Tempest at Dawn

by James D. Best

  The chemist scratched his head. “We’ve tried everything.”

  “Wrap my order then. I’m in a hurry.”

  Madison opened a glass-fronted bookcase and extracted a heavy tome. As he examined the London Dispensatory, he realized that he had learned everything from books. “Which of these dispensatories is the best?”

  “Some like Shaw’s or Bate’s, but I think the one you’re holding’s superior.”

  “I’ll take it as well.”

  This request drew a dubious look from Wilcox. “It costs forty dollars. It’s for chemists.”

  Madison handed the shopkeeper the book. “I know.”

  “Mr. Madison, this will give you a long chalk. Would it be possible to settle at least part of your bill?”

  Madison tried to keep his face from showing his reaction. He was going through money fast and that meant he would need to write home. The money always came promptly, but he dreaded the accompanying remonstration to mend his spendthrift ways. He hated being dependent on his father’s largesse, but surviving in this expensive city on his miserly remuneration from Congress was impossible. Madison hefted the dispensatory. The book might contain clues to his health problems, so he reached for his purse and handed the chemist four gold sovereigns.

  Madison tucked the linen napkin into his breeches and ran his fingers along his waistline to smooth out any gathering. He looked up at the steward and ordered breakfast. “I’ll have boiled eggs, ham, and biscuits. And coffee, not tea.”

  “Yes, sir. Would the gentleman care for a waffle?”

  “Yes, thank you. With honey … after the eggs and ham.”

  “Of course, sir.”

  Madison scanned the Indian Queen’s dining room for an eating companion. He had risen early and encountered no one upon entering. Now he saw Pinckney standing in the doorway.

  Madison waved, and Pinckney sauntered over.

  “How fortuitous. I was looking for you,” Madison said. “Will you join me for breakfast?”

  “If we can discuss my plan.”

  With the flat of an uplifted palm, Madison pointed to the opposite chair. “That’s the subject I wish to discuss. But please, let’s wait until after coffee.”

  “So you need a morning lift. I thought you had no vices.”

  “Morning coffee is one of my minor vices. My major vices I conceal.”

  “And what might those be?”

  “If I tell you, they’ll no longer be concealed.”

  Pinckney’s mouth quivered a second, but then he laughed. “You invite my sarcasm—my most debilitating vice.” Pinckney shook out his napkin and let it float to his lap.

  “Randolph presents today. Are you prepared as well?”

  “For what? To present my plan?”

  “Yes.”

  “Today?”

  “Directly after Edmund.”

  Pinckney ignored Madison and caught the eye of a steward. He waved two fingers to summon him to their table. After an inquisition, Pinckney selected a meal with more amendments than a congressional bill and ordered coffee served immediately. The nonplussed steward instantly returned with a silver carafe.

  After taking a sip of coffee, Pinckney asked, “Will there be time?”

  “There’ll be no debate today, just presentation.”

  “Then I am ready.”

  “Excellent. We believe a fair hearing requires that both plans be presented together.”

  “Who’s we?”

  “I, uh, presented your request to Gen. Washington and a few others. It was received with enthusiasm, and they suggested you follow Edmund.”

  “When was this?”

  “Sometime over the weekend. I’ve been busy and forgot to see you. My apologies.”

  “Damn it, James, this is Tuesday. You had ample—”

  “Charles, I didn’t—”

  “Your actions are disingenuous.”

  “No! I didn’t mean to delay. If you’re not ready, we’ll make other arrangements.”

  “I’ll present today.” Pinckney stared at Madison. “But I’m not a novice. I recognize political connivance.”

  Madison met Pinckney’s intense glare. “Charles, I know how this looks, but there was no intent to catch you unawares. This is entirely my fault. You were busy with the Rules Committee. I should’ve searched you out. Please, I feel terrible.”

  Madison’s chagrin was real, but it emanated from underestimating Pinckney. Madison broke eye contact, ceding Pinckney a victory in their little contest.

  The steward approached with their meal. Sensing the tension, the steward worked swiftly and departed without a word. With his forearms situated on either side of his meal, Pinckney inspected his breakfast. Deciding that the steward had met his specifications, he lifted a knife and crisply tapped an egg to create a perfect crack one-third of the way down from the top. He lifted the top off in a single motion, deftly swirled the knife around the circumference, and slipped the egg into a small bowl. He replicated the little ceremony with a second egg.

  Picking up the salt, he stopped in midmotion, “James, eat. I shan’t stay angry.”

  “Again, I didn’t mean—”

  “Stop. But never treat me in this manner again.”

  “You have my word.”

  “Now that that’s settled, we can enjoy our breakfast. Are there any other plans?”

  “No. We’ll debate and select a course between the Virginia Plan and the South Carolina Plan.”

  “The ‘Pinckney Plan.’ South Carolina isn’t tribal like Virginia.”

  Did ego drive this remark, or had Pinckney been rebuffed by his own delegation? Either way, it was an astonishing statement. The Virginians only appeared unified to foreigners because they hid their dissensions.

  Madison picked up a knife and fumbled with his eggs. The rest of the meal proceeded in a bright mood, with Pinckney actually making him laugh at his sardonic portrayal of their fellow delegates. The man was entertaining. He was also a valuable ally and supporter of the republican cause. Madison had mishandled this episode, and he admonished himself not to make the same mistake again.

  “Gentlemen, our present government is weak.” Edmund Randolph had the attention of the entire chamber. “We cannot control the states’ dealings with foreign countries, we cannot field an army, we cannot raise revenue, and we cannot promote commerce.”

  Now Randolph dropped his voice and spoke with sincerity instead of bombast.

  “This is not to denigrate the authors of the Articles. Nothing better could’ve been obtained at the time. War required compromise, but these accommodations laid an unstable foundation. Now our task is to shore up our republican experiment with a foundation that will support our lofty ideals.”

  His voice rising again, Randolph announced his transition. “Gentlemen, I’ll now describe the fifteen resolves that will build a sustainable government.”

  Madison looked up from his journal—his private notes, not the official record. The secretary’s transcript would be terse, so Madison had decided to keep a complete journal. He could take a break from his note taking because the Virginia resolves sat before him in his own hand. Madison placed the cap on his inkwell.

  The day had started with the report from the Rules Committee. The convention quickly approved the report, including secrecy and a right to request a new vote on settled issues. That battle was past.

  Randolph had opened with a lengthy description of the crisis in the United States. The delegates wouldn’t be here now if they weren’t already aware of the problems the nation was facing, but Madison had urged the review to stiffen their will. Franklin had astutely suggested praise for the authors of the Articles of Confederation, because four of them, including Sherman, sat in the chamber.

  During the presentation, Washington wore a carefully neutral expression. Madison realized that, with his back to the delegates, he couldn’t measure their response. He considered turning around but took his cue from Washington.

  Randol
ph closed his oration to utter silence. Some delegates already knew the plan. Others sat stunned. Washington deftly called on Pinckney to present his proposal. Quickly moving to another subject would soften the blow and preclude debate, which would have only raised anguished protest. Innovations required time to be absorbed.

  Madison listened to Pinckney with interest, because their earlier confrontations had aroused his curiosity. He did not, however, remove the cap from his inkwell. Madison felt no need to record the elements of a plan destined for the abyss. Pinckney’s plan went beyond republican; it veered toward democratic. The people deserved a voice, but the cacophony of factions destroyed republics. Pinckney’s naïveté exposed his lack of research.

  Pinckney’s eloquent close did rouse polite applause, but Madison knew the proposal went too far to garner support. Good. Pinckney’s plan would make the Virginia resolves look cautious by comparison.

  The last order of business was to dissolve into a Committee of the Whole. Washington relinquished his chair until the official convention would reconvene. Madison worried that the absence of his stern countenance would lift a restraint from the incendiary members. The informality of the Committee of the Whole could incite combative debate.

  With adjournment, Madison stood respectfully with the other delegates as Washington marched out of the chamber. Tomorrow they would unfurl the sails for their great voyage.

  “No more dams I’ll make for fish;

  Nor fetch in firing

  At requiring

  Nor scrape trenchering, nor wash dish.

  ’Ban, ’Ban, Ca—Caliban

  Has a new master, get a new man.

  Freedom, hey-day! Hey-day, freedom! Freedom,

  hey-day, freedom!”

  “O brave monster! Lead the way.”

  Shakespeare’s clown scene closed the second act of The Tempest. Madison laughed. Gouverneur Morris rolled with merriment. Washington gave a rare uninhibited smile. Hamilton scowled.

  “The humor escapes me,” Hamilton said. “The Calibans of the world threaten liberty.”

  “Alex, it is but a play,” Washington said.

  “With a timely message.”

  “Alex, my good man, you must learn to relax,” Morris said. “Wonderful music, elaborate sets, an intriguing story.”

  “Mr. Morris, I’ll relax when—”

  Applause suddenly erupted from the orchestra seats. Madison looked down to see the audience standing with faces uplifted toward their box. Intermission had erupted into a spontaneous demonstration.

  Washington stood, stepped toward the rail, and acknowledged the accolade with a series of nods. His response spurred the audience to louder applause, so the general shifted to a more animated wave. With a kind expression, he held up both hands, palms out, to signal that he wished the tribute to end. The clapping gradually subsided as people took their seats or walked up the aisle toward the lobby. Looking relieved, Washington stepped back from the rail and scooted his chair into the recesses of the box.

  “The people regale me now, but in the dark moments of the war, I felt abandoned.”

  “They shift with the tide, while you anchor steadfast on solid shoals,” Hamilton said.

  “Alex, you make stubbornness sound like a virtue.”

  “Stubbornness is a virtue when you’re in the right. You adhere to principle when the people veer to expediency.”

  “Fame is merely landing on the side of victory.”

  Morris laughed. “A fickle populace does follow triumph. May I get you an ale, General?”

  “No, I’ll venture down on my own.”

  “Surely not. That audience will turn into a mob,” Hamilton said.

  “Mr. Hamilton, I’m not a deity.” He turned to Morris. “Will you join me, Gouverneur?”

  “Of course. I need to stretch my leg,” Morris said, giving a sharp rap to his wooden leg.

  After the two men had left, Hamilton asked, “What’s the theme of the play?”

  “Power and usurpation,” Madison answered.

  “No, it’s the folly of democracy.”

  “I disagree. The play illustrates our need to protect against unshackled demigods.”

  “The theme is the credulity of the masses. Caliban represents the ignorant that swallow a tyrant’s false promises. Democracy is the monster.”

  “That’s but a subplot. Shakespeare means to warn us to guard against the corrupting quest for power.”

  “Finally, we agree. But the lust for power is not restricted to the elite; the masses also contend. Which is more dangerous?”

  “Tell me.”

  “The masses. You saw the adulation directed toward the general, but given power, they’ll choose Stephano, the drunken butler, as their leader.”

  Madison shrugged. “Stephano would be inept, not evil.”

  Hamilton made a deprecating noise. “He’s already evil. He incites rebellion. Murder. You mean his ineptness would mitigate malfeasance.”

  “I suppose I do. Competence combined with evil presents a greater danger.”

  “Jemmy, democracies devour themselves.”

  Washington and Morris entered the box in a raucous mood. Washington had enjoyed his sojourn into an adoring crowd, and Morris enjoyed everything. Madison suddenly realized that the intermission had gone exceptionally long. Looking toward the stage, he saw a head jerk back after observing the general take his seat. The curtain lifted and the play resumed.

  The four men walked in pairs down Market Street. Washington and Morris took the lead, while the two disciples followed in their footsteps. Philadelphia spring evenings retained a nip, but it felt good to be outdoors in clean air.

  After the play, it had taken more than half an hour to break away from the well-wishers in front of the Opera House. Madison noticed that groups followed on either side of the street, no doubt anxious to discover which tavern the general would choose. Madison had heard that there were one hundred and seventeen taverns in the city. No wonder the theater crowd felt obligated to follow them. The street reverberated good cheer as it echoed the voices of happy people, punctuated by the tap, tap, tapping of Morris’s leg.

  Madison had enjoyed the play, but he thought it troubling. Life didn’t always end on a merry note.

  “What’s on your mind, Jemmy?”

  “Power and usurpation.”

  “Ha, shall we start our debate anew?” Hamilton asked.

  “It is a debate without resolution, like the argument between nature and nurture.”

  “Yet another theme. We could use Shakespeare at our convention. He knew men’s follies.”

  “Man’s follies and nobility. Man can be enlightened.”

  “All men? I think you napped during part of the play.”

  “I understand the ambiguity. I believe—I must believe—that man can be channeled for good.”

  “You’re mistaken. Wisdom cannot be shepherded by a system of checks and balances.”

  Madison turned to look at Hamilton. This last had not been said in his normal confrontational tone. He sounded forlorn. As if conscious of the departure, Hamilton rejoined with a challenge. “Have you deciphered ‘this thing of darkness’?”

  “The uneducated masses? The ones you believe must be led by an enlightened elite?”

  “Quite. You don’t turn the tiller over to an idiot.”

  “Your view is too dark.”

  “And far too serious, gentlemen,” Morris interjected over his shoulder. “Look at the merriment about you. The street is filled with chattering, happy people. Spring is in the air. A new beginning that bodes well for our endeavor. Alex, all is not hopeless.”

  “Mr. Morris, dear sir, a pint shall alter my dour mood.”

  “Hear! Hear! Let’s find a place to land and get Alex a dose of elixir.”

  Washington laughed and said, “Just around the corner, gentlemen.”

  “What impressed you, General?” Madison asked.

  “The skill with which the actors commanded
attention.”

  Chapter 11

  Wednesday, May 30, 1787

  “This is a coup!” Ellsworth exclaimed.

  Sherman and Ellsworth sat in Sherman’s room comparing notes on the Virginia Plan. Sherman had meant to spend the previous evening in a study of the proposal, but he had wasted the night trying to extinguish Paterson’s temper. Paterson refused to be mollified. Now, with breakfast behind them, they had only a short time to prepare for the day’s session.

  Sherman shook his head. “The states will never approve this plan.”

  “I think the fifteenth resolve means they intend to bypass the states.”

  Sherman slapped his notes against the arm of his chair. “Revolutionaries don’t ask permission. This plan’s like the Macaroni. Striking in appearance, but so outlandish people will never follow the fashion.”

  Ellsworth laughed at Sherman’s metaphor. The Macaroni were young fops who wore big wigs, little hats, tiny shoes, and quaint two-button coats. The popular Revolutionary song, “Yankee Doodle,” had mocked the erstwhile Macaroni. Turning serious, Ellsworth said, “The most worrisome part is that it destroys the equal vote for each state.”

  Sherman let his papers dangle over the arm of his chair. “The core of this plan is the power of the central government to veto state laws and use force against the states if they refuse to comply.” Lifting his notes to get the exact words, he read, “The government can ‘call forth the force of the union against any member of the union.’” Sherman snapped the papers at Ellsworth. “They mean to wage war against the states.”

  Ellsworth picked up his snuffbox, but before opening it, he said, “This plan usurps all state authority.”

  Sherman spoke almost to himself as he continued to rifle through his notes. “Only ‘in all cases to which the states are incompetent.’ I presume the Virginians believe themselves the only ones competent.” Sherman leaned forward. “Look at the judiciary. It’s broader than the Atlantic and, like the ocean, we see only the surface.” Sherman tossed his notes to the floor and extended his long legs. After a moment, he said quietly, “Combine an omnipotent judiciary with an absolute executive veto over state laws, and you nullify the states.” Sherman slowly shook his head. “The Virginians mean to pitch Connecticut into the ash heap.”