Chapter 8: Machievellian Games
13th July, 1774
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
"Then I believe it's time for a toast, gentlemen." John Hancock, president of the Continental Congress, raised his cup high. "To liberty."
"Liberty!" chorused the members, and they drank a simple, fruity Bordeaux fresh from the docks. One of the members had already indulged himself at the tavern before this meeting, so he managed little more than a flushed, bemused smile.
"It has been nearly a year," Hancock continued, "and if I may say we're doing quite well for ourselves. Our businesses are all booming, wouldn't you say?" Like everyone in that room but the servant, Hancock was reasonably well off. His own wealth came from a small fleet that made the arduous journey from Boston to La Corunna or Bordeaux, and independence had been good to him. "The little mess with the Iroquois is all but over, and we can turn to other issues."
"Like the Cherokee, Mister President?" asked Joseph Hewes mildly. "They restrict Carolinan expansion, resist our attempts at settlement. They must be brought to heel. They do not even worship our Lord!"
"Hear him!" cried Reverend Witherspoon of New Jersey.
"A simple campaign like this last one can remove them as a threat to our borders for all time!" added Edward Rutledge of South Carolina.
"We discussed this, and we agreed…"
"I agreed to nothing, Mister President! Our country is healthy, our troops flush with victory! Why is it acceptable to grant more land to Pennsylvania and New York," he bowed to the silent and uncomfortable northern contingent, "but not to us? You wouldn't be trying to diminish the importance of your southern brothers would you?"
"Of course not, but…"
"Then please call the vote?"
Hancock grimaced at the secretary, who stood and coughed. He ruffled through some papers on his desk, found the one he sought and cleared his throat. "Resolution # 2,089: Resolved - that the Continental Army, under General Washington of Virginia with whatever reinforcements he deems necessary, shall immediately invade Cherokee country and seize their lands. Such land is then to be distributed according to the attached plan."
A Modest Proposal:
The secretary paused to make sure he actually had said plan, frowned at it, and continued. "Resources for this campaign to be paid from the national treasury." He paused again, cleared his throat. "New Hampshire?"
"Giving our soldiers more practice for the real war ahead seems reasonable. Aye."
"Massachusetts?"
"Now is the time to put our house in order. Nay."
"Rhode Island?"
"Nay."
"Connecticut?"
"Mister Rutledge, Connecticut is cut off from further expansion. Would you be willing to give us a corner?"
"I'm certain we can come to some arrangement."
"Then Connecticut votes Aye."
"New York?"
"We do need to get ready for the future. By moving into position! Nay!"
"New Jersey?"
Witherspoon shot up like he was attached to a cannon. "Aye!"
Three to three, and none of the southern states polled. Hancock frowned.
"Pennsylvania?"
"We need to consolidate. Nay."
"Mary-land?"
Rutledge stared hard at Samuel Chase, the head of that state's delegation, who coughed. "Aye."
"Delaware?"
"Nay!"
Five to four against, with the three states likely to benefit yet to vote. Hancock sighed to himself and began writing out orders.
"Virginia?"
"Aye!"
"North Carolina?"
Hewes sniffed. "Of course."
"South Carolina?"
Rutledge stood and smiled benignly. "The great state of South Carolina is proud to say…"
"NAY!" Everyone turned as Thomas Heyward limped in. He was leaner than they'd last seen him. Darker, not the skin so much as the eyes.
"Heyward! You're alive!" boomed Ellery.
"Of course I'm alive," he responded irritably. His leg hadn't healed quite right, though Doctor Hall was hopeful that it would eventually right itself. Walking from the dock uphill had been decidedly unpleasant.
"I am very happy to see you," Rutledge smiled a bit stiffly. "I was just about to say that," in a stronger voice, "South Carolina votes…"
"Don't do something you're going to regret," Tom warned coldly.
"What is your worry, sir? Do you even know what we're discussing?"
"The Cherokee. I know." He limped to the main floor. "What you gentlemen may not know is that beyond the Cherokee is what? More English land! The longer our border with them, the more men we'll need to put in the field to hold them back! As it is they can only come from one direction in the south, and that's along the post road!"
Thomas Jefferson, a young Virginian lawyer whose main contribution thus far had been drafting the response to England's admission of their independence, nodded. "You are correct, sir. But certainly you must realize they must know that as well, and that any future war will see Georgia very heavily occupied. No, our best chance lay in a maneuvering war."
"Hear him!" shouted someone.
"We were in a maneuvering war last year, and as I recall we didn't do so well." A few nods. "The Iroquois campaign succeeded because we pinned them down."
"I'm surprised you know of that," Rutledge sniffed. "You have been away for quite awhile. So, if you will just sit down - your leg is wobbling, sir - the more experienced legislators will take care of business. Indeed, I do believe you were replaced by Mister Lynch here, when you failed to return."
Lynch flushed and smiled politely.
"Mister Secretary? Aye." Rutledge beamed.
"Don't."
"It's done, Mister Leyward."
"No, it's not. You see, while you were off being a legislator, I was in Charleston looking in on the people we are supposed to represent."
"Charitable of you, sir, but I fail to see…"
"Such as Mister Harding, the governor designate?" Doubt flickered in Rutledge's eyes as Tom continued. "After some long discussions over what he wanted for our people, we agreed I should return, and send someone home - my choice as the new head of the state delegation." He handed the secretary a carefully written note. "Farewell, sir."
"Everything appears to be in order," agreed the secretary finally. Rutledge stared hard at the man, turned several shades of red, and stormed out.
Tom limped to his seat, and pointed at the tally board, a large, ornate wooden affair cut into thirteen slots. "Mister Secretary? South Carolina is in the wrong place. We voted nay."
Hancock moved the shuttle into the right position himself and smiled. "Well, given that it is six to six, I as president will have to break the tie. Therefore, I vote…"
"Don't you dare, sir!" Hewes shouted. "We know your affiliations for Massachusetts. Fail us now and the southern states walk!"
"Except South Carolina," Heyward sniffed. "And anyway, he doesn't have to." He pointed over his shoulder.
Doctor Lyman Hall stepped in and smiled. "Gentlemen, am I still welcome here?"
"Of course!"
"Georgia is occupied, sir!" Hewes told the president. "How can you possibly…"
"Georgia is occupied," Tom agreed, "but unless I missed something, you never revoked her right to vote. Did you?" he asked the secretary, who madly flipped through his papers.
"Cows, horses, procurement, saltpetre, taxes," he muttered aloud, then finally shook his head. "No. Georgia's vote is legal."
"Then Georgia votes nay," Hall replied somberly. "One major enemy at a time, eh gentlemen?"
