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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