Tempest at Dawn

by James D. Best

  “They’ll be pleased to hear that.”

  “Mr. Sherman, do not trifle with me. You know what I mean.”

  “We never discussed this issue. It’s not part of our agreement.”

  “You cannot parse clauses like a pettifogger. Our word, as gentlemen, is supposed to be our bond.”

  For the first time in recent memory, Sherman felt his face flush with rage. “Mr. Butler, no one has ever challenged my word. Ever. I’ll abide by our accord, but I won’t allow you to dictate Connecticut’s position on all matters.”

  Sherman could see by Butler’s face that he knew he had gone too far. When he spoke, it was with an even tone. “So be it, Roger, but don’t split hairs. We didn’t sit down and negotiate a contract. We promised each other to support our respective state’s interests.” Sherman said nothing. “The next time you consider a change in position, would you be kind enough to check with me to see if it is a crucial cog in our scheme?”

  Sherman hesitated to regain his composure and then said, “If I deem it relevant to our accord, I’ll seek you out.”

  Butler almost said something, then shook his head and walked away. As Sherman watched him retreat, he reminded himself that political alliances were as fragile as chalkware. He had to be careful.

  Chapter 34

  Tuesday, August 16, 1787

  Madison felt a rush of excitement as he entered the shop, his third visit since he had arrived in Philadelphia. He was ready to order. The price would be high, but he wanted this extravagance more than anything else offered by the indulgent city. Tom Jefferson surrounded himself with clever novelties, but he didn’t have one of these, and Madison looked forward to making him jealous.

  The shop looked like a disheveled laboratory. David Rittenhouse, a renowned astronomer and mathematician, built clocks, surveyor tools, and scientific instruments. Cluttered benches edged the periphery of his workroom, and each bench displayed mechanical pieces strewn haphazardly around half-built contraptions. The laboratory made Madison’s heart pump with the promise of magic. In addition to his other endeavors, Rittenhouse had built the first telescopes in America, and Madison had come to buy one of these miraculous instruments.

  “Welcome, Mr. Madison. Did you get your father’s permission?”

  Madison winced. It had taken several beseeching letters to get his father’s approval, but he didn’t like to be reminded who controlled his purse. “An expenditure this large required consultation.”

  “Of course,” Rittenhouse said.

  Madison picked up a piece of beveled glass and moved it back and forth in front of his eye. “How long?” Madison asked.

  “About eight weeks.” Rittenhouse waved his arm to encompass the shop. “I have a large backlog.” He looked as disheveled as his shop. In his midfifties, he had become a fixture in the city since his arrival seven years before. A close friend of Franklin, he had quickly established himself as one of the intellectual leaders of Philadelphia and a prominent member of Franklin’s American Philosophical Society.

  “Damn. I wanted to take it with me when I return to Montpelier.”

  “The convention goes well?”

  “I’m not allowed to say, but it won’t take eight weeks.”

  Madison walked over to a bench that held a partially finished telescope. With the back of his fingers, he caressed a shiny brass tube. “Who’s this telescope for?”

  “The Philosophical Society. I’m sorry, I’ve made commitments.”

  “Perhaps they can wait?” Madison picked up a machined brass ring that was pretty enough to adorn a lady’s wrist. “I can be generous.”

  “I can’t break my promise.”

  Madison carelessly flung the ring back onto the bench, where it pinged against the tube and then briefly spun like a child’s top. “How noble of you.”

  When Madison turned, Rittenhouse looked angry. “If you had ordered on your first visit, you’d have your telescope by now.”

  Madison deserved that. He had allowed his disappointment to make him rude. “I apologize; I didn’t mean to insult you.”

  Rittenhouse relaxed. “Never mind. I feel complimented that you want my instrument so badly. I’ll rush it.”

  “Thank you. If it takes eight weeks, you know where to post it.”

  “Montpelier, Orange County.”

  “May I visit occasionally?”

  “I don’t encourage customers in the shop—but for you, anytime. I may not get started for weeks though.”

  “You’ll be completing this one. I’d like to watch.”

  Rittenhouse looked wary and then affected a polite smile. “You don’t intend to supply the Virginia market, do you?”

  This triggered a genuine laugh. “I’m all thumbs. I merely hope to fix simple things that might break.”

  “In that case, come ahead. I’ll explain some of my other devices. Give me opportunity, and I’ll own your next tobacco crop.”

  “Perhaps Virginia’s entire crop. I intend to drive my neighbors green with envy. Expect a rash of orders from the Old Dominion.”

  “In that case, I shall include my calculations for the transit of Venus. That should impress them.”

  “That would be very gracious of you.”

  Madison could tell that he had repaired the damage of his intemperate remark, so he picked up his hat, preparing to leave. “Have a pleasant afternoon, Mr. Rittenhouse.”

  When he turned to lift the door latch, Rittenhouse’s voice gave him pause. “I’ll build you a good telescope, Mr. Madison. You build us a good government.”

  “Yes, sir. I shall do my best.”

  “How?”

  “Indirectly, my dear boy, indirectly. When you want to catch a big fish, you must first capture the bait.” Gouverneur Morris took on a self-satisfied look. “We’ll not attack the slave trade directly but attack another piece of the equation.”

  “The prohibition to tax exports?” Madison asked.

  “I knew you were a clever lad.”

  Madison grew irritated with Morris’s phony gregariousness. He had been the architect of this convention and was tired of being treated like a junior partner. Morris had invited him and Wilson over to his home to plot and scheme, a pastime Morris relished. Despite his rakish image, Morris’s home was formal and dignified. Unlike Robert, this Morris did not use a rococo painting to lend a ribald touch to the decor. Gouverneur Morris needed no other props than his personality.

  “What part do I play?” Madison asked.

  “We want one of your logical arguments.”

  Madison grew wary. “When?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  “That puts me far too much in front.”

  “I understood you had promised,” Wilson said, with a shade of haughtiness.

  Madison turned toward the owlish man. “I said I’d help after you created a breach.”

  “Don’t worry, my boy, we shall precede you and blast a big hole in their lines.”

  “You ask a lot.” Madison sat thoughtful. “There’s a price.”

  Wilson looked annoyed, but Morris rocked with laughter. “Of course, of course. There’s always a price. What do you want?”

  “A stronger check on the legislature.”

  Wilson gave Madison a condescending look. “That’s a piddling price.”

  Madison felt embarrassed at the dismissal, but he wanted this more than anything else at the moment. “Then you’ll agree to a three-quarters vote to override a veto?”

  “If that’s what you want, then you must demand an absolute executive veto.”

  “That’s already been defeated.” As soon as the words escaped, Madison regretted them. He wanted the respect of these men, and he would never get it if he always let logic dictate his thinking. “Let me be clearer. Since an absolute veto has already been rejected, we need a red herring. I’ll propose that laws must be approved by both the executive and the Supreme Court.”

  “Splendid. We’ll make a backroom brawler of you yet.” />
  Madison bristled. Where was Morris when he had pulled every ploy possible to get this convention assembled? Who had convinced Washington to leave his precious Mount Vernon? Morris had never even espoused a consistent theory of government, yet he believed himself the master and Madison the student. Suddenly, a realization struck Madison. It didn’t matter. Every politico used others to get what they wanted, even if it meant turning a blind eye to their fellow conspirators’ frailties.

  Madison sat a bit straighter, in complete control of his emotions. “Thank you, Gouverneur. You’re a master at dissimulation. I’ve learned more from you than from any other delegate.” Madison gave a tip to an imaginary hat. “I hope I can count on additional lessons.”

  Morris puffed up like a satiated rooster. “That you may, my boy, that you may.”

  Madison shifted his gaze. “With Mr. Wilson’s fine legal mind and your shrewd navigation, I’m confident we’ll capture the opposition flag.”

  “Intelligence has not been dealt equally,” Wilson preened.

  Madison sat amazed. This was far too easy. Men, especially men of this stature, should not be susceptible to such thin flattery. But they were. The evidence sat before him. He decided that Morris had indeed taught him an invaluable lesson.

  On Wednesday morning, Madison moved that both the president and the Supreme Court have veto power over legislation. He felt bitter when his motion went down to overwhelming defeat without rousing the slightest argument.

  As he brooded, Gouverneur Morris—never one to accept defeat easily—raised the ante. “I move for an absolute executive veto.”

  Madison watched Sherman stand in his typically rigid posture. “Gentlemen, I understand the concern, but one man cannot be wiser than two-thirds of both houses.”

  After additional speeches, the coordinated effort of Madison, Morris, and Wilson finally exhausted the delegates, causing them to vote for a three-quarters veto override. Madison knew the harsher restraint on the legislature had not passed due to reasoned persuasion, but because the assembly wanted to move to a different subject. Still, he felt satisfied. A victory, however achieved, was a victory nonetheless.

  The next clause was the power to tax. Rutledge gave an angry speech, concluding with, “I’ll vote for the tax clause on the condition that parts protecting slavery remain intact.”

  Gouverneur Morris leaped up without being recognized. “It’s not equitable to tax imports without taxing exports!”

  Washington gaveled Morris down, and an uncomfortable silence ensued. Madison waited for Wilson or Morris to push the issue, but when neither made a move, he signaled that he wanted to speak.

  He picked up a piece of paper from his table. “Gentlemen, I oppose a prohibition against export taxes.” Consulting his notes, he presented the logical arguments to support his case. Wilson followed with a long speech that reinforced his points. Madison hoped that their strategy of wearing down resistance would work again.

  Gouverneur Morris took his turn. “Every country taxes the exportation of unique articles. France taxes her wines and brandies.” As was his habit, Morris thumped across the front of the chamber. “Export taxes can also be used as a weapon. If we impose a tax on lumber, for example, we can punish the West Indies for restricting our other trade.”

  Sherman displayed an atypical tone of exasperation. “Gentlemen, I thought this matter settled. Imports are taxed and exports are not. Complexity renders an equal tax on exports by region impractical.” Sherman moved to postpone and the assembly quickly agreed.

  “That’s what you call a big hole in their lines?”

  “That was a trial salvo, my dear boy. Something to rattle the troops. I didn’t expect you to charge in.”

  “I thought Washington’s gavel forced your retreat.”

  The genial Morris countenance flashed anger. Madison took pleasure in setting him on his heels. Perhaps he could grow to like backroom politics.

  He felt even more pleased when Wilson added, “You left us in the lurch.”

  The rare Morris anger flashed between the two men. “Strategy is important, but timing is everything. You jumped the bugle.”

  “I distinctly remember that you said today.” Madison could not help throwing salt on the cut.

  “And I distinctly remember that your price was a three-quarters override. I got you a stronger veto, but your feeble foray put the delegates into a slumber.”

  Madison felt the sting and remembered why he didn’t like combative politics. He decided to revert to the tactic that had worked so well the night before. “You’re right, Gouverneur. I may have been overanxious.”

  Morris laid a hand on Madison’s shoulder. “Not to worry, my boy, no harm. These naughty little trysts always start with some awkward fumbling before they reach a fluid crescendo.”

  Madison returned a smile and ignored the disdain on Wilson’s face. When Madison stood to leave, Morris grabbed his attention. “The general wants us at Ben’s courtyard.”

  “When?” Wilson sniffed.

  “Now.”

  Damn it. It was bad enough that Gouverneur played the Kapellmeister of their little troupe, but it jarred Madison to be summoned by this braggart. After all, Washington was a Virginian. When would it be his turn to fetch Gouverneur to the great man’s presence?

  Wilson looked anxious. “Is the general upset with our position on export taxes?”

  “I don’t think so,” Morris said. “All the senior delegates will be there.”

  “Is there a crisis I’m unaware of?” Wilson asked in an annoyed voice.

  “That’s best left for the gathering,” Morris answered.

  The response pleased Madison because it meant that Morris didn’t know why they had been called together. “Who else will be present?”

  “Robert and Alex,” Morris said.

  “Virginia, Pennsylvania, and New York,” Wilson mused. “The three big states. Something’s in the wind.”

  “The important part is that we’re not meeting at Robert Morris’s home,” Madison said. He answered their bewildered expressions by explaining, “The general wants Ben’s advice.”

  “Why do you say that?” Wilson asked.

  “Franklin’s health limits his mobility. When Washington wants his counsel, he goes to the doctor.”

  Madison enjoyed the look on their faces. His logical mind, plus knowledge of the habits of the two patricians, had momentarily placed him on an equal plane with these two men who saw themselves as master politicians.

  Morris waved his arm in an elaborate gesture that meant they should depart. “We’ll know soon enough.”

  Washington stood to greet the new arrivals. After Madison, Morris, and Wilson took seats, he said, “Thank you for coming. I won’t keep you in suspense. I asked you here to discuss Clinton.”

  “What mischief has he been up to?” Morris asked.

  “Our fear is that we only know the half of it,” Franklin answered. “Since Clinton pulled Yates and Lansing from the convention, he’s been spreading ugly rumors.”

  “And we can’t violate our secrecy oath to dispute them,” Washington inserted.

  “They violated it,” Hamilton nearly yelled.

  “Did they?” Washington gave Hamilton a stare that Madison wouldn’t want aimed at him. “The rumors describe a convention I’ve not attended.”

  In a level tone, Hamilton said, “They violated the intent of the secrecy accord.”

  “And how should we punish them?” Washington asked. When he received no answer, he said, “Dr. Franklin has been informed that articles will appear in all the major newspapers alleging that we intend to anoint the second son of George III as king.”

  “Clinton also called out the state militia,” Franklin added.

  “To what purpose?” Wilson seemed startled.

  Franklin shrugged. “Ostensibly for training.” He removed his spectacles to rub his eyes. “The worrisome part is that New York’s militia is rife with Cincinnati.”


  “Training be damned. He means to intimidate us—or perhaps worse,” Hamilton said with disgust.

  Wilson looked at Franklin. “We must prepare for attack.”

  Now Franklin looked annoyed. “Who should prepare? The guards surrounding the State House?”

  “The Pennsylvania militia.” Wilson looked determined.

  About ten years before, a mob had stormed Wilson’s home because he had defended Robert Morris in a corruption case. Wilson had gathered thirty friends and fought off what could only be called a riot. Ever since, Wilson preached meeting force with force.

  Madison felt compelled to defuse the growing alarm. “If I may, I think the message is aimed internally. Clinton wants to show New York that they have the military strength to remain independent. He’s started the ratification engagement before we have even laid ink to parchment.”

  “That makes more sense,” Franklin said. “Clinton’s a rogue, not reckless. He’d never threaten war against the combined forces of the other states.”

  Wilson scowled. “Don’t underestimate Clinton’s treachery.”

  Hamilton stood and paced in front of the men. “If Jemmy’s right, Clinton’s militia is still a threat, perhaps not immediately, but in the years ahead.” He stopped in front of Washington. “Let me return to New York and start a campaign to impeach the son of a bitch. Powerful men have grown tired of paying tribute to that martinet.”

  Franklin took on a thoughtful pose. “There’s risk. Clinton could make public our negotiations with Congress.”

  “The doctor’s right—we must engage on the periphery.” Washington looked up at Hamilton. “Alex, I’d like you to return to New York. Investigate this newspaper story and see if you can determine its source. Also, ascertain the risk from your fellow members in the Cincinnati.”

  Hamilton retook his chair. “Of course, sir. Anything else?”

  “Wrap your extraordinary mind around the New York ratification. Clinton knows we must have them in the union. Figure out a way to mitigate the price.” Washington patted Hamilton on the knee. “You’re a good warrior, Alex, but this battle will be fought with your other admirable quality—your wits.”