Tempest at Dawn (5 page)

Both officers rocked back on their heels.
Vose somehow found enough composure to bow and say, “My apologies,
General. Impatience prompted our rash comments. We shall leave you
to your business.”

With that, the two officers squared their
shoulders, executed an awkward about-face, and departed with as
little staggering as they could muster.

“
Did that man threaten an overthrow by
the military?” Robert Morris asked.

“
I believe so,” Gouverneur Morris
said. “That young officer sounded as if he meant
business.”

Washington looked worried but simply said, “Yes, and
let’s do as the man suggested and return to ours.”

Chapter 3

Tuesday, May 15, 1787

“
Land is the only measure of
wealth,” Pinckney said. “A man must be born to it, marry it, or
swindle his way to it.”

The Indian Queen’s food matched the elegance
of its dining room. As Sherman ate, he let the conversation drift
to the weather and political gossip, but now Pinckney got himself
into an argument with Butler that threatened to become heated.

“
A man’s birth right is not land, but
family name,” Butler said.

“
A family name has less value than a
bean if not propped up by land.”

“
Do you insult my family?”

“
Of course not,” Pinckney said. “I was
merely trying to explain the fever for western lands.”

“
I understand the zeal, but land will
not make backwoodsmen into gentlemen.”

“
Perhaps not in the first generation,
but land can eventually make a gentleman,” Pinckney said. “A
gentleman, however, cannot make land

unless he uses his family name to marry
it.”

Butler looked furious, and Sherman began to
feel uncomfortable. Subject to Irish primogeniture laws, which
mandated that his father’s estate must go to his older brother,
Butler had sought his fortune in the British army and the colonies,
where he had married the daughter of a rich plantation owner. Now
he stood among the landed gentry of South Carolina, still wearing
the epaulets of European nobility as if that were the true
criterion for a gentleman.

Butler looked ready to stand. “Sir, you
tread perilously close to offense—offense that a gentleman would be
obliged to answer with honor.”

Pinckney laughed uproariously. “Mr. Butler,
please, I meant no offense. I myself court a rich man’s
daughter.”

“
If I may,” Sherman interjected. “Your
ideas would be unfamiliar in New England. Must land hold such
importance?”

“
Ships sink, factories burn,” Pinckney
said. “Land’s permanent. Land conveys noble behavior to one’s
progeny, while a shipowner’s descendents behave like
seamen.”

“
You speak of the landed gentry with
reverence,” Sherman said. “Yet you champion the
backcountry.”

Pinckney gave a sideways glance at Butler.
“We both own land on the frontier.”

“
Your plantations far exceed your
western holdings,” Sherman said.

“
In value, not acreage,” Butler said
in an even tone that showed that he had shed his anger. “You can
buy land in the frontier for pennies an acre. Surely you speculate
yourself.”

“
Speculators buy or swindle land from
other speculators, Indians, or others with dubious title. No one
can unravel the conflicting claims.” Sherman arranged his spoon
beside his empty bowl. “I don’t gamble.”

“
One day, some men will become
incredibly wealthy,” Butler said.

“
The clever, the shrewd, and the
corrupt,” Pinckney added derisively.

Sherman suppressed his anger. “I’m more
concerned with Connecticut’s small landholders. Sheriff’s auctions
occur every week. Nearly a third of my state’s farmers may lose
their land.”

“
The frontier has small farmers as
well,” Pinckney sniffed, as if that settled the subject.

Sherman could not read Pinckney. The man reveled in
playing the ill-mannered cynic but sometimes appeared as
aristocratic as Butler. Did he disguise an elitist nature with
effrontery, or did he hide behind his rank to subvert his class?
Sherman was thankful when the conversation drifted to
Philadelphia’s notorious late-night amusements.

Sherman finished another ale and decided to
return to his room. In his youth he could have conversed the night
away in noisy taverns, but now he had to husband his energy. He
retrieved his cloak and stepped from the Indian Queen into a still
night. When the door abruptly closed off the ribald din from the
tavern, quiet encircled him. He lumbered slowly back to his
boardinghouse.

The rain had mercifully stopped, but the
people of Philadelphia remained indoors. Water dripped everywhere,
so he moved to the center of the cobbled street, keeping his eyes
down to avoid stepping in splattered horse droppings. Sherman
marveled at the oil street lamps that threw a warm glow over the
wet surfaces. He had read that Philadelphia had imported these
globes from London, but he had not appreciated their utility until
tonight.

Sherman took the long way back to Mrs.
Marshall’s house. His friends didn’t understand his solitary walks,
but he needed them to refresh his mood, test his convictions,
forecast opponents’ moves, and devise tactics. The muggy air
dampened his heavy wool clothing and made it difficult to breathe.
He didn’t notice.

There was no doubt in his mind that the
government must be strengthened. The nation couldn’t defend itself
nor manage its commerce. He believed that these problems could be
rectified with a few simple changes to the Articles. Congress
merely lacked the power to enforce its decisions. The states
ignored national laws without penalty. He had proposed a set of
amendments years ago, but the timing had not been right, the nation
not ready. Sherman believed the timing of this convention matched
the county’s mood, but the Virginians were too ambitious. This plot
to gratuitously dispose of the Articles and demolish the country’s
legitimate government must be stopped.

But he had misgivings. War loomed. Britain
and Spain prodded his country’s weaknesses. Barbary pirates preyed
on American ships in the Mediterranean. Shays’s Rebellion in
Massachusetts had scared everyone.

Sherman felt heartsick as he watched the
states rush toward internecine conflict and possible
disintegration. The nation tottered on the brink of dissolution. A
fresh approach appealed to many, but another false start might doom
their republic. The brutal truth was that a government must
govern—and this one did not.

Sherman arrived at his boardinghouse, still
puzzling the issues. His landlady, a small, sharp-witted woman, had
converted her home to a boardinghouse after the death of her
husband. Once a wealthy merchant’s home, the now threadbare house
was large and comfortable. Startled by the cost of these modest
quarters, Sherman had soon discovered that Philadelphia’s heady
commerce, rather than his landlady’s avarice, had dictated the
price.

Entering the central hall, he tried to be
quiet so as to not disturb the other guests.

“
I hope you had an enjoyable evening,
Mr. Sherman.”

He stopped at the parlor door. “Yes, Mrs.
Marshall. Thank you.”

She sat comfortably in the room’s best
chair, knitting something Sherman couldn’t identify. “You gentlemen
have some serious work ahead of you. How long before you
start?”

“
A while yet. I think it’s safe for
you to plan on our boarding with you for many weeks, perhaps the
summer.”

“
Thank you. I’d appreciate any notice
you can give about when you might depart. Please let me know if
there’s anything I can do to make your stay more
comfortable.”

“
I’d appreciate an additional chair in
my room.”

“
If I move the chair from the room
reserved for Mr. Ellsworth, would that suffice?” Oliver Ellsworth
was another Connecticut delegate, yet to arrive.

“
That should be fine.” Sherman took
half a step into the room. “May I ask a question?”

“
Certainly.”

“
What do you hope will come from our
convention?”

“
Why ask me?”

“
I don’t like to decide weighty issues
without discussing them with an intelligent woman.”

“
Do you discuss political matters with
your wife?”

“
She is my sole confidant.”

“
Then I suggest you write her a
letter. I don’t involve myself in politics nor in religion. Today,
my house is filled with Presbyterians, Cincinnati, and delegates.
Tomorrow will bring others with different affairs.”

“
I understand.”

“
There’s a
Pennsylvania Journal
on the table. It contains
an article on your conference. You may take it to your room to
read, if you return it for other guests.”

Walking to the table, Sherman said, “I’m curious
about what people think, not newspapers.”

“
What
common
people think? We think about food and
shelter. Simple things, things you probably don’t
understand.”

“
I understand. I’m not rich. But
surely you have other aspirations?”

“
When my husband died, his partner
took the business. I didn’t even receive a share of the profit from
the enterprises he’d already started. All I have is this house. I’m
not complaining; I’m lucky compared to many widows.” Then with a
taunting look, she added, “But if you wish to please me, move the
capital from New York to Philadelphia.”

“
I want to please all my
countrymen.”

“
I’m sure you gentlemen will figure it
out. You don’t need the advice of a mere woman.”

She punctuated this last with a return to
her knitting that closed the conversation. Sherman took the cue and
made his way to his sparsely furnished quarters. As he ascended the
stairs, the landing above suddenly went black. Purposely trudging
with a heavier step, Sherman made a guttural noise.

A voice floated from the dark. “Excuse me,
sir, I thought everyone had retired. Just a moment.”

Sherman heard the strike of a tinder pistol.
A small light flitted like a firefly, and then a lamp grew a flame
to light the landing. Sherman saw shadows dance across an
indistinct ebony face as the man bent over to replace the glass
chimney. Finished with his task, the man straightened. He seemed to
unwind forever and finally stood a full head taller than Sherman’s
six foot two.

“
I’m Howard. I help Mrs. Marshall with
the house. I apologize for the inconvenience.”

“
Not necessary,” Sherman said,
extending his hand. “I’m Roger Sherman, a delegate to the
convention.”

“
Pleased to meet you,” Howard said,
apparently surprised by the proffered hand. “May I light the
candles in your room?”

“
Please. The room is still foreign to
me.”

Howard was tall and thin, like a slender
reed reaching for the sun. Sherman waited in the hall until Howard
lit a candle in his room. As a whiff of beeswax reached the
doorway, the servant crossed the room and banished dark from
another corner. Sherman marveled at how the tall black man moved
with such physical assurance.

“
Thank you. I appreciate your
thoughtfulness.”

“
Let me know if there’s anything else
I can do to make your stay more pleasant. I can bring tea to your
room in the afternoons.”

“
I’ll keep that in mind.”

“
Is there anything else this
evening?”

“
No, thank you, Howard. I’ll mention
your courtesy to Mrs. Marshall.”

“
Quite unnecessary. Good night,
sir.”

Howard departed from the room with no more
noise than a cat. Sherman, who had the grace of a pregnant sow,
envied Howard’s comfort with his tall body. He already liked the
man, which made him feel better about his accommodations. His
conversation with Mrs. Marshall had disappointed him. He normally
related well to people he encountered. Sherman hoped her cooking
would make up for her sour temperament.

His room possessed two luxuries he
appreciated: a rope bed with a good feather mattress and a stuffed
wing chair situated by a window, both well used but serviceable.
The only other furnishings were a small writing shelf, a
straight-backed chair, and a scuffed-up chest of drawers. Pegs on
the wall sufficed to hang his few items of clothing, and when he
looked under the bed, he found the requisite chamber pot.

Sherman wasn’t impoverished, but he used
care with his limited funds. Like many patriots, he had contributed
his savings to the Revolutionary cause. He didn’t regret his lack
of wealth because his wants were few. Honor loomed far larger in
his estimation than personal extravagance. He had his religious
faith, a large family, and the respect of his countrymen. For over
forty years, he had held public office and, in that time, he had
learned how to win his way among men with far more wealth and
fame.

He hung his cloak on a wall peg and turned
the ladder-back chair sideways to the writing shelf so he could
cross his long legs. After settling, he pulled the candle closer to
cast more light on the newspaper. The editor was positive toward
the convention and negative on the nation’s state of affairs. The
conclusion read, “Upon the event of this great council depends
everything that can be essential to the stability of the nation.
The future depends on this momentous undertaking.” The editor
shared his sense of import, but the article presented no unusual
viewpoint, nor did it offer any solutions.