“Roger, you’re worrying me. You were confident until now.”
Sherman used the heels of his hands to rub his eyes. He turned a bloodshot gaze at Ellsworth. “I looked at the Virginians’ plot as a challenge to outwit. I’ve been reminded of the stakes.” Sherman took his hands away from his face. “This is political war. The weapons are guile, wit, and force. We have ample quantities of the first two, but the last is in short supply.”
“A storm’s force can dissipate when it blows too hard too early,” Ellsworth offered.
“Don’t underestimate a revolutionary cloudburst. It can wash away everything in its path—combatants and bystanders.”
‘I’m sorry, Roger, but I have a hard time seeing Madison as a world-shaking radical.”
“Then you’ve not grasped the essence of the man.”
Ellsworth shrugged. “We don’t have much time. What should we do?”
“There’s no use scouring these notes any further. We know the peaks and the valleys are of no consequence. Today’s debate will reveal the extent of their support.” Sherman threw himself out of the chair. “We should leave. I want to arrive at the State House early.”
As they entered the State House, Sherman grabbed Ellsworth’s elbow. “There’s George Read. Go shore up his confidence. Remind him that we’re in committee. I’ll talk to Paterson.”
Ellsworth sped toward Read, while Sherman casually wandered into Paterson’s line of sight.
“Roger, may I have a word with you?”
“Of course, William. Let’s walk the yard.”
The men walked past a sentry and stepped out into the bright sunlight. With the vote to hold the proceedings secret, sentries had arrived in the Central Hall and outside the building. More bothersome, the chamber windows had been nailed shut. The convention had progressed to a serious state. This morning, Sherman noticed that even the cobblestone streets had been layered with sod to quiet the carriages as they passed.
Looking around, Sherman noticed that several groups walked the perimeter of the expansive walled State House yard. It had recently been landscaped with serpentine gravel walkways, grass plots, and hundreds of elm trees and shrubs. The slender trees and tiny shrubs gave the yard a barren appearance.
Buildings were under construction in the two corners bracketing the State House. To the east, a new county courthouse employed dozens of tradesmen. Along Fifth, set back somewhat from the corner, the American Philosophical Society had laid the foundation for their permanent home. The Society had also positioned an observatory designed by Dr. Franklin in the center of the yard. Sherman had been told that this apparatus mapped the rotation of Venus across the night sky. The Philosophical Society was yet another Franklin enterprise. The man seemed omnipresent in Philadelphia.
Despite the yard's lean appearance, Sherman surmised that it would be a popular respite from the stuffy chamber. Sherman veered right to follow the pattern set by the other delegates. Everyone seemed automatically to move in a counterclockwise direction, and each group kept a respectful distance from the men in front of them.
“Thank you for letting me vent my anger last night.”
“That’s a friend’s obligation,” Sherman said.
Paterson rotated his head and flitted his eyes as if fearful of a flanking attack. “I thought I was prepared for their worst, but I was shocked to see how much I underestimated their malice.”
“Their plan exceeds my fears as well.”
“What are we to do?”
Sherman did not answer at first. After they had taken about six paces, he said, “Our duty is to protect our respective states and Congress. They seek to disband both.” After a pause, Sherman added, “I underestimated the importance of secrecy.”
“They had the votes. There was nothing we could do.”
“You saw the sentries?”
“Yes.” As they turned a corner, Paterson looked at Sherman. “Roger, is it treason to remain silent?”
“Let’s see today’s reaction.”
Robert Morris had approached Sherman and told him confidentially about the threat of a military insurrection by the Society of the Cincinnati. Sherman doubted that this intelligence had been shared with Paterson.
“What about our plan?”
“Too early. Pinckney’s plan will be entombed in committee. To avoid the same fate, our timing must be perfect.”
“I’ll accept your leadership on this.”
Sherman almost missed a step. Until now, Paterson had been fighting Sherman for the leadership of the small states. Desperation could change a man’s outlook. They had by now walked the circumference of the yard, and the clock on the State House wall reminded Sherman that they must reenter the chamber.
Sherman turned to Paterson and clasped his upper arm. “William, don’t despair. We’ve not done badly so far. Political tides ebb unexpectedly. With you on our side, I’m confident we’ll prevail.”
“Thank you, Roger.” Paterson’s posture straightened slightly. “I’ll do my best to disrupt their merry little march.”
Roger Sherman took his seat. Randolph again read the Virginia Plan. When he had finished, Sherman felt his body tense—the debate was about to begin. Gouverneur Morris hitched to the front of the chamber. Shifting his weight to his wooden leg, he grabbed both lapels and gazed about the room.
“Gentlemen, I’d make a motion to postpone debate on the plan until we consider the following resolutions.
“One, that a union of the states based on the Articles of Confederation will not accomplish the goals of our meeting.
“Two, that no treaty among the states, as individual sovereignties, can build an adequate government.
“Three, that a national government ought to be established, consisting of a supreme legislative, a supreme executive, and a supreme judiciary.”
Sherman scribbled, They’re asking for a vote to overthrow the government, and passed the note to Ellsworth.
Ellsworth read it with an ashen face.
Morris’s motion to postpone consideration of the Virginia Plan received an immediate second. On the call for a vote, Ellsworth turned to Sherman and asked, “Now what?”
Sherman pulled out a piece of paper, tore it in half, and scratched out something. He folded the half-sheet and handed it to Ellsworth, saying, “Wander over and slip this to Read.”
Ellsworth got up immediately, not waiting for Sherman to explain the contents of the note.
After a unanimous vote to postpone the Virginia Plan, Sherman sat alert, anxious to discover the sentiment of the chamber. A series of delegates criticized the first proposition. Sherman felt heartened that others believed the Articles could be amended.
Sensing the mood, the Virginia coalition moved to the less controversial third proposition. Sherman could feel the collective relief, but instead of quickly endorsing a three-branch government, debate grew even more raucous over the meaning of the words national and supreme.
Sherman wondered if he should buy time by letting the debate continue or ask for the floor to center debate on the real issue. Before he could decide, Pinckney gained the floor, appearing to have read Sherman’s mind.
“Mr. Randolph, a question hangs over this chamber. If you’d be so kind, sir, would you please provide us with a straightforward answer? Do you intend to abolish the state governments?”
The abrupt question flattened the chamber’s rancor. The stunned delegates sat breathless, appalled by the audacious challenge. Randolph looked unsettled as he slowly rose.
“Mr. Pinckney, I shall, of course, give you a straightforward answer. I believe the outline of the proposed system is clear.”
As Randolph started to sit, Pinckney leaped to his feet. “That response doesn’t answer my question. If you please, Mr. Randolph … do you intend to abolish the state governments?”
“Mr. Pinckney, I apologize if my answer seemed insufficient.” Randolph stood beside his table, appeared to ruffle through some papers, and then looked up
to say, “I haven’t made up my mind. I’m open to any discussion which might throw light on this important subject.”
With this, Randolph took his seat and pretended to sort papers again, in the hope that Pinckney would permit his retreat.
Pinckney rose again. “Mr. President, I doubt that Congress authorized a discussion of a system built on principles different from the Articles of Confederation. This collective body has no authority to veer from our instructions.”
Without challenging Randolph further, Pinckney sat. The room remained still as everyone waited to see what would next unfold. Morris was recognized again. Sherman knew Morris wouldn’t equivocate.
“Gentlemen, please, we’re seasoned politicians. There is no need to evade the question. Let’s be clear: our proposal is for a supreme government, one with compulsive authority.” Morris walked across the front of the chamber, engaging all the delegates. “You may recoil from such a bold statement, but in all of history, there’s been but one supreme power and one only.”
Morris thumped his wooden leg with the force of a gavel. “Gentlemen, the Articles are based on myth and fable. I propose we begin to address our business with a heady dose of reality. As a supreme government over all the people, our system will act on individuals, not the states. Any intermediary would interfere.”
Before he took his seat, Morris said disdainfully, “You now have your straightforward answer.”
It was time for Sherman to speak. Standing at his place, he said, “There can be no doubt that Congress must be granted additional powers. The crisis is real. Dissolution threatens. But gentlemen, I implore you, don’t squander what may be our sole opportunity to right the situation. If we deviate from our instructions, if we laden our proposals with coercive national powers, if we ignore the spirit of our Revolution, the states will reject our work.
“Shall we lose our sole opportunity due to overzealous ambition? The track we choose in these early days will set the course for the duration. Let’s ponder this track with care.”
Read moved to postpone debate on the resolution for a supreme national government. Sherman was pleased to hear Pinckney second the motion, but he was displeased to see the motion defeated. The Virginians didn’t hesitate to use force, the third political weapon.
Butler immediately called for a vote to approve a supreme national government, signaling apparent discord within the South Carolina delegation, but before Sherman could think it through, the motion passed, with only Connecticut voting nay. It disappointed Sherman that his allies failed to see the significance of the vote.
Filled with victory, the large state alliance went straight to the Virginia Plan’s most controversial resolution. With the majority on their side, the Virginians struck hard, intent on vanquishing the opposition.
The secretary read the second resolution. “The rights of suffrage in the national legislature ought to be proportioned to the quotas of contribution, or to the number of free inhabitants.”
A long debate ensued within the large state alliance. They vigorously argued over the respective virtues of representation based on taxes or people. Numerous alternate resolutions were proposed. All were postponed.
Sherman spotted the chink in their armor. At first, he thought that they were giddy with their early victory and had charged in an uncoordinated assault, but as the dispute continued, he almost slapped his forehead. This discord within their alliance was not about nuanced words, but a deep chasm within their camp. The resolution would have been precisely worded had they a consensus. Sherman guessed the Pennsylvanians had insisted on the word free before inhabitants. The slave states had threatened to bolt, so they added an ambiguous reference to tax contributions. He had been wrong this morning: the valleys, as well as the peaks, cast vital signals.
Despite the revelation, Sherman felt annoyance. The large states were debating amongst themselves as if the small states had already been defeated. He bristled at their arrogance. Finally, the large states seemed to agree on an even less precise statement: “that the equal state suffrage established by the Articles of Confederation ought not to prevail in the national legislature, and that an equitable ratio of representation ought to be substituted.”
Sherman knew this delayed the argument, but more important, it moved debate from the chamber to a private tavern room. Just before the vote, Read gained the floor.
“Gentlemen, I move to postpone the point. If this motion is passed, Delaware must withdraw. My instructions are clear. We may not assent to any change in suffrage. It will be our unfortunate duty to retire.”
Ellsworth’s glance told Sherman that he had guessed the contents of the earlier note, and a glare from Washington signaled his sharp disapproval. Sherman hadn’t technically gone back on his word. Delaware’s instructions were beyond his influence.
A shaken Morris said, “Mr. Read, please weigh the consequences of your action. The secession of a state would raise an alarm throughout the country. It would signal grave discord to people outside. I implore you to reconsider.”
Madison gained the floor. “Fellow delegates, the justification for equal state suffrage disappears when a national government is put in place.”
Madison continued for several minutes, as if logic could sway George Read’s opinion. Then he offered the expedient of a vote on the sense of the members, rather than on the resolution.
“This is a ruse,” Read thundered. “If the sense of this assembly is to change state suffrage, I will follow my instructions.”
“Mr. Read,” Gouverneur Morris said, “I’ve read the Delaware instructions. I don’t believe they require a secession of her deputies.”
Read leaped to his feet. “Mr. Morris, it’s not up to Pennsylvania to interpret our instructions. The Delaware deputies are quite capable of reading.”
Others stood to argue that Delaware’s instructions left room for them to remain if they themselves didn’t vote for a change in suffrage. When it became obvious that Read refused to budge, the assembly adjourned.
“Will you gentlemen be needing anything else?”
“No, thank you, Howard.” Sherman took a sip of tea and found it to his liking. Howard had expertly coated the bottom of a cup with heavy crème, scraped a generous portion of sugar off a cone, and then poured scalding tea into the cup from a sufficient height to swirl the ingredients together.
“Howard?” Sherman’s voice brought the servant back from the central hall and into the parlor.
“Yes, sir.”
“Would you inform Mrs. Marshall that we’ll not be staying for dinner?”
“She’ll be sorely disappointed. The spring vegetables she bought today sent her into a flurry of cooking.”
“She’s a fine cook, but I’m afraid duty calls.”
“You’ll miss her famous apple pie.”
“Not if you put aside a piece for my breakfast.”
Howard gave a broad wink. “I’ll arrange it, sir.” And he disappeared.
“A capable man,” Ellsworth said.
Sherman looked up from his copy of the Virginia Plan. “What?”
“I said Howard is a capable man.”
“Yes, he is.” Sherman snapped the paper in his hand and went back to reading.
“You’re going to use slavery to break the large state coalition, aren’t you?”
“I’m trying to find the section of the plan you asked about.”
“You’d sacrifice Howard?”
Sherman let the paper fall into his lap. “Howard will be unaffected.”
“You know what I mean.”
“No plan will leave this convention that doesn’t protect slavery. Today, we got a glimpse of the chasm between Pennsylvania and South Carolina. Slavery’s the only wedge that can enlarge that gulf.”
“No guilt?”
“Let’s get back to this plan.” Sherman started to read again but then stopped. “Oliver, when this is over, we must work to outlaw slavery in Connecticut.”
The four
men sat around a square table. Sherman, Ellsworth, Paterson, and Read had caucused in a private room at the City Tavern.
“Today we taught the insurgents a lesson,” Paterson gloated.
“Today was no victory,” Sherman said.
“We foiled their plans.”
“We merely avoided disaster.”
“Everything they proposed was postponed.” Paterson patted Read on the back. “They retreated because the smallest state threatened to leave.”
“Everything was not postponed. If memory serves me right, the convention passed a resolution to form a supreme national government.”
Paterson looked puzzled. “Yes, but a separate legislature, executive, and judiciary are not unique.”
“You missed the strategy. The architecture’s inconsequential. They wanted to establish our purpose: to build a “supreme national” system. This principle frames everything we do from this point forward.”
“Roger, I think you exaggerate the—”
“No, William, I do not. All that remains is the mechanics.”
“I’m sorry, Roger, but you’ve lost me,” Read interjected. “Aren’t we here to design a stronger national government?”
“Not one that does away with the states. Congress is subservient to the states. Congress is their instrument to achieve common goals. Today, we voted to make the states subservient to the national government.”
“You sound alarmist,” Read said.
“That’s my intent. Think a minute. Congress is enfeebled by lack of funds and must depend on the generosity of the states.” Sherman paused. “Gentlemen, money’s the crux of today’s vote.”
Read shook his head. “I don’t see the connection.”
“A supreme national government can tax our citizens directly—without our permission and without consideration of our needs. Then we’ll be the enfeebled party, begging the supreme national government to be generous.” Sherman leaned toward Read. “George, how does this differ from being under the thumb of an English monarch?”
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