Tempest at Dawn (7 page)

Chapter 5

“
Perhaps I should cease boring you with
political matters.”

“
On the contrary, we need to work
together,” Paterson said. “Something you’ve refused to do in the
past.”

Sherman and William Paterson of New Jersey
sat in Mrs. Marshall’s parlor. They had met at Sherman’s
boardinghouse to plot a strategy for the convention.

Sherman tried to look sympathetic. “Our
hands are full with the rebellion by our western settlers against
Pennsylvania. Times are too tense to engage another state.”

New York was using her harbor to extort
unreasonable taxes from both Connecticut and New Jersey. When
nothing came of New Jersey’s request to Congress for redress, New
Jersey had quit contributing taxes to the national government and
asked Connecticut to join her in an armed offensive against New
York. Connecticut had declined.

“
Until stopped by force, New York will
continue to pillage our treasury.”

“
The convention can strengthen the
government so it can deal with such matters.”

“
Such talk scares me. Roger, the
Virginians advance sedition.”

“
William, you go too—”

“
You aren’t suggesting that we
withhold criticism of their corrupt scheme?”

“
Of course not. You’re right to harbor
fears, but casting dispersions on their proposal won’t be
enough.”

“
We must expose their treachery. Their
treason!” Paterson got up and paced the room. “Honor demands that
we stop them. Stop the theft of our state sovereignty, stop the
theft of our liberty, and stop the theft of our purse.”

Sherman glanced toward the door. “William,
please lower your voice. Other guests may be within earshot.”

Paterson gave Sherman a long stare. The
lawyer was forty-one and wore short-cropped hair without a wig
unless he was in court. Well-proportioned facial features decorated
a small head perched on a stumpy body. His perpetually pinched
mouth and disapproving eyes gave people the impression of an
earnest clergyman searching for a moral blemish to reprimand. In
fact, he was an aggressive prosecutor who preferred much more
earthly punishments.

Sherman gestured toward the chair opposite
his own. “William, please sit. I agree, we need to stop their plan,
but we must proceed with stealth. An enemy forewarned is an enemy
forearmed.”

Paterson stopped pacing. “I don’t believe
you see the threat as clearly as I do.”

“
I see the threat as imminent and
frightening, but beating back the Virginians will take more than
shouting.”

Paterson rested his hands on his ample hips.
“What do you propose?”

“
We need a plan of our
own.”

Paterson hesitated, and then the muscles in
his face relaxed. “What sort of plan?”

“
One that protects our
sovereignty.”

Paterson sat down. “That’ll take time—and
allies.”

“
We must gain time. If Madison is
allowed to rush the convention, we’re doomed.” Sherman spoke as if
a new thought had occurred to him. “What about a Committee of the
Whole?”

“
That would buy us time and force the
Virginians to disclose their full scheme.” Paterson uncrossed his
legs and leaned forward. “Can we get it?”

“
I’ll petition Gen.
Washington.”

“
He won’t help. He leads the
Virginians.”

“
He’ll be elected president of the
convention and probably leader of the new government. He’s already
thinking about governing after the new system is approved, and he
knows he’ll need support from our states.” Sherman leaned in
conspiratorially, as if confiding to a close friend. “I believe the
general will consider arguments that mollify opponents. I’ll
approach him today.”

“
New Jersey and Connecticut cannot
stand alone.”

“
Delaware will join us,” Sherman said,
turning to see who had just entered the parlor.

“
May I bring you gentleman tea?” The
interruption came from Mrs. Marshall’s rangy Negro
servant.

“
No, thank you, Howard. We must leave
soon.” Then Sherman impulsively asked, “How long have you worked
for Mrs. Marshall?”

“
All my life, sir. I first worked for
her husband in the shipyard before his death. Now I help Mrs.
Marshall with her guests.”

“
You certainly didn’t acquire your
deportment in the shipyards. How were you educated?”

“
Mr. Marshall took me in when I was
twelve. He taught me himself. Each evening he gave me a lesson and
encouraged me to learn more on my own.”

“
Mr. Marshall sounds like a fine man,”
Sherman said.

Howard flashed a self-deprecating smile. “I
suspect he didn’t want a big dumb youngster hanging around his
dock.”

“
I’m sure he had grander
motives.”

Howard stood slightly straighter. “Mr.
Marshall was a great man. Many didn’t appreciate him because he was
a hard taskmaster, but he was fair to those who were loyal and
worked hard.”

“
You’re a credit to his character. I’m
sorry I didn’t have an opportunity to meet him.”

“
That’s a compliment he would have
appreciated.” Howard bowed his head slightly. “If you gentlemen are
content, I have other chores.” Looking self-conscious, Howard
turned and disappeared into the central hall.

Sherman returned his attention to Paterson,
only to find him wearing an expression meant to convey extreme
impatience.

“
I’m sorry for the interruption,”
Sherman said. “My curiosity sometimes distracts me from important
affairs. We should leave or we’ll be late for Dr. Franklin’s
party.”

Sherman and Paterson left Mrs. Marshall’s
and walked up Third Street toward Dr. Franklin’s house. Sherman
marveled at Philadelphia’s size and rapid expansion. One of the
largest freshwater ports in the world drove the city’s prosperity.
Philadelphia had been a cultural nucleus since colonial times, but
it had grown into the commercial, banking, insurance, and
transportation center for the young country.

Construction seemed to burst from every
street corner. In late afternoon, when most cities started to quiet
down, Philadelphia still rang with hammers and the shouts of men
ordering up materials. Elegant carriages squeezed through the
streets between wagons carrying lumber, bricks, and goods from
around the world. Sherman knew that only darkness would calm the
frantic activity.

When they reached Market Street, Paterson
touched Sherman’s forearm. “I saw you with the South Carolinians.
Surely you don’t expect to sway their vote?”

Sherman tried to suppress his irritation at
having his thoughts interrupted. “Not until events develop further.
Our common interests are few, but we each have parochial interests
that don’t tread on each other’s affairs. They can be
bartered.”

“
Don’t expect much from South
Carolina. Charleston, like New York, extorts an import tax from her
neighbors. She’ll be unsympathetic to our commercial
interests.”

Sherman didn't argue the point. Politicians
who fixated on a single issue bewildered him. He didn’t believe in
limiting his options, and he knew that South Carolina could
eventually prove useful. His job, however, was not to teach
legislative skills but to represent his state.

Market Street was a novelty. Stretching all
the way from the docks, a series of narrow stalls ran down the
center of the thoroughfare. Tradesmen, merchants, and itinerant
vendors peddled every imaginable type of goods in the tiny
cubicles. Bustling foot traffic clogged the streets, so experienced
Philadelphians directed their horses and carriages along other
routes.

In the middle of a block of four-story
houses, a stately iron gate marked the entrance to Franklin’s
hidden courtyard. The gate stood open, but a liveried servant kept
the curious at bay. Sherman and Paterson passed unchallenged into
an arched alleyway that tunneled through the brick townhouses
facing the street’s hectic activity. Once they emerged into open
air, an odd building stood between them and Franklin’s house. The
three-story structure had an arched hole in the center that lined
up with the passageway they had just walked through. From previous
visits, Sherman knew that it was a print shop Franklin had built
for his son.

After they passed through the tunnel-like
opening, they could see Franklin’s handsome home built in the exact
center of the busy city block. The groomed gravel walkways,
gardens, and manicured grass plots always startled first-time
visitors who did not expect an oasis of solitude in the heart of
the biggest city in the United States. Sherman saw scattered knots
of people in private conversation, but he guided Paterson around to
the opposite side of the house, where they found a large crowd
gathered under Franklin’s famed mulberry tree.

The sound of light laughter came from the
circle of people surrounding Franklin. “Everyone seems in a festive
mood,” Sherman said.

“
You’d think we were here to celebrate
a wedding, not to annul a nation’s faithful compact.”

Sherman excused himself and gratefully moved
to engage other delegates.

“
Have you actually seen a balloon
aloft?”

“
Oh, yes,” said Franklin. “Outside of
Paris. Over a hundred thousand people gathered to watch. They
nearly rioted during the long preparation, but when it finally
lifted, it was magnificent, and the crowd gave a hearty
cheer.”

Benjamin Franklin sat in his place of honor,
surrounded by admirers. Sherman liked and respected Franklin but
hadn’t seen him in many years. He was saddened to see that he had
grown old and trunched in a bulbous body that seemed fixed to the
chair. Gout rendered the doctor nearly immobile. A bald pate ringed
in white locks above an irreverent grin gave him a mischievous air
that belied his plain Quaker dress.

After days of wet gray, the sparkling blue
sky had refreshed everyone’s spirits and enlivened the
conversation. Sherman nodded greetings to several of the delegates,
one of whom told him that the discussion had been prompted by
someone admiring a balloon brooch worn by Sarah Bache, Franklin’s
daughter.

Mrs. Bache and her family lived with the
doctor, and she served as hostess at his social affairs. She had
gained a good share of notoriety during the Revolution by going
from door to door to solicit donations. Many men thought the war
had confused women and hoped that peace would quickly resettle them
into their customary role.

“
I wish I could see a real balloon,”
Mrs. Bache said. “Do you think we’ll have them in
America?”

“
Of course,” Franklin said. “England
already has balloonists, and we shall have ours, if for no other
purpose than to annoy the masters of the British
Empire.”

“
Can anyone ascend with a balloonist?”
Madison asked.

Sherman noticed that Madison sat in one of
the privileged chairs close by the great doctor.

“
Some take passengers. The price is
outrageous, but nevertheless it’s the rage. You’ll not find me,
however, venturing into the boundless sky. The thrill of watching
is enough for this foolish old man.” Franklin wore an impish grin.
“How about you, Jemmy, would you fly amongst the birds with these
adventurers?”

“
Perhaps. I want to see a few flights
first … but I think I might go. I understand weight is crucial, so
surely they’d provide me a favorable price. ”

Some wag’s portrayal of Madison as “no
bigger than half a piece of soap,” had spread quickly. Sherman
thought Madison’s self-deprecation clever.

Franklin laughed. “Take care, dear boy. They
may mistake you for one of their bags of sand and toss you
out.”

At this cheerful moment, the crowd parted as
if on command. George Washington and Gouverneur Morris broke the
outer circle and advanced to greet their host. Both cut a wide
swath: the tall, stately Washington by his demeanor and Morris by
his wide-swinging wooden leg.

Washington gave a slight bow. “Dr. Franklin,
I see you’re again moderating merriment and good fellowship.”

“
We’re talking about ballooning. You
were a surveyor in your youth. Do you think balloons will allow one
surveyor to do the job of twenty?”

As with many aspiring young men, Sherman had
also been a surveyor. He had heard about the balloon craze sweeping
Europe but had failed to see why they captivated people’s
attention. The possibility of surveying from the air had never
occurred to him—the idea seemed implausible. Still, the question
showed him that he had not considered the implications of this new
science.

“
I’m more concerned with the use of
balloons in war,” Washington responded.

“
That’s why the British are so keen to
have their own balloonists,” Franklin said. “Much inventiveness is
prompted by their rivalry with the French. Inventiveness and
chicanery. We must keep a wary eye on both. And the Spanish as
well. We’re but a small, weak child in a world filled with ravenous
giants.”

“
The French are our friends,”
interjected Mrs. Bache. “Surely with them on our side, we need not
fear the British?”

Glancing at Mrs. Bache’s Parisian dress,
Washington said, “The French will be on our side as long as we
oppose the British and buy French goods. We can’t assume that we’ll
align with France forever.”