Read Online Miracles and Massacres by Glenn Beck - Free Book Online Page B

weight and strength reduced from persistent bouts of malaria, and his posture stooped. Some thought his spare appearance only increased his power. He reminded some of an avenging angel. Less friendly observers thought he resembled “a scarecrow with a wig.”
    Henry’s deep blue eyes peered through his spectacles, surveying his fellow delegates. He felt fortunate that the great George Washington, who presided over the convention in Philadelphia that had delivered this constitutional monstrosity, had decided to sit this one out. Henry was a great orator, maybe even the greatest on the continent—even his hated rival Thomas Jefferson reluctantly conceded that. Oratory, however, had its limits when it collided with George Washington’s mighty reputation. That was the thing about Washington , Henry thought: He knew when and where to fight and, perhaps more important, when to duck a battle .
    Henry fixed his sight upon his fellow delegates. Not far away sat Virginia’s current governor, Edmund Randolph. If ever there was a reed blowing in the wind, it was the tall, handsome Randolph. In fact, the wind seemed to be optional; oftentimes a slight breeze would do the trick. Randolph, Henry recalled, had traveled to Philadelphia and presented his “Virginia Plan” to junk the Articles in favor of a new Constitution. Then, when the Constitution was drafted, he came out against it because it lacked a “Bill of Rights.”
    Young Randolph might be a reed blown by political winds, but, at least, thought Henry, he was now our reed. If Randolph could not be entirely trusted to do the right thing, at least he could be trusted to do what his heavily anti-Federalist Henrico County constituents wanted him to do.
    Henry continued his look around the hall until he sighted the one man who truly worried him: James Madison—all five feet, four inches of him. It wasn’t Madison’s oratorical skills that concerned Henry; “Jemmy” didn’t really have any. Half the time people couldn’t even hear the gentleman speak. But, if anyone, anywhere, knew more about this Constitution or about the arguments for and against it than did the thirty-seven-year-old Madison, Patrick Henry had never heard of them.
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    The moment the Constitution was formally read into the official record, Patrick Henry bolted out of his seat. His plan was to attack, attack,and then attack once more. He would concede nothing. He would even skewer the very first words of the document: “We the People . . .” How dare the men at Philadelphia claim to speak for all the people, he exclaimed, pointing an accusatory finger at James Madison. “The people gave them no power to use their name.”
    As Henry ranted, he saw that Edmund Randolph was listening intently. Henry smiled in his direction. Acquiring the wavering Randolph for the anti-Federalist team would give them a big boost. But Randolph did not smile back.
    When Henry finished, Randolph stood and slowly walked to the floor to speak. As he did, he offered a barely perceptible nod to James Madison.
    Patrick Henry’s heart sank. This was going to be much, much harder than he thought.
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    Edmund Randolph spoke not to praise Patrick Henry, but to bury him. His voice shook with rage as he refuted point after point made by his anti-Federalist predecessor. “The government is for the people,” he thundered. “And the misfortune was that the people had no say in the government before.”
    Henry’s face reddened with anger. He couldn’t believe it; Randolph had switched positions again! “I am,” Randolph continued, drawing out his every syllable and speaking in almost musical tones, “a friend of the Union.”
    Patrick Henry’s mood turned as black as the suit he wore. He wanted to find the highest steeple in town and yell to