one of her meals, so he picked up his pace. Sherman entered the house, shrugged off his cloak, and immediately entered the room where Mrs. Marshall served meals. Several guests already sat around the large table.

  As he circled to an open seat, Mrs. Marshall said, “Mr. Sherman, I’m glad you arrived. I have a courier letter for you from Mr. Paterson.”

  She picked up an envelope from the sideboard and handed it to him. He took his seat while opening it. After scanning the brief note, he rose and excused himself.

  “Oh dear,” Mrs. Marshall said. “I hope it isn’t bad news.”

  “Quite the contrary.” Sherman smiled. “The full New Jersey delegation has arrived, so the convention can start tomorrow. The note invites me to dine with them at City Tavern. Excuse me, I must hurry.”

  He walked back into the hall to reclaim his cloak. Mrs. Marshall followed, saying, “I’m happy the convention is taking place. It’s sorely needed.”

  Her comment stopped Sherman. “I thought you weren’t sympathetic to our efforts.”

  “On the contrary, but I don’t volunteer opinions. You gentlemen must decide whether we are one nation or thirteen—or perhaps two.”

  “Two? Do you think more than one nation is workable?”

  Mrs. Marshall looked thoughtful and then appeared to make a decision. “Thirteen means bedlam, one nourishes the seeds of tragedy. I favor two: one slave and another to unite the non-slaveholding states.”

  “The papers are filled with such counsel, but most writers recommend three nations, with New England and the middle states both nonslave.”

  “My opinion has not been formed by empty-headed newspaper writers but from watching my guests. Gentlemen from the South treat Howard with haughty disdain, and I know their behavior hides depravity.” Patting Sherman on the arm, she smiled and said, “Now hurry along. Pennsylvania’s future is safe as long as men like you chart the course.”

  “I hope your faith isn’t misplaced. I’m but a politician after all.”

  “You are a good man, Mr. Sherman. I have confidence you’ll do your best.”

  Perplexed, Sherman watched her return to her other guests. This was a departure from his previous encounters with Mrs. Marshall. What had changed her mind? Howard must have spoken to her about their conversations. She probably viewed Howard as near family and judged her guests by the way they treated him.

  Her ideas appealed to many, but Congress had chartered the convention to repair deficiencies in the Confederation, not to carve the United States i
nto homogeneous realms. He was glad she had decided to express her views, but he would work toward a single, unified nation. Slavery was despicable, but timing was everything in politics. The South couldn’t be changed, especially with the power Virginia wielded at this convention. The choice was between dissolution and compromise. Sherman believed that the nation must be held together, or far greater evils would ravage the people of every region.

  Sherman left Mrs. Marshall’s and hurried toward the City Tavern, eager because Paterson had refused to discuss substantive issues until his other delegates had arrived. Now they were finally here, giving the convention its requisite seven states. Things would start in earnest tomorrow.

  Sherman felt disappointed in his progress since Franklin’s party seven days ago. A successful appeal to Washington for a Committee of the Whole represented his sole accomplishment. Sherman hoped that tonight they could hammer out a rough agreement on an alternative plan. New England was still sparsely represented. Even his fellow delegate from Connecticut, Oliver Ellsworth, hadn’t arrived yet.

  His thoughts turned to Madison. During the past week, Sherman had avoided him. He wanted their first encounter to serve a purpose. Besides, any preliminary conversations would be useless. The Virginians didn’t hide their intent because they had the votes, and Madison’s political skills would prevent him from accidentally revealing any nuances around their strategy.

  Sherman put his thoughts away as he approached the City Tavern, which compared with the Indian Queen in prestige but not in size. The Indian Queen sprawled across several buildings, accommodating many more guests, but more important, its stables could shelter carriages as well as horses, and the outbuildings housed the servants and slaves accompanying rich boarders.

  The broad steps of City Tavern led to an elegant central hall with rooms to either side. A bar and coffeehouse occupied the back of the ground floor. When he entered, a doorman directed him to a private room on the second floor.

  Sherman knocked and entered to find William Paterson, David Brearley, and Churchill Houston looking morose as they hung over their tankards of ale. These were his allies?

  “Gentlemen, welcome to Philadelphia. You have little idea how happy your arrival makes me.”

  “It’s a pleasure to see you again, Roger,” Brearley said as he stood to shake hands. “We thought you might not have received our message.”

  “I returned late to my boardinghouse. I felt entrapped and abandoned, so I assuaged my ill temper with the purchase of a new pair of shoes,” Sherman said cheerfully, turning to greet Houston. “Now I regret the extravagance because you’ve lifted my spirits.”

  Looking dour, Houston shook Sherman’s hand. “I’m glad we have a clever fellow like you on our side. Have you charted a path out of this Virginian quagmire?”

  “I see William has been regaling you with the evil doings of our Virginian brethren. Don’t despair. They’re far too smart for their own good. Political conventions are unpredictable and abound in detours. We’ll have ample opportunity to spoil their plans.”

  “I hope you’re right, Roger,” Paterson said. His darting eyes refused to remain on any individual for more than a few seconds. “Those praetorian conspirators are drunk with ambition—and they own enough votes to force their will on an unsuspecting populace.” Paterson waved his hand to encompass their small gathering. “This feeble group is the last defense against an assault on our liberty.”

  “Not quite,” Sherman said. “Delaware supports us. Our three states against their four is not an insurmountable challenge. We need to turn but one state to gain advantage.”

  “You make it sound easy, but more states will arrive.”

  “Yes, but by my estimation, their advantage will remain one state.”

  “It’s unfortunate that Rhode Island has refused to send a delegation,” Brearley said. “We could easily deadlock this convention.”

  Using the popular sobriquet for the state, Sherman said, “We need allies, but we’re better off without Rogue Island. She sails the path to anarchy.”

  Paterson held tight to his melancholy. “The Virginians pose a dire threat to all that I hold dear.” Then he asked in a plaintive voice, “What do we do, Roger?”

  “Order supper, of course,” Sherman answered with a broad smile.

  This, at last, drew some laughter from the group. They had remained standing during the exchange and now took seats to the sound of scraping chairs. Brearley rang a bell, which instantly brought a steward.

  After ordering, Sherman cheerfully recited his adventures with the boot maker and the money changer. He had fun with the story, exaggerating the money changer’s avarice and repugnance. He meant it as a practical example, but Paterson failed to see the parallel. Impatiently, he brought the conversation back to the convention.

  “Roger, we must move to business.”

  “Of course, William. I apologize for the distraction.” Sherman scooted his chair toward the table to signal that he was ready to get serious. “I propose we draw up the general terms of a counterproposal to the Virginia Plan.”

  They spent the next several hours debating the points of their plan. Sherman drew from memory amendments to the Articles that he had advanced several years earlier, but he made sure that everyone else had ample opportunity to include their own ideas. His collegial approach accelerated the planning and generated little disagreement.

  Finally, they achieved their limited goal. The outline granted Congress additional powers, levied import duties and stamp taxes, regulated trade, based taxes on free inhabitants instead of property, and provided for state courts to try cases, with appeals to a national judiciary chosen by the executive. If states didn’t comply with tax requisitions, then the national government could collect the taxes directly. The executive consisted of more than one person chosen by Congress.

  After a review of their night’s work, Paterson said, “I feel good for the first time since arriving in this vulgar city. I can support this government, and it should appeal to everyone except the monarchists—and they can be damned to hell.”

  Houston asked, “When can we present it?”

  Sherman bristled at the question. Impatience dashed more good legislation than any other cause. During the course of the evening, he had enjoyed a sumptuous meal, starting with extraordinary truffle soup. He now casually pulled the finale of nuts toward him, pretending deep consideration before answering. He picked up a walnut with his thumb and index finger. He appeared to examine it like a precious stone as he made up his mind.

  “We should share our thoughts immediately with Delaware. But we should wait before exposing our strategy to others. Let the Virginians lay out their plan and arouse fear amongst the sensible delegates. That’ll be our cue to present our alternative.”

  “By then it may be too late,” Paterson said. “Virginia has six states aligned with her.”

  “We won’t wait until an official vote. We’ll start as a Committee of the Whole, so we’ll present in committee, but not immediately. In the meantime, we must write it out as a formal resolution, gather support behind closed doors, and discredit their plan.”

  Paterson didn’t look satisfied, so Sherman tried another tack. “William, you must author this plan. Connecticut is neither small nor large. Delaware, New Hampshire, and Maryland distrust us. They fear we might jump to the other side. This must be the New Jersey Plan. Only you can garner the necessary support.”

  Wearing a thoughtful expression, Paterson asked, “How do you propose we proceed?”

  His ruse had worked.

  “First, we must present our outline to George Read. Let Delaware adjust the plan around the edges. That’ll encourage them to own the design. Maryland and New Hampshire haven’t arrived yet, so we’ll decide when to bring them in later. As soon as Delaware agrees, you must scribe the resolutions in your hand. Last, we should meet daily to measure events and plot our course.”

  “Including Delaware?”

  Feigni
ng careful consideration, Sherman said, “Yes, I think it is time to solidify our coalition. What do you think?”

  “I agree,” Paterson said. “We must provide leadership.”

  “Excellent. Gentlemen, the hour is late for a tired old man. I suggest we meet after tomorrow’s opening session. William, what time would you like us to gather?”

  “We meet here for supper. I’ll invite Read.”

  “Good idea. I can’t remember a finer meal. When tomorrow’s session gets deadly dull, I’ll remind myself that I will soon be enjoying a superb supper with stalwart companions.”

  As Sherman washed his face at a basin in his room, he marveled that appeals to vanity worked best with the least capable. No matter. He had won what he wanted at an inconsequential price. The plan they had formulated met his goals. The New Jersey Plan strengthened the national government while preserving the sovereignty of Connecticut.

  Sherman went to the writing shelf to tell Rebecca the good news. He hadn’t received a response from his last letter, but that wasn’t unusual because the round trip took more than a week. She wanted him to complete his business and return home, so she’d be happy to hear that the convention would finally start.

  Sherman wrote six pages but omitted mentioning his new shoes. With their limited funds, she wouldn’t be sympathetic to his indulgence. Sherman vowed to tighten up on other expenditures. He was grateful that New Jersey had bought his extravagant meal this evening.

  As he dressed in his nightshirt, Sherman felt confident about tomorrow’s opening session. Madison had made a fatal error. Even if he passed his Virginia Plan, the national Congress and the states would never ratify it. His was an idealist’s mistake: purity of principle overriding common and political sense. Sherman’s plan remained obedient to the instructions from Congress. Madison’s plan dissolved Congress. When the alternatives were laid out to responsible delegates, they would recoil at the attack against their authorizing agency.