 American Trail. The American Trail, Blazed in Blood, Defended in Blood. Chapter 1, Dispatch to New York. 1776. There is no longer room for hope. If we want to be free, we must fight. I repeat now, we must fight. And appeal to arms. And the God of Hosts is all that is left to us. In 1787, almost nine years later, a stage coach hurtled along the rough lanes that led from New York to Virginia. Inside the coach sat Tom Farrell, a newspaper reporter from New York City. As he sat there, he planned how he would write the story. He would soon send back to his newspaper. Dispatch to the New York packet. Stateline, March 18, 1787. Your humble servant, being considered by his batters, fit to report the events to occur in Philadelphia in May of this year, and having at his disposal a few weeks to spare, is now taking opportunity to travel by stage coach to Virginia, there to interview one Patrick Henry, an aggressive opponent of the new American Constitution. Sir, do I have the honor of addressing Mr. Patrick Henry? You do. I'm Tom Farrell, sir, a journalist from New York. New York, eh? Well, I can't blame you for wanting to come to Virginia. Sit down. Thank you, sir. And let me tell you something. I'm not an overly cautious man, so you'd best mind what you ask me and speak up while I pour a glass of cider. Sir, is it true that you oppose the signing of the Constitution? It is. Would you care to say why? Not at all. The 13 American colonies did not wage a bloody war to win their independence from a foreign king in order to calmly surrender that independence to a central government. It's this idea of one central government ruling all 13 states that I oppose. But, sir, Virginia would be represented in the central government? We want independence, not representation. And I'll oppose this Constitution with as much vigor as I oppose the royal crown. The Constitution had not yet been approved or signed. It was still just a piece of paper. And Patrick Henry in opposing it was asserting his right as a free man to express his own personal opinion of the most important issue of his day. On the way to Philadelphia, newspaper man Tom Farrell became friendly with one of the delegates who was also traveling to the convention where the Constitution would be debated and signed. Signed, that is, if a sufficient number of delegates approved it. Newspaper man, eh? Yes, sir. Well, what do you think about this Constitution? Well, I don't really know. No, of course you don't. Nor does anybody else in their right senses. Well, it's pretty much the first time in history that people have been able to assemble and decide for themselves what kind of government they want to live under. You can't deny that. Why do we need any government, eh? Don't you think we do? I'm from Western Pennsylvania. Why should we pay taxes to anyone outside Pennsylvania? Mark my words, there's going to be a stack of trouble in Philadelphia. There'll be blood spilled. There's some being spilled now. Listen. Men who, but a few short years ago, had fought shoulder to shoulder for independence were now shooting at each other across disputed state lines. Tom Farrell knew that America could not survive unless all the states were united under one central government. A few days later, Tom Farrell sat in one of the crowded taverns of Philadelphia with the delegate who had been his stagecoach companion. Look around, Mr. Farrell. Do you smell trouble? I was looking at faces. Grim faces, eh? Grim and serious, not a smiling face here. Keep your eyes on Yonder's table. See the fellow with one hand touching the hilt of his sword? I'd appreciate it if the gentlemen seated opposite me would repeat his previous statement. With extreme pleasure, sir. I'll repeat my statement and my intention if need be to defend it with my sword. It is my intention that the southern states have no business joining a union and that they should be separate and apart from your northern states. Defend yourself! A jewel. Tom Farrell watching the two men sat there horribly fascinated, two men slashing at each other with cold steel, fighting to the death over a piece of paper that the founding fathers' hope would bind together four million people. It was night. And Tom Farrell walked alone. He walked until he found himself in the ghostly silence of the Philadelphia Waterfront. He wanted to think and to be alone. Good evening, sir. Oh, good evening. A real bit of pleasure seen a living soul down here. Pleasure graveyard. Aye, lad, it's dead all rigged. Look for yourself. American ships, a good dozen of them lying there idle, empty a cargo and their timbers rotting. But why? Why aren't they loading cargo and sailing? You should know that, lad. Foreign countries will have nothing to do with this. In their eyes was not a proper nation. They didn't recognize this. Now what is General Washington going to do about that, sir? I don't know. I wish I did. What about those other fellows? Madison, Monroe, Hamilton, all the rest of them. What are they going to do about American ships laying idle? Yes. What were they going to do? These men who would frame the new Constitution. In early May, Farrell was granted an interview with a very old but a very great man who had seen more of the world than any other living American statesman of his time. So you write for a newspaper, eh, boy? Yes, sir, the New York packet. Well, I do little writing myself. Here, let me pour you some tea. Thank you, sir. And make yourself comfortable, Tom. Sir, I was just reflecting. When I'm married and have children, it'll be something for me to talk about tea with the great Benjamin Franklin. Oh, you better keep it to yourself. They're calling me an old fool, saying I'm in my second childhood. They say I'm too old to know what I'm doing. Can't found me, Tom. I'm not a day over, 80. Pardon, sir? Well, let's say 81. You look just fine, Mr. Franklin. I do, don't I? Now look at this new coat of mine. Tailored in Paris. First time I've worn it since I came back from Europe. Elegant, sir. Extremely elegant. Well, now you have some questions, I suppose. Fire away. Sir, are you satisfied with the Constitution in its present form? After all, it isn't the way you originally drafted it. No, no it isn't. I must confess there are several parts of it that I don't approve. But a document of that sort cannot please everybody. When you assemble a number of men to have the advantage of their combined wisdom, you inevitably assemble with those men all their prejudices, their mistaken opinions, their local interests, and sometimes selfish viewpoints. That's very true, sir. But you know, Tom, it astonishes me to find this Constitution with all its margins for error so near to perfection. I believe we can build a fine nation if we follow this charter. And we must. The rest of the world is watching us. Still not everybody seems to want it. No, it has its enemies. But the will of the majority of people must be served. The majority, not the minority, must rule this land of ours. But the will of the majority of the people did not concern the minorities who fought tooth and nail against the American Constitution. Just as today, when wicked groups in America would wreck our way of life, so in those days there were those who were prepared to use any methods they could find to prevent the Constitution becoming law. And Tom Farrell, sitting in a tavern a few days later, was scared. Scared because all about him were men who plotted the downfall of the United States before they were united. And with him was one of these very men, the delegate he had met on the stagecoach. I have something to tell you, Mr. Farrell. Well, look who's here and just about to leave. Alexander Hamilton mixing with the common people. Stop him and ask him what he thinks about the Constitution. Excuse me. Excuse me, Mr. Hamilton. Can I be of help to you? Questions are at all mine. I am Farrell of the New York packet. Ah, yes. What can I do for you, Mr. Farrell? Tell me, sir, do you think you'll get enough votes to make the Constitution law? I don't know. But I know this. If you're able to win support for it, America will again become a colony and be ruled over by an English viceroy. Is there anything else? No, sir, nothing. Thank you, Mr. Hamilton. Well, it's a fine story that fellow Hamilton would have us believe. You were going to tell me something. All right. Listen to me. Me and those who think like me, we found a way to prevent the Constitution from being signed. The Constitution cannot be signed until the vote has been taken to approve what it says. You understand? I understand. Now, as you doubtless know, the vote cannot be taken unless, mind you, unless 45 members of the convention are present on the floor. I see. Yes, I think I understand. It's simple. Enough of us intend to stay away from the convention just to make sure there will never be 45 members present. So no vote will ever be taken. The Constitution will have to be passed out. You look impressed, Mr. Farrell. I hear you. Hold on. You long grow and those like you. What? To oppose the Constitution is your right, but it's not your right to sabotage it. It's not your right to prevent other men from expressing themselves. You're a foul swine, sir. Your place is at the convention, and I'll be one to see you go there. I'll see you here. You're at the convention. Now, who's with me? Grab every delegate here in this place and drag them to the convention hall. You'll not drag me anywhere. You'll not ram this Constitution down our throat. You'll be there. I'd like to see you lay your hands on me, sir. You'll be there, sir. There was a score of divided opinions in that term, but the majority of the men wanted to see the Constitution voted on. They took hold of the rebel delegates there and dragged them all the way to the convention hall to make sure the required 45 delegates were present. Enough to take a vote one way or another. The Constitution faced life or death. For the first time in many long weeks, there was a silence at the convention. In General Washington, the man who had led American troops to victory in the Revolutionary War faced the assembly. We who are gathered here must now determine by a vote once and for all, whether or not this doctor whether or not this document called by us, the American Constitution shall decide for this generation and all those to follow. A way of life dedicated to individual liberty and the security of all the states. We who have planned it have full knowledge that it may contain mistakes and we have accordingly left the way open for future generations to rectify any of these mistakes to suit the time in which they live. A few hours later, Tom Farrell wrote the final paragraphs of the story he would send to New York. September 17, 1787, Dateline, Philadelphia. Dispatch to the New York packet. Your humble servant, having witnessed the conclusion of the events in this city, is able to report that the American Constitution has been approved by a majority of the delegates in 13 states. All that is now left to do is for the states themselves to ratify and make the Constitution the law of the land. My last impression of it all is the look on General Washington's face. He did not seem to know what was going on about him at the last. He stared straight ahead and one knew what he wanted. Will this Constitution succeed in uniting this country? Will it prevail? You and I know it did. We fought without further warfare and human misery, but it did prevail. We are living proof of it. We who breathe the fresh air of liberty whose fathers in every generation have stood ready to defend with their blood what we have in this country of ours. And we too stand ready. I, ready. And so you've heard the first chapter in the story of the American nation brought to you by the ladies auxiliary to the veterans of foreign wars. Take country of ours as we follow the American trail.