“I need your help.”
“I oppose what you want done.”
“You oppose the timing. The country fears this new government. What better way to gain time than to give them a statement of their rights.”
“I can’t let you discard our accomplishments by opening the Constitution. It must remain sacrosanct.”
“Are you saying we may never have a bill of rights?”
“They must be amendments, proposed and ratified according to Article V.”
Madison hesitated. “If I concede that point, will you help?”
Now it was Sherman’s turn to pause. The bell signaling the start of the session rang. “Mr. Madison, I must admit that you have a knack for knowing what must be done.”
“And Mr. Sherman, you have a knack for knowing how to get it done.”
Both men looked at each other for a long moment, and then Sherman put his lanky arm around the narrow shoulders of Madison. “The country seems to have more work for us.”
Madison’s darting eyes caught Sherman’s, and then moved away. “I’ll be happy as long as my country needs me.”
As both men moved toward the door, Sherman lightly gripped Madison’s elbow. “Jemmy, it’ll be a sad day when America no longer needs men like you.”
Shoulder to shoulder, Sherman and Madison walked through the double doors and into the House of Representatives.
Epilogue
October 21, 1835
I laid my steel-tipped pen aside and tried to shake the cramp out of my hand. James Madison looked as if he had dozed off once again, so I closed my inkwell, content that we had completed a good day’s work.
“I believe we’re done.” The old man had not twitched a single muscle except to open his eyes.
That had used to startle me, but I had grown accustomed to his determined stillness. “I agree. This has been an unusually long day. You should get some rest. We can begin again in the morning.”
“I mean our collaboration is done. You have your material.”
“Mr. President, please, I have so many questions.”
“Everything else is a matter of public record. Well documented.”
“At least tell me what happened to the Ohio and Scioto companies.”
Madison sighed. “Very well. The Scioto Company advanced the Ohio Company about one hundred and fifty thousand dollars toward their first installment of five hundred thousand. The Ohio Company founded Marietta, Ohio, but never came up with the remaining money. I believe it went defunct in the late 1790s. The Scioto Company was a complete bust. They sold land in Europe, but the money disappeared.” Madison chuckled. “Hard to imagine now, but there was too much land for too few people.”
“What about the Revolutionary War bonds?”
“Mr. Witherspoon, I refuse to go into that subject, or any other for that matter. You are welcome to remain a few days to organize your notes, but this interview has drawn to a close.”
“Mr. President, you and Jefferson quarreled with Hamilton over those bonds. The resulting chasm gave us our two-party system. Surely, you can enlighten the public record.”
“I refuse to spend my final days reliving that episode.”
The old man’s eyes told me the issue was nonnegotiable. As Washington’s Secretary of the Treasury, Hamilton had created a national bank and retired the bonds at face value. These actions had inflamed Jefferson and triggered Madison to insist that the Constitution did not authorize a government bank. Years later, Madison was accused of duplicity when he championed a less literal interpretation. I decided that could wait because there was something more important I needed to probe. “You promised to discuss slavery.”
“I think I explained the slave issue.” As he spoke, his eyes wandered over my shoulder. “Have you come to fetch me for my nap?”
“You must excuse us, Mr. Witherspoon.” I craned my head around at the sound of Dolley’s voice. She glided around my chair and put a hand on her husband’s shoulder. “James needs his rest.”
“Will we talk again, Mr. President?”
“I have nothing further to say.”
“I want to talk about the present. I believe abolition achievable.”
“As do I. It is the price that has held my hand.”
I bent forward. “I support a new tax to compensate slaveholders.”
Madison spoke in an even softer voice. “If the North tries to mandate emancipation, war will ensue. The republic will not survive. Not then, not now.”
“I don’t believe that.”
“Do you think you can simply pass an amendment?” Dolley asked.
Not knowing whom to address, I shifted my gaze between the two Madisons. “Well, yes.”
Madison didn’t answer immediately. “Mr. Witherspoon, the price of union in 1787 was the accommodation of slavery. The price of abolition in 1835 will be disunion.”
“We shouldn’t be faced with this quandary. Was there no other choice in 1787?”
“Yes. Two nations: one slave, one free.”
“Perhaps a better choice.”
“That would only assuage your guilt.”
I had started to lean back in my chair, but Madison’s words made my back as stiff as a seasoned plank. “I beg your pardon. I’m guiltless.”
“You are a citizen of a slaveholding nation.”
I crossed my legs and let my glance flit between the two. “Times change. You’re a slaveholder and the father of the Constitution. Your endorsement of an abolition amendment would carry enormous weight.”
“I’ll not instigate an armed conflict.”
“You support the Constitution with all its defects?”
“I took an oath to protect the Constitution.”
“I thought that expired with your term.”
“I don’t believe so.”
“Mr. President, in time, we’ll secure an amendment. You can make it sooner.”
“The country isn’t ready.”
“Why did you make the amendment process so difficult?”
“There were fifty-five men in the chamber. We designed a system to give voice to every faction, while restraining any single interest group from gaining dominance.”
“With all due respect, you’re mistaken. You endorsed the oppression of one faction by another. You gave slaveholders a constitutional right to maintain their status as masters.”
Madison remained still as a wary cat. I began to fear I had overstepped, when his lips curled up in an unruffled smile. “Did you bring any other clothes?”
I looked down at my threadbare wool suit. “Only my travel garments.”
“Well, put them on, and my overseer will give you a tour of Montpelier.”
“Are our discussions over?”
“You must excuse me. I fatigue easily.”
Dolley stood and guided me by the elbow out of the great man’s presence.
I had just buttoned my waistcoat when Paul softly knocked on my door.
“The president asked me to see if you needed assistance.”
“No, thank you. I can dress myself.”
He started to retreat when I stopped him with a question, “Paul, do you envy the free Negroes in the North?”
“I know nothing of their predicament.”
“You accompanied the president to Washington, did you not?”
“I’ve been with Master James my entire life.”
“There are free Negroes in Washington.”
“I stick to my own.”
“You mean fellow slaves.”
“I mean the Madison family.”
“Surely, you must occasionally desire freedom?”
“I’m doing what I want.”
I realized Madison had sent Paul to answer questions. “What will happen to you when the president dies?”
“My wish is to be buried as close to him as possible.”
Maybe I had found a weakness. “That shan’t be very close.”
“I’ll find a permanent home at M
ontpelier. That’s all I ask.”
“You see yourself as part of the family?”
“Excuse me, sir, if you have no need of my services, I have other duties.”
Before I could grant permission, Paul was gone. I shrugged. For every house-slave, hundreds toiled in the fields. I hurried out of the house to find a cobalt sky that signaled a harsh winter on the near horizon.
“Mr. Witherspoon, I’m John Watson, manager of Montpelier.”
“I’m pleased to meet you. Am I dressed appropriately?”
“It’ll do. This is your mount.”
The man had been holding the reins of two horses and now, with an extended right arm, pulled one horse around for me. As I stepped up into the saddle, I asked, “Will I have an opportunity to talk to slaves?”
“If you wish.”
“How many hours does a field hand work?”
“Mostly twelve hours days, a few more during harvest. The problem is how to keep them productive in the winter.”
“Difficult problem, I’m sure. Distressing how they eat every day.”
Watson threw me a hard stare. “You don’t think much of our way of life, do you?”
“I am unconcerned about your way of life. It’s the slave’s way of life that distresses me.”
“The mill girls in Lowell live a more restrictive life.”
“They choose to work in the mills, and they can choose to leave.”
“Yes, of course they can. Shall we proceed?”
We rode around the plantation, but I was disappointed to see that late fall didn’t require work in the fields.
“Mrs. Madison tells me you’re an abolitionist,” Watson said.
“Yes.”
“Montpelier is a large, well-run plantation. We do not abuse our slaves.”
“You mean you take care of your property.”
“Exactly.”
“I meant that sarcastically.”
“I know.”
“Do you believe treating a Negro as well as a horse condones slavery?”
“We’re all slaves, to one degree or another.”
“Then the degree matters.”
Watson turned in his saddle to look at me. “Interference from soppy abolitionists will incite armed conflict.”
“You’re suggesting the South would go to war?”
“I’m not suggesting.”
“Were you instructed to give me this advice?”
“I was instructed to show you Montpelier.”
“Not much to see.”
“We’ll go to the ironworks.”
We rode up to a large shed and dismounted. Inside, the dark interior brought a little warmth from the forges scattered around the periphery of the earthen floor. About eight black men labored at different tasks, and the hammering, the protesting hiss of hot iron dipped in water, and the snap of embers gave the place a bustling atmosphere.
“Montpelier has the largest blacksmith operation in Orange County. Take a look around. I’ll be back in a moment.”
Watson walked over to a white man just entering the shed. “Hello, Mr. Caster. What can we do for you today?”
“Nails. I also want to settle my account.”
“I hope that means you had a good crop.”
“Middling, but one of my niggers grew into a strapping buck that brought a good price.”
I saw a hooded look from the black man standing a respectful distance behind Caster and realized he was not a Montpelier slave.
“Let’s step over to the ledger,” Watson said.
As Caster followed Watson to a writing shelf along the wall, he pointed and said, “Sam, carry one of those kegs out to the wagon.”
The keg of nails looked anchored to the floor, and I knew that I could never lift it. Sam crouched and, winding his lanky arms around the keg, with a grunt brought it up to his chest. As he shuffled toward the door, he suddenly stumbled and dropped the keg, spewing nails in every direction. Sam immediately dropped to his knees to gather up the nails, but once he had a double handful, he looked forlornly at the burst wooden keg.
Caster flew across the shed and kicked Sam in the rear, splaying him across the nail-strewn floor. “You imbecile!”
I stepped forward, but Watson held up a restraining hand. “Mr. Caster, no harm. We’ll get you another keg in respect for your business.”
Caster hovered over his slave, and for a second, I thought he might give him another kick, but instead he made a dismissive wave of his arm. “Sam, you thank Mr. Watson for savin’ you a whippin’ and make sure to gather up every one of those damn nails.”
“Yas suh, and thank you, Mr. Watson.”
I wanted to help Sam pick up the nails, but a stern look from Watson dissuaded me.
After the incident, we left the shed and rode back to the mansion in silence. Dismounting, I couldn’t help but throw one more barb. “Mr. Watson, would the South fight to protect men like Caster?”
“The South will fight to protect Virginia’s right to choose her own way. Good day, Mr. Witherspoon.”
I found the Madisons in the parlor, sitting side by side with an unoccupied chair facing them. I took the chair and leaned in to rub my hands in front of the crackling fire. An involuntary shudder tried to chase away my chill and distress.
“Tea or coffee, sir?” This came from Sukey, who had materialized behind me.
“Coffee, please.” I twisted in my chair to see her face, but she had disappeared.
“I see it hasn’t warmed up,” Madison said.
“No, there’s a crispness that brittles your bones.”
“Well, warm yourself,” Dolley said. “We’ll have coffee for you in a moment.”
“Thank you.” I soon felt flushed and leaned back in my chair. “Mr. President, Mrs. Madison, may I speak bluntly?”
This caused Dolley to laugh merrily. “I thought you had been speaking bluntly.”
This took me aback, but I plunged ahead anyway. “At your ironworks, I witnessed an atrocity perpetrated by one of your neighbors. The man physically and verbally abused his slave.”
“Who?” Madison asked.
“Mr. Caster.”
“Ah, yes,” was all he said.
“You know him?”
“Of course. Most slaveholders own fewer than five slaves. They’re hardscrabble planters, and Caster is typical of the breed. An unseemly lot.”
“So most slaves are owned by harsh masters?”
In answer, Madison simply turned his teacup in its saucer.
“I’m sorry, sir, but just because you’re a humane master does not make you better than Caster. You should free your slaves.”
“You probably believe me rich, but my debts far exceed the value of Montpelier. The liens—”
“How will you survive?” I had thrown the question at Dolley, surprised by how quickly I had grown fond of her.
“I’ll publish James’s notes from the Constitutional Convention. The world has waited fifty years for them.”
“Is that why I can’t read them?”
“I assure you, you need not wait long.” Madison smiled. “If I may continue?”
“Of course.”
“The liens against my estate include my slaves. You may think me an incompetent planter, but I assure you that my predicament is common.”
“That’s why you can’t free your slaves?”
“I was making a larger point. Abolition will cause a financial collapse.”
“I never believed abolition would leave the South intact.”
“Intact? Abolition will destroy the South: its plantations, social order, financial institutions, and governments. Absolute devastation.”
“So, we should do nothing?”
“I once thought the wound would heal itself, but I’ve come to believe that only a cataclysm will wipe this scourge from our land. Fifty years ago, your grandfather asked me to end slavery. I could not. So I promised to end the slave trade. There were many difficulties, but I managed to
get a prohibition put into the Constitution.”
“It didn’t take effect until 1808.”
“I got what I could.”
“And in the intervening years?”
Madison coughed, holding a tiny fist in front of his mouth. “The past is immutable.” Madison gave Dolley a glance. “If emancipation comes, your generation, or one following, must endure the cost.” He rubbed his gnarled knuckles. “You say you’re an abolitionist, but are you willing to sacrifice the lives of your relatives to this cause?” When I hesitated, Madison added, “You cannot defeat the South by yourself. It will take your family and all your neighbors.”
I spent many moments pondering his question. “I might sacrifice one generation to free countless generations, but I’m not convinced it must come to war.”
Madison struggled to lift himself, and Dolley quickly helped him rise to his feet. The old man seemed especially frail, and I could barely hear him mutter, “The bane of slavery has afflicted me all my life. I shall soon be free.”
“You still have time.” I had to make one last plea. “Write a letter to the nation. People will listen to James Madison.”
“No. I intend to abide by the bargain we struck in Philadelphia. With my passing, we’ll all be dead, and I shan’t violate their trust in my last days.” Madison made a few feeble steps toward the door. “I’ll go to my grave satisfied that I bequeath a lasting republic to my countrymen.”
“A republic with a basic flaw.”
Madison interrupted his halting shuffle to look at me with taunting eyes. “We provided the necessary mechanisms for change.”
Madison leaned on Dolley and extended a tiny, emaciated hand. I stepped forward and gently shook his hand for the first time. It was startlingly weak. I looked hard at this mortal man who had carried into history such immortal aspirations. When he grappled with the world and endless generations, his egalitarian mind intended nothing but good, but within the confines of his home, he acquiesced to unconscionable tyranny.
“It’s been a pleasure, Mr. Witherspoon.” Dolley gave me a smile and assisted the last of the founding fathers out of my presence.
I reached down to pick up my notes when I heard his familiar voice. “We also bequeathed a loftiness of purpose that will continue to expand liberty.”
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