“Gouverneur counseled me to think further ahead.”
Franklin winked at Morris and said, “This from a man incapable of thinking beyond his next meal and wench?”
Morris rose and gave Franklin a gracious bow. “My good doctor, I must object. My female companions are of a higher class than wenches.”
Franklin’s eyes took on a glint that swept away the fatigue. “Mr. Morris, in my considerable experience, the difference between a lady and a wench has less to do with their position in society than their willingness to be put in a compromising position.”
As the three men laughed and bid their farewells, John assisted his aging, gout-ridden master into the house. Madison walked with Morris around the house and through the archway leading to Market Street, once again marveling at how well the surrounding buildings shielded the courtyard from the street’s bustle.
“The doctor looked tired,” Madison said.
Morris didn’t answer immediately. When he did, his voice sounded more solemn than normal. “Our nation may never know how fortunate it was to have him with us at this hour.”
On Saturday, King started by reading a committee recommendation. “The importation of such persons as the several states now existing shall think proper to admit, shall not be prohibited by the legislature prior to the year 1800, but a tax may be imposed at a rate not exceeding the average of the duties laid on imports.”
Madison liked the proposal but suspected that it went beyond what the South would accept. He was surprised when Pinckney, instead of objecting, made a motion to change the deadline for ending the slave trade from 1800 to 1808. Madison winced when Gouverneur Morris angrily said that the clause ought to be honest and use the word slave.
Sherman said, “I prefer the current wording. The old Congress avoided the use of the word slave because it offends people.”
He added in an unusually testy voice that the small duty showed that revenue was the purpose, not discouragement of the trade. When Sherman would not relent, the wording was changed to “a tax or duty may be imposed on such importation not exceeding ten dollars for each person.”
Madison gave a low whistle. He wanted to stop the trade, but ten dollars per head would do the job almost as well. It looked like an adequate compromise, especially if in later deliberations they rolled the twenty years back to a reasonable deadline.
“How does it feel to be a thousand dollars richer?”
“Excuse me?”
Pinckney plopped his portfolio onto Madison’s table and sat down. Madison was always the last to leave because he normally had additional notes to scribe.
“Mr. Madison, squire of Montpelier, you can’t deny that your hundred slaves have appreciated with this new tax.”
“The market determines the price of slaves, not taxes.”
“How naïve.”
“Mr. Pinckney, I don’t have time for your insolence.”
“How would you run your plantation without slaves?”
“With wage labor—indentured servants, if necessary.”
“You believe a seven-year slave moral?”
“He’s earning passage. A wage paid in advance.”
“Commercial passage costs more than a slave, and slaves last a lifetime—and they replicate. With very little urging on our part, I might add.”
“If they’re such a bargain, ten dollars ought not to harm such a lucrative enterprise.”
“The enterprise that benefits from this nasty tax is the sale of Virginia’s excess slaves to neighbors.”
“My slaves won’t leave Montpelier unless I free them.”
Pinckney picked up his portfolio. “Then they’ll surely be shackled for life.” Pinckney made an elaborate show of tipping an imaginary hat. “Good day, Mr. Madison. I’m so proud of you for using the personal pronoun. Often, one must measure progress in tiny steps.”
Madison sat dead still until Pinckney had left the chamber. After a few additional moments, he suddenly slammed the flat of his hand against the table.
On Wednesday, Butler proposed harsh wording for the fugitive slave clause. “If any person bound to service or labor in any of the United States shall escape into another state, he or she shall be delivered up to the person justly claiming their service or labor.”
The convention agreed to this wording to mollify states wounded by the ten dollar tax on slaves.
The next issue was ratification. The committee hadn’t specified the number of states required to put the new constitution into force. Wilson proposed seven, a majority of states. Sherman wanted ten. Mason suggested nine, and the assembly quickly passed the motion. Madison grew excited. When they finished the final touches, only nine states would be required to make this new Constitution the supreme law of the nation.
Gouverneur Morris suggested that state legislatures be instructed to call the conventions speedily. Morris said, “When it first appears, people will approve of our work, but by degrees, state officers will turn the popular current against the Constitution.”
Martin weaved to the front of the chamber and leaned against a table with the tips of his fingers. After steadying himself, he said derisively. “Mr. Morris is correct. After a time, the people will oppose it, but for different reasons. They’ll reject this travesty not because of unscrupulous state officers, but because they’ll come to know it. The people will ratify this Constitution only if caught by surprise.”
Mason asked to postpone debate on ratification. “I’d sooner chop off my right hand than put my signature to this Constitution. I recommend that the whole subject be brought before another general convention.”
“I heartily agree!” Gouverneur Morris yelled. “Yes, by all means, let’s convene once again in this dreadful room and wile away our lives in fruitless adventure.”
Madison tried to figure out what point had turned Randolph, Gerry, and Mason against the plan. They weren’t natural allies. He decided each man acted from different motivations.
Mason still smarted from the decision on a single executive. He had arrived in Philadelphia confident of an executive position in the new government, but he had no illusions that he could win against Washington—or outlive him.
Randolph was scared. He had lost touch with the mood in Virginia and didn’t have an inkling of what his constituents were thinking. The long convention had prevented him from putting his finger to the wind, and the man loathed taking a blind stand. Madison guessed he had already worked on public statements that would give him room to either support or fight ratification, depending on the reception back home.
Gerry was cantankerous, but it had to be more. He would have preferred a government in which the elite ruled. The man feared what he called “the leveling spirit.” Above all, this odd scarecrow of a man always aligned himself with whichever side seemed to be winning.
This realization brought Madison up short. Gerry had decided that the new Constitution would fail. Why? Mason and Randolph were one good reason. These two powerful Virginians could tip the state against the plan, and they had Patrick Henry in the wings, ready to mount the stage to slay the monstrous dragon from the North. Virginia split the country in the middle and would make it nearly impossible to form one nation if it stayed outside. The second most critical state was New York, obviously problematic under Clinton’s devious leadership.
Gerry’s cynical calculations caused Madison’s heart to beat so hard he had to concentrate on long, slow breaths to regain his composure. After he calmed down, Madison vowed to work relentlessly for ratification in New York and Virginia. They had come too far to lose it all in the closing stages.
When his mind returned to the proceedings, Sherman moved to refer the remaining issues to another committee. Madison gave a knowing glance at Morris when it was announced that they would both be members. This time, the composition showed balance. Although Sherman had Baldwin and Dickinson, Madison could count on Morris and King. Unfortunately, this put the mercurial Pierce Butler in a pivotal position.
It might not be Morris’s hyperbolic Armageddon, but the committee had all the hallmarks of a pitched battle between evenly matched forces.
Chapter 37
Friday, August 31, 1787
The Committee on Postponed Matters met in the Council Chamber, the small room on the second floor of the State House. Sherman had worked on the committees that wrote the Declaration of Independence and the Articles of Confederation, but this was the most important of his long career. A Committee of Style would eventually craft the language of the Constitution, but this one would finalize four months of work and make recommendations on the few remaining issues.
When the convention had adjourned earlier that afternoon, Sherman, Madison, Morris, King, Baldwin, and Butler had climbed to the second floor for their first meeting. Everyone was present except Dickinson, who felt ill. Their first order of business had been to catalog the issues they needed to address in the next few days.
After resolving one issue, Butler moved to adjourn. Sherman scanned his two pages of terse notes to make sure there were no crucial issues that needed immediate attention. He looked up from his meager scratches to say, “I agree. Let’s adjourn. Nine o’clock tomorrow morning?”
As Sherman packed his valise, he noticed that Gouverneur Morris looked unhappy. He was contemplating whether to probe into the cause of his dissatisfaction, when the door suddenly burst open.
“Gentlemen, I apologize,” Dickinson said.
“John, you look terrible,” Sherman said. “We’ve just recessed. Get some rest.”
“You’re done?”
“For the day,” Butler answered.
“Have you made any decisions?”
Butler didn’t stop packing his writing materials. “Only on the executive,” he said offhandedly.
“How did you decide?”
“Selection by Congress,” Morris snapped.
“Damn it, no.”
Dickinson’s outburst startled Sherman. “John, we merely endorsed the convention’s vote.”
Dickinson began pacing the room. “I know how the convention voted.”
“Then you know it is not within our purview to decide differently,” Butler said with an edge of irritation. “We’re supposed to resolve postponed matters.”
Dickinson pleaded. “We cannot give the president enough power unless he’s independent of the legislature.”
“Hear! Hear!” Morris said. “Finally, someone talks sense.”
Butler shook his head as he prepared to leave. “I refuse to open the issue again.”
“Do you have a suggestion?” Madison asked Dickinson.
“No!” Butler shouted. “Leave it be.”
“Just a minute,” Morris said. “It’s a simple question.”
Dickinson quit pacing and looked at Madison. “Electors chosen by the state legislatures.”
“Not that tired ol’ horse.” Butler started for the door. “I’m leaving.”
Morris, who had stayed seated, leaped up. “Pierce, please, give it a moment.”
“A moment? Good God, man, we’ve been over this matter innumerable times.” He turned to Dickinson. “Do you have anything new?”
Dickinson started to say something, stopped, and then fixed Butler with a firm look. After a moment, he said, “Yes.”
Sherman knew his friend was lying.
“I want to hear,” Madison said eagerly.
Morris took his seat. “Yes, everybody sit back down.”
Butler whirled on Morris. “We’ve already adjourned.”
“We can reconvene,” Morris insisted. “Shall we vote?”
“Hell, the president might be the only thing my people back home care about,” Baldwin said. “Let’s hear John out.”
Butler didn’t say another word, but he plopped his portfolio on the table with a loud slap to show his irritation.
King looked skeptical, but he sat back down. “What’s new about electors?”
“People must trust the president,” Dickinson said.
Sherman wanted to help, but he disagreed. “People trust the legislature.”
“They trust their representative, not the body,” Dickinson said. “Only the president can represent the nation as a whole.”
“So let the people elect,” Madison said.
“If I may,” Dickinson said. “We have three choices that have been bandied about. Election by—“
“Bandied? Where have you been man?” Butler remained angry. “They’ve been argued to the point of nausea.”
“Let him finish, please,” Sherman interjected mildly.
“Yes, I want to hear,” Morris insisted.
Dickinson took a deep breath. “The three include election by the people, election by Congress, and election by the state legislatures. The delegates split numerous times on these three choices. We need another option.”
“We don’t have the authority!” Butler screamed.
“Hell, why should that stop us,” Baldwin said. “Everything we’ve done has been outside of our sanction.”
“If I may,” Madison said in his soft voice. “We’re charged with resolving postponed matters, but it’s within our purview to recommend further changes for symmetry.”
“You just want a popular election,” Butler said.
“Let’s hear John out.” Baldwin and Morris had spoke in a single voice.
Butler made a show of throwing his arms open in surrender. Everyone turned to Dickinson, who took another deep breath before saying, “We let the state legislatures decide how electors are chosen.”
Madison looked intrigued. “You mean they can authorize popular election.”
“Or not,” Dickinson answered.
Everyone sat quietly for a moment.
“It might work,” Morris said.
Dickinson started speaking rapidly. “This’ll give the executive independence, so we can grant him additional powers. We can simplify impeachment, the presidential term, and reeligibility. We can eliminate cabals by requiring the electors to vote in their own state on the same date. The extent of the country will make collusion impossible.”
Madison cleared his throat. “I can support this. Even if only a few states allow popular choice, the people will apply pressure to the other states.”
Sherman turned to Morris. “Gouverneur?”
“Not perfect, but better than Congress.”
“Pierce?”
Butler hesitated, so Baldwin interrupted, “My constituents will reject a powerful executive chosen by the ruling class. We must emaciate him or give the people voice.”
“This doesn’t exactly give them a voice,” Butler said.
“Give Georgia the choice, and my people will make sure that they’re heard.”
Sherman gave Butler a hard look. Butler looked down at his closed portfolio and gave it a dismissive spin. “I can live with this—if the convention can.”
Although he remained planted in his chair, Madison looked as if he were bouncing. “May I take the liberty to sketch out some ideas around this proposal?”
“I think that an exceptional idea,” Morris said.
Sherman was not enthralled, but he said nothing because he didn’t want to jeopardize the progress just achieved. Besides, despite a purist bent, Madison did have a talent for symmetry and balance.
“Then may we call it an afternoon?” Butler asked testily.
“Indeed,” Morris answered. “Thank you for your patience, Pierce.” Butler’s whole body tensed, but Morris quickly added, “I meant that sincerely. Good God, man, we’re all frustrated.”
Butler picked up his portfolio and scooted his chair away from the table. “Perhaps I was a bit brusque.” He stood and tugged his coat taut against his shoulders. “I’ll see you all in the morning.”
“If you have no other plans,” Morris said, “I’d be honored to host the committee at the City Tavern.”
Baldwin leaped to his feet. “Now that’s the best idea I’ve heard today.” He gave Dickinson a fri
endly smile. “Beggin’ your pardon, John.”
Butler looked dubious. “Will we discuss committee business?”
Morris rolled in laughter. “Absolutely not.”
“Then I’d be pleased to join you.”
“Great. Roger?”
“Of course, but in a bit. I’m going to see that John gets immediately back to bed.”
“We shan’t wait,” Morris warned.
“Nor did I expect you to.”
“Gentlemen, let’s see how much damage we can do to my purse.” Morris draped his arm lightly around Butler’s shoulder and led the small procession out of the room.
“How do you feel?”
“As bad as I look.” Dickinson walked slowly alongside Sherman. “I want to go home.”
“So do we all,” Sherman said.
“No. I mean I’m leaving.”
“We’re almost done.”
“So am I.”
“But you’ll miss the signing.”
“I authorized George Read to sign for me.”
“John, all you need is rest.”
“I’ve done nothing but sleep, yet I can’t wait to get back to bed.” Dickinson made a weak wave of his arm to take in crowded and noisy Philadelphia. “This dirty city has made me sick, and I don’t intend to die away from home.”
Sherman, taken aback, put his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Then go. Get some clean air and regain your health. You’ve done a yeoman’s duty already.”
“I will, now that I feel more comfortable with the plan’s direction.”
They walked in silence for a few minutes, and then Sherman asked, “When did you come up with your brilliant compromise?”
“It wasn’t brilliant.”
“Of course it was.”
“Election by the state legislatures had already been proposed. By someone currently at my side, if I remember correctly.”
“Giving the state legislatures the option to provide for popular elections took something old and made it fresh.” Sherman gave his friend a grin. “In politics, that’s brilliant.”
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