by Jane Cook
The first jolt probably sounded like a crunch. Then suddenly the coach punched through the ice, tossing the passengers from their seats. Madame Babet started screaming. Charles was locked by fear. Louisa heard the severe cracking of the whip as the driver yelled at the horses to pull the sinking carriage to shore.
Is this how it was to end? After all she had suffered, she now faced the worst possibility. If the carriage continued to sink, she and Charles would be permanently separated from John and their family—exiled into a frozen river forever.
What Louisa did not realize in that moment was historical hindsight: her Russian destination had just changed US destiny.
PART 2
Journey Begins
SIX YEARS EARLIER, BOSTON, JULY 4, 1809
THE HORACE, COURTESY OF THE PORTSMOUTH ATHENAEUM.
5
Fireworks
Let fame to the world sound America’s voice;
No intrigue can her sons from their government sever;
Her pride is her Adams—her laws are his choice,
And shall flourish till liberty slumbers forever.
Then unite, heart and hand,
Like Leonidas’ band,
And swear to the God of the ocean and land,
That ne’er shall the sons of Columbia be slaves,
While the earth bears a plant or the sea rolls in its waves.
—“THE BOSTON PATRIOTIC SONG” ALSO
CALLED “ADAMS AND LIBERTY”
AS AMERICANS CELEBRATED THEIR INDEPENDENCE ON JULY 4, 1809, Louisa learned she was going into captivity. At the same time John realized his political resurrection just might become a reality—so he secretly wished.
John had planned to spend Independence Day quietly at his parents’ home in Quincy, just outside Boston. A few days before the nation’s birthday, he received an invitation to attend the Bunker Hill Association dinner instead. As a down-on-his-luck politician turned Harvard professor and local attorney, he couldn’t resist the opportunity to mingle with five hundred of Boston’s most prominent men and veterans. He accepted. Former president John Adams acquiesced. He rode to Boston early the morning of July 4 to meet his son so they could attend the morning’s official festivities together.
John’s Boston home was located at the corner of Frog Lane and Nassau Street, which today are Boylston and Tremont Streets. Not far from the Central Burying Ground, his house, which he bought in 1806, was part of an expanding metropolis. The town of Boston, America’s fourth largest city, would soon boast a population of more than thirty-three thousand in the 1810 US census, up from twenty-five thousand in 1800.
Adams lived in a trade town known for its harbor and commerce, not agriculture. His neighbors made candles, shoes, saddles, clocks, watches, and bells, among many other products. Belonging to Suffolk County, Bostonians now produced more than one million gallons of “distilled spirits made from molasses” and more than six hundred thousand gallons of beer each year. They also made eleven thousand fur hats and ten thousand spectacles.
While many Boston tradesmen preferred to travel by carriage or horseback, Adams and his father enjoyed walking. The pair likely discussed the happenings of the past few days as they strolled down the street and turned to pass the tombstones. John might have talked about how boring life had been recently in the city, as he revealed in his diary a few days earlier when June 1809 came to a close:
A multitude of little occupations distract my attention and my time to such a degree that I can scarcely observe any of my intended purposes. . . . But instead of reading with [eight-year-old] George, I pass my time until breakfast in arranging books and assorting pamphlets, or writing upon transient topics. I seldom get to my office until 11 or twelve o’clock, and pass most of my afternoons at home. . . . George’s instruction and my own have almost entirely failed.
He probably told his father about the most significant occupation of his time: attending the district court, which was hearing cases from the Embargo Act. The proceedings only reminded them of why John was now a professor and attorney in Boston and not a senator in Washington. John Quincy’s support of Jefferson’s embargo ultimately had forced him to resign his US Senate seat a year earlier, in 1808. The senior John Adams understood his son’s dilemma. Returning to private life was as embarrassing as it was boring.
While they walked through the mall toward Beacon Hill, the younger Adams may have broken the unexpected news to his father. He had learned of it the night before, after he accompanied Louisa and her younger sister Kitty to a dinner party at a friend’s home.
“After I came home, about 10 in the evening a couple of boys came to my house,” he reported in his diary of the tap on his door, which was unusual unless accompanied by a cry of fire. More mysterious was the mission behind the knocking. John explained that the boys “left me with a National Intelligencer of 28 June, requesting me after I should have looked over it, to send it to the Palladium Office.”
Founded in 1800 by publishers who supported Jefferson’s administration, the National Intelligencer was a prominent Washington City newspaper. The editors of the New England Palladium and other Boston newspapers often reprinted national news from the latest Intelligencer, which usually arrived in Boston several days after publication. Adams was naturally curious. Someone thought he needed to read the National Intelligencer at 10:00 p.m. before Boston’s leaders gathered the next day to hear orations commemorating July 4. He quickly discovered why.
“I found in it a paragraph, that on the day before, that is, the 27th of June, the Senate had confirmed the nomination of John Quincy Adams, as Minister Plenipotentiary to the Court of St. Petersburg [Russia].”
Minister plenipotentiary was an official title for the highest-ranking diplomatic position available to a US envoy at the time. His mission was to establish diplomatic ties with Russia and represent the entire US relationship with the mammoth nation.
After attending President James Madison’s inauguration in March 1809, John concluded that Madison, who had been Jefferson’s secretary of state, was as likely to nominate him for a domestic administration position as Boston’s Federalists were to select him again for the US Senate.
Though he was a reserved man, John’s letters to his parents frequently revealed his deeper opinions and feelings, which he often concealed from official letters on similar topics to government officials. Because he was close to his father, he most likely shared his conflicting opinions and emotions about the appointment that day and the surprising timing.
The duo probably discussed the cons of accepting the nomination as they walked tirelessly through the Boston Common. Both knew John could promote his personal popularity more with the Federalists by refusing the position because it was offered by Madison, a Jeffersonian Republican. They felt some disappointment, too, because both believed he could have contributed more at home than abroad. They also knew the truth: John’s retirement to private life did not shelter him from “the most virulent and unrelenting” persecution by their enemies. Perhaps that alone was reason enough to say yes to the St. Petersburg mission.
As they passed key sights, such as the artillery preparing to launch fireworks later that night, they may have discussed the greater significance of the appointment. At the time the US government boasted only “sixty consuls” serving throughout the world. Though a large number, these low-ranking consuls enjoyed little influence over their foreign hosts. Breadth did not equal depth and certainly not power or overwhelming support. Only three other nations had accepted an American envoy at the higher rank of minister: England, France, and Portugal. The only diplomatic rank higher than minister was ambassador, and America didn’t have any of those.
In 1809 the United States was largely a country in name only, with minimal recognition that was often dismissed as England’s long-lost prodigal. Not only was it not a superpower, but it was hardly a power at all.
However, if Russia’s czar accepted an American minister’s credentials—which h
ad never been done before—then the United States would possess official diplomatic ties with the largest country in Europe. On top of that, a true trade alliance with Russia just might force England to abandon its abusive commerce policies against the United States. An alliance with Russia would prove to France’s Napoleon once and for all that the United States was no longer a child of Great Britain but a grown-up in its own right. America deserved to be treated as an independent nation. In order to survive, America needed to thrive.
The arguments in favor of accepting Madison’s nomination may have soared higher as the two easily climbed Beacon Hill to the State House. The senior Adams would have instantly seen the honor of his son serving as the president’s top representative to Russia. The younger Adams looked to “the vague hope of rendering to my country, some important service, as intended by the mission.” Topping the list for saying yes was his duty to obey the call of his country.
They both knew the reality that John Quincy faced. Though he could live comfortably the rest of his life as a lawyer and professor, his ambition, like his father’s, longed for the public stage. This was the biggest opportunity to do so, the last chance to resurrect his dead political career. Not only that, but serving abroad as one of the nation’s top diplomats could also lead to future service on the public square, whether as secretary of state—or, maybe, just maybe—an even higher position back home.
The Adams pair arrived at the State House, whose dome was originally painted gray, not glittering gold as it later became. Both were buoyed by John’s sudden change of fortune. They knew word of his appointment would spread throughout Boston just as quickly as the artillery would shoot fireworks from the mall. What could be better than revealing John’s new appointment to their friends, Boston’s selectmen, and government leaders during the city’s revelry of reflections on the American Revolution?
They entered the State House’s Senate chamber. From there they processed with the governor, state representatives, senators, and other guests to the Old South Church, where they listened to the town oration commemorating independence and liberty. John Quincy recorded: “While in the church, and immediately after the delivery of the oration, Mr. Shaw gave me several letters, one of which was from the secretary of state, enclosing the commission to St. Petersburg.”
Just the day before, he had visited attorney William Smith Shaw, his cousin on his mother’s side. Shaw most likely received Adams’s commission and letters from the nation’s capital after Adams left his office; otherwise John wouldn’t have been so surprised when the boys brought him the National Intelligencer later that evening. Because Shaw had served as a private secretary to the senior Adams when he was president, he remained loyal to his kin and maintained ties to Washington City. Included in the packet was a letter from John Quincy’s friend, Ezekiel Bacon, a Massachusetts congressman.
“So far as your public sentiments and conduct may have an influence on the public mind, your friends would certainly have preferred that the theater of your employments should have been on American ground,” the congressman wrote. “Though your friends will not probably accede to the position that it was the best thing, yet they will very readily agree that it was a very good thing.”
Bacon put it bluntly: “A mission to the court of St. Petersburg is, to a man of active talents, somewhat like an honorable exile.”
Indeed it was.
After the morning ceremonies, John and his father parted ways for the rest of the day. While the senior Adams returned to his son’s home, John walked with a friend in the parade to the Bunker Hill dinner.
John loved the parade. If anyone dared heckle him, which was always a possibility among the embargo-hating merchants, he didn’t record it. Instead he was caught up in the ambience and pageantry of a Boston Independence Day celebration: “The procession, with various emblems of agriculture, commerce and manufacturers, and consisting of about 500 persons, including those militia companies went through the town, over Charles River bridge, to Bunker Hill, where a dinner was prepared under an arbor covered with a tent and four rows of tables for the company.” The grand feast was complete with pastry and an endless number of toasts to Boston, independence, and the nation.
News of his appointment spread quickly. His friend Mr. Austin approached him with an urgent suggestion. His son would be glad to serve as his secretary in St. Petersburg.
“But the application was too late,” the flattered Adams commented. Included in the packet of papers that Shaw gave him just hours earlier was a letter of application from William Steuben Smith, the twenty-two-year-old son of John’s older sister Nabby. Smith wanted to serve as John’s private secretary. Adams already had Smith in mind, but smiled at the compliment Austin paid him by inquiring for his son.
John had one more brief obligation to fulfill before returning home. He and his friend left Bunker Hill so he could “pay a visit to young republicans assembled at the Exchange Hotel.” Though far from a declared member of Jefferson’s party, this former Federalist knew the political benefits of a bipartisan Independence Day celebration. “We stayed there only a few minutes to reciprocate salutations and give toasts after which we retired.”
Then it was time to face his wife.
Louisa loved music. She was an accomplished and passionate pianist, singer, and harpist. Five nights earlier, she had entertained her husband and sister after dinner. Neither she nor John Quincy documented the songs she played that late June evening. She would have been familiar with the era’s most popular music, including “The Boston Patriotic Song,” also called the “Adams and Liberty” song. Through lyrics such as “Let fame to the world sound America’s voice. No intrigue can her sons from her government sever” and “her pride is her Adams, his laws are her choice,” Robert Treat Paine Jr. of Massachusetts paid tribute to President Adams in 1799. Paine’s father, Robert Treat Paine Sr., was a signer of the Declaration of Independence and member of the first Continental Congress with Adams. Like many other songs, this was sung to a popular English melody, “To Anacreon in Heaven,” the tune later adopted for “The Star-Spangled Banner,” whose lyrics had yet to be written.
Because it was Independence Day, Louisa may have dressed in a fashionable red or blue Empire-style dress with a high waistline under her bosom and a white linen wrapper around her shoulders. With her light brown hair likely piled high on her head in Grecian style, she may have played this and several other patriotic songs on that Fourth of July, which she spent at home with Kitty. Both watched intently over Charles, Louisa and John’s youngest son. Not quite two years old, he was recovering from the measles. Between his large ears was a cherubic oval face dotted with spots.
Their oldest son was George, a tall, slim lad resembling Louisa. He was spending as much time as he could that summer in leisure, except when his father insisted that they read together or he practice his penmanship, expectations the eight-year-old struggled to meet.
She likely kept a most observant eye on their middle son, John, the spitting image of his father. John was celebrating his sixth birthday that day. He was also mischievous. A few days earlier he had run away, forcing Adams to spend an entire afternoon walking Boston’s cobblestones and searching until he found him.
Exactly how she learned about her husband’s nomination that July 4 is a bit of a mystery.
“This day the news arrived of Mr. Adams’s appointment to Russia,” she wrote.
John may have given her the news. Or her father-in-law may have told her when he returned to her home from the morning’s oration after his son received the official paperwork from Shaw. Another possibility is that she found out accidentally. Mr. Everett, one of John’s law students, may have broken the news when he dropped a letter by their house that day. Like Mr. Austin at Bunker Hill, as soon as Everett heard of Adams’s appointment, he wanted to be the first to apply for the position of secretary.
When Everett gave her his letter of request to pass along to her husband, Louisa may have wondered:
Secretary? For what? Imagine the hurt she felt if she found out through someone other than her husband. Regardless of who told her, the news was as hard to take as hearing of someone’s death.
“I do not know which was the more stunned with the shock,” she recorded in her diary, comparing her distress to Kitty’s ashen face.
Any joyful singing was instantly replaced with melancholy shock. The idea of moving a family of five to Russia and enduring a sixty-day or longer ocean voyage was enough to make anyone wallow in the tune of a funeral dirge.
Louisa was not surprised to hear about the appointment. Rather, she was shocked because the possibility of John’s going to Russia had died an absolute death months earlier. The US Senate had considered him for the post earlier in the year. The senators had not only rejected his nomination but also passed a resolution against the idea. In the minds of the senators, sending any diplomat to Russia—much less one holding the high rank of minister plenipotentiary and also named Adams—was a waste of money and time. What could a faraway place like Russia possibly offer when America’s foreign troubles rested squarely with England and France?
Declining a nominee is one thing; refusing to appoint anyone is the same as shoveling dirt on a grave. Such tombstone opposition understandably lured Louisa into completely releasing her worries about moving to St. Petersburg. Someone found a way to resurrect the mission. But who?
That person was none other than Emperor Alexander, Russia’s czar. When he followed through on his promise to send an envoy to the United States, Congress had no choice but to act quickly in return. In June 1809 President Madison could not accept the credentials of the recently arrived Russian chargé d’affaires or look him in the eye without making good on the US government’s promise to send an envoy to Russia in kind.
