Free Tempest at Dawn by James D. Best Page A

had already taken their seats, but no one
seemed to notice his tardy arrival. Everyone was in a merry frame
of mind. People enjoyed a feast seasoned with animated discussion.
Franklin hosted the event to build camaraderie, temper ill-will,
and soften inflexible positions. As Madison’s sour mood faded, he
hoped the celebratory mood would carry over to the State House.
    Franklin opened with a few gracious remarks
and a prayer. As if cued by a stagehand, six smartly dressed
servants entered bearing cod chowder, a Philadelphia tradition. The
retinue then proceeded to serve the guests with practiced élan.
    Turning to Pinckney, Madison said, “Dr.
Franklin sets a fine table.”
    “ Indeed, he does,” Pinckney said,
sipping from his tankard. “And his porter is as good as
promised.”
    Switching topics abruptly, Madison asked,
“What’s the mood in South Carolina?”
    “ Uneasy. Charleston worries about
trade, plantation owners fear the cash shortage, and the Spanish
and Indians scare the backcountry.”
    “ Sounds dire.”
    “ Everyone has placed an unreasonable
amount of hope on this convention. If we fail, we’ll face the wrath
of our countrymen. Or perhaps our success will incite their
fury.”
    Relieved to be on a more agreeable subject,
Madison said, “People want to be delivered from their travails, but
they distrust us. We must aim for a government strong enough to
address national issues, but retain enough state governance for
local concerns.”
    “ Ah, James, ever the philosopher,”
Pinckney said with a touch of mockery.
    “ Philosophy can instruct,
Charles.”
    “ I search not for purity in principle
but for solutions. That’s what will please my people. Form matters
not to them.”
    Butler joined the conversation from
Madison’s other side and seemed to support Pinckney’s odd plea for
mediocrity. “We must follow the example of Solon. He gave the
Athenians not the best government he could devise, but the best
they would receive.”
    For a moment, Madison regretted having asked
to be seated between the South Carolinians, but he tucked his
irritation away when he remembered that his intent was to measure
their mood. To delay a response, Madison dipped his spoon into his
soup. He put the half-coated spoon in his mouth and cleaned it with
his lips. The taste of the chowder exceeded the promise of the
aroma. Eagerly scooping a spoonful, Madison wondered if Butler had
endorsed Pinckney’s plan—or was the episode a ruse to gain an edge
for some other aspiration?
    “ Mr. Butler, undue caution may render
us impotent,” Madison said.
    “ Grand innovations scare people,”
Butler said, with his Irish accent. “People want order, sound
money, and to be free from unwarranted scrutiny of their habits.
They don’t understand government systems.” He looked peeved. “But
their representatives do.”
    “ I don’t understand your
meaning.”
    “ The South Carolina legislature won’t
sanction a plan that threatens their vital interests.”
    “ Your apprehensions seem newly born,”
Madison said. “Which interests are under threat?”
    “ It is not a subject for public
discussion,” Butler said.
    Butler’s bitter tone gave Madison a clue to
their concern. The conversation drifted to less sensitive subjects
until the servants made another grand entrance, each balancing a
large platter of oysters on the outstretched palm of his right
hand. With a stylish flourish, they gracefully swirled the platters
to each guest, as if presenting precious pearls instead of the host
body.
    Pinckney selected two oysters, each over
four inches. Gazing after the neatly uniformed Negro, Pinckney
said, “Dr. Franklin dearly loves to instruct. He sweetens his
tutelage with anecdotes and humorous stories, but his condescension
is nonetheless unmistakable.”
    Franklin was a known abolitionist. His
participation at this month’s Pennsylvania Society for Promoting
the Abolition of Slavery hadn’t gone unnoticed. Madison