America: 50☆Stars (Vol. 2)

Episode 17: The Rake Who Wrote the Constitution

1787—Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

On the 25th of May, Pennsylvania and Virginia were thrilled to finally start the Constitutional Convention with the arrival of five more states: Delaware, New York, North Carolina, South Carolina, and New Jersey. They had a short session—assigning roles and setting rules. Once that was done, they called it a day.

Pennsylvania offered to buy everyone drinks in celebration of the progress that was made. The others thought the progress they made was trivial, but they didn't refuse free drinks. They followed her to the Indian Queen Tavern, spending the rest of the day drinking and talking with their fellow states and their delegates.

New York sat beside Alexander Hamilton at a table, sharing a bottle of wine while planning speeches for the next session.

"I can't believe I was chosen for the Constitutional Convention," Hamilton spoke whimsically, still amazed to be given the honor to influence what might be the most important document in history.

New York wasn't as fascinated, reminding him, "The reason you were chosen was because of your father-in-law."

"That's one of the reasons, okay!" he huffed. "He also chose me for my extraordinary intelligence, my excellent skill with a pen, and the way I eloquently speak before an audience."

"If you say so..."

As they were chatting, a pair of hands grabbed their shoulders, startling them. "Heeelllooo, my fellow New Yorkers!"

Recognizing that indistinguishably rich tone, New York swatted their hand away and glared daggers at the rakish man. "You! What the hell are you doing here?"

Hamilton cocked his head at his friend's repulsed reaction. "You're familiar with Gouverneur Morris?"

"Of course, he knows me! Every New Yorker knows me!" Morris laughed as he took a seat at their table. "To answer the former question, I was a New York native, but a series of dramatic events forced me to reside in Philadelphia to rebuild my career. Though I didn't live in Philly for very long, I was invited to become a delegate for Pennsylvania. Thus, here I am. Anyway," he turned to the bar, "can I get a bottle of red wine?"

While Morris poured himself a glass of wine, New York snuck a glance at the peg leg the Pennslyvania delegate sported. He didn't intend to ask questions concerning the cause of his missing leg, preferring to stick to discussing future sessions. However, Morris caught his glance and smirked. "Surprised? I know you're dying to know what happened to my poor leg."

"Not really..."

"Did you lose it during the war?" Hamilton asked.

"Technically, yes. I did lose my leg during the war."

"Then, which battle?"

"Philadelphia."

"I see." He assumed he was referring to the failed campaign to protect Philadelphia from the British invasion. "You must've fought valiantly."

He smirked. "Indeed, I fought valiantly. It was one of the greatest battles I fought in."

'Bullshit.' New York knew him to be a lover—not a fighter. Yet, he decided to play along and pretend to be like Hamilton and be intrigued by what he had to say. "Care to explain how that battle went?" he asked.

Morris chortled, "Well, it was during a late afternoon..."

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"My opponent was quite unique. They had a docile appearance: dark curly locks, plump cheeks, average height, broad chest, and a bit of fat around their hips and thighs. They were panting very hard from the muggy swelter, yet I could tell from the fiery look in their glowing eyes they had me where they wanted. It was just me and my adversary, trapped in the same room while the world continued to move around us. I understood what must be done; there was no intention to run like a coward.