Free Miracles and Massacres by Glenn Beck Page B

information that comes from an illustrious citizen of Virginia, who is now in Paris, which disproves the suggestions of such dangers as Madison and company have alleged,” he announced.
    â€œI might say,” Henry continued, oozing with pleasure at the opportunity to summon his archrival Jefferson as a surprise witness, “not from public authority, but good information, that his opinion is that you reject this government!”
    The crowd stirred and Henry paused to let the murmuring die down before continuing. “This illustrious citizen advises you to reject this government till it be amended! His sentiments coincide entirely with ours! Let us follow the sage advice of this common friend of our happiness.”
    An uproar came from the gallery: Huzzahs from one faction; harrumphs and catcalls from the other. Henry simply smiled. There were not many people you’d rather have on your team, personal feelings aside, than Thomas Jefferson.
    Henry continued, flitting from one topic to another, attacking each and every thing about the Constitution. When he finally finished, a raging Governor Randolph again took the floor. On Saturday, Henry had slyly puzzled over Randolph’s sudden support for adopting the Constitution without amending it first, broadly hinting that Randolph might have been bribed to support the document. He’d even suspected George Washington himself of offering the prize.
    For two days, Randolph had fumed over Henry’s insinuations, barely able to restrain himself from physically confronting the older man. Now, standing in the hall, Randolph had everyone’s attention and he was not about to let the moment pass without taking direct aim at Henry’s allegations. “I find myself attacked in the most illiberal manner by the honorable gentleman,” he sputtered. “If our friendship must fall, let it fall, like Lucifer, never to rise again!”
    The crowd gasped. Those were fighting words in Virginia.
    The chair gaveled furiously to silence the murmuring. Henry, visibly shaken, rose to respond and solemnly avowed that he had no intention of offending anyone, particularly the “honorable gentleman”—but that hardly calmed Randolph. If anything, he grew even more inflamed, rising to tell the gallery that, if not for Henry’s apology, he’d been prepared to reveal certain unpleasant facts about Henry that would have made some men’s hair stand on end.
    Henry did not take the threat well. “I beg the honorable gentleman to pardon me,” Henry said, his voice rising with every word, “for reminding him that his historical references and quotations are not accurate. If he errs so much with respect to his facts, as he has done in history, we cannot depend on his information or assertions.”
    The gallery seemed to be in shock. Two of the greatest patriots in the history of the commonwealth stood at the precipice. Another insult, real or perceived, could quite possibly put them, and perhaps the entire convention, over the edge.
    Fortunately, reason, and a good night’s rest, finally took command. The battle for the Constitution would continue to be waged with words—hot, vitriolic, and passionate words—instead of fists or pistols at twenty paces.
    The Swan
    North side of Broad Street
    Richmond, Virginia
    Evening of June 13, 1788
    The Federalists had given it their best, but were worried that it wouldn’t be enough to counter the brilliance of Patrick Henry. He was not, after all, simply an orator; he was a force of nature.
    James Madison thought long and hard about the events of the last week. His initial euphoria had long since vanished. Tonight, he again took pen to hand and reported to George Washington. But this time, his letter was much more dour, reporting that the Federalists’ chances for success were growing less favorable each day. He did not enjoy writing those words.
    â€œOur progress is low,” he