could not ban importation prior to 1808 for those states existing in 1787, but it would be under no obligation to do so then. On the question of capturing runaway slaves
who had gained their freedom and returning them to their bondage, the South won. The Constitution required this shameful act to be done. And then came the crucial question, the one involving morality, political power, tax money
_Y__
and the sanctity of private property. Division of opinion was clear-cut and regional. In allocating seats in the lower house of Congress, the South wanted each slave to be counted as one citizen, but the North argued: 'If the slave has no political rights, he can't be a citizen.' Before this extremely emotional issue was solved, the South argued: 'Since slaves are not citizens, they should not be counted when assessing federal taxes' but the North reasoned: 'We allocate taxes according to the count of the population, and whether a man is a citizen or not is beside the point.' As Simon explained one night to the other silent members of the Convention: 'The South wants votes but no taxes. The north wants us to pay taxes but have no votes. We may break up on this one.' The debate was prolonged and brilliant, with men of deep conviction wrestling with this most complex of problems. In the end, a subtle compromise was reached, one with the gravest moral flaws but one which allowed the two halves of the nation to remain together for the time being. When up-to-date census figures were provided for the giving of seats and the collection of taxes, five black slaves would count as three white per- sons. There was no sensible justification for such a deal, but it was the best that could be worked out in 1787, and it would preserve the nation until 1861, when a civil war would rectify the matter - in blood. And now a most curious thing happened. Throughout a long summer, these fifty-five del- P9.9te-s -bad Jqbated the slaivery issue, using the word slave thousands of times, but when they were required to put their conclusions in writing,
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t,
all of them, North and South alike, shied away from placing the word slave in what they were beginning to consider a sacred document. Men spoke urgently against using the word, but none gave the honest reason: that it would be totally improper to defile a document dedicated to free- dom with a word which demonstrated that a large portion of the persons covered were not free. On the night it was decided, Simon Starr wrote in his notes: How shameful the circumlocutions we resorted to. Imported blacks from Africa are not slaves. They are 'such Persons as any of the States now existing shall think proper to admit.' We were afraid ' to say simply 'Fugitive slaves shall be turned to bondage,' for the words were too ugly. Instead, we devised this beautiful eva- sion: 'No Person held to Service or Labor in one State, under the Laws thereof, escaping into another, shall, in Consequence of any Law or Regulation therein, be discharged from such Service or Labor, but shall be delivered up on Claim of the Party to whom such Service or Labor may be due.' What in the world do such words meanT What crimes do they mask? Simon was not proud of himself or his colleagues that night. These informal evening discussions were never attended by three of the outstanding delegates: General Washington was too busy with the social leaders of Philadelphia; Benjamin Franklin was too infirm; and James Madison, the aloof scholar, remained in his room, mysteriously occupied. But one night Madison suddenly appeared at the edge of the group, a small unimpressive fellow in his
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late thirties, with a penetrating eye and a manner which indicated that he did not suffer fools easily. 'Starr,' he said in a voice so low that few could hear, and when Simon joined him he said nothing but indicated that they should move to his room. When the door was closed behind them, Starr saw a jumble of papers on and beside a low writing desk.