American Rebels

by Nina Sankovitch

  While Samuel Quincy deplored the harsh measures set forth in the Townshend Acts, he had no problem with the local representatives of the Crown, and in fact curried favor with both Bernard and Hutchinson. He was rewarded for his support when in November 1767 he was named solicitor general for the colony; Jonathan Sewall had resigned the post to become the colony’s attorney general. The appointment offered a good salary and sound future—but required Sam to ally himself even more publicly with Crown officials. It was not hard for Sam to do; like his brother, he believed in the rule of law, but unlike Josiah Jr., Sam felt as much loyalty to the empire itself as to the laws of the empire.

  Upon taking the position of solicitor general, Sam was required to take an oath of office, which included swearing loyalty to the royal government. He did so in good faith, and through the trials to come, he would remain bound to that oath. Even when finding himself on opposite sides to his brother and friends, he remained loyal to his oath of fealty to the government of England.

  Sam and his wife, Hannah, were delighted with his new appointment. The couple enjoyed the status the title of solicitor general conferred, as well as the steady income it provided. By this time, they had three children: Hannah, born in 1762; Sam Jr., in 1764; and Thomas, in 1766. Their large home on South Street was always lively with a steady stream of visitors coming by, children at play, and servants hard at work to provide the care and comfort friends and family were due.

  Visitors to the home on Summer Street included Sam’s brothers, Ned and Josiah Jr.; Hannah’s brother Henry and his wife, Anna; and old friends such as the merchants John Rowe and Samuel Curwen, and fellow lawyer Robert Treat Paine. But more and more, it was a legion of British administrators and merchants who came to call, together with their fashionable wives: “the social privileges which surrounded British officials were held to have an attraction for Mrs. Quincy that she was able to communicate to her husband.”20

  Sam would later acknowledge that their true friends were New Englanders born and bred, fellow countrymen with whom they were “so long encircled with the dearest connections”—and that he had failed to understand the impact his appointment as solicitor general would have on those “dearest connections,”21 as well as on his place in the extended Quincy family.

  * * *

  On December 21, 1767, John Dickinson of Philadelphia published the first of a series of letters in the Pennsylvania press. His “Letters from a Farmer in Pennsylvania to the Inhabitants of the British Colonies” set forth in plain language the argument that the elected assembly of each colony was the only authority that could impose taxes on its citizens; any tax imposed by Parliament constituted taxation without representation, violating basic principles of the British Constitution.

  The “Letters from a Farmer” were reprinted in newspapers throughout the colonies, including all the Boston papers, and applauded far and wide. The selectmen of Boston were so impressed with how “the rights of American subjects are clearly stated and fully vindicated” that they passed a unanimous resolution to send official thanks to the “ingenious Author” for his work on behalf of all the colonies.22

  Josiah Quincy Jr. marveled at the way in which Dickinson had managed to unify opposition to the Townshend Acts across the colonies, which were separated by vast physical expanses as well as cultural and religious differences. Information was not easily shared between colonial governments and travel between colonies was difficult. But if the disparate regions could overcome obstacles of distance and differences, and join together, Josiah knew they would constitute a formidable force that could bring about dramatic change in how they were governed.

  Unjust policies fomented protests across the land; joining those protests together in a show of unity would force Great Britain to change the policies that caused the protests. “Thus, Goliath is killed by his own sword,” Josiah would argue in the future; but he was already formulating plans to create a union of colonies that would force Britain to take notice and relent.23

  * * *

  As the year 1767 drew to a close, John Adams began to think that his energies and ambitions, not only for himself but for his colony, would be better served in a larger arena. Acting within the confines of Braintree chafed at his hopes of going further and doing more. He informed the selectmen of Braintree of his intention to move his family and legal practice to Boston and resigned as a member of the town committee.

  “Am I grasping at Money, or Scheming for Power?” he wrote in his diary. “Am I planning the Illustration of my Family or the Welfare of my Country? These are great Questions.”24 He hoped that the year ahead would provide answers.

  Abigail was unsure about the move to Boston. Unlike her mother-in-law, Susanna, Abigail had taken to the life of managing a farm and home; while she could sometimes become overwhelmed by her many responsibilities, she also gloried in doing her best at whatever task lay before her—and being acknowledged for her prowess and hard work.

  Well-known in Braintree for her charity, her industry, and her good humor, she had become a natural leader in the small community. She advised local women on spinning their own linen, cotton, and wool, especially important now that British cloth was under boycott. In return, she sought from them recipes for teas made from chamomile leaves and loosestrife, hopeful that she could grow the plants and flowers she needed to brew her own. If she were to move to Boston, she worried that the tenant farmer left in her stead wouldn’t be able to tend her garden to her exacting standards.

  But Abigail finally agreed to the move. Whether in Boston or in Braintree, she would be a busy mother, and soon to be busier still, with another child on the way. At least in Boston, she might see more of her husband. He would be working from an office in their home, building his legal practice with Boston-based clients, and spending less time on the court circuit. And Abigail would be able to visit with her cousins, the daughters of Edmund Quincy who lived in Boston.

  Like Abigail and her sisters, the Quincy cousins in Boston joined with other New England women in protesting the Townshend Acts; they wore homespun clothing, put away their English tea, and resigned themselves to frugality. As reported in the Massachusetts Gazette, the women of Massachusetts “have not worn ribbons for many years past … have made spinning their only employment, and drink nothing at their meetings but New England Rum.”25

  Men of New England also chose to drink rum, eschewing imported tea to protest parliamentary taxes: “a very patriotic gentleman … has written over his chimney piece the following words, No Tea but as Much New England Rum as You Please.”26

  Dolly Quincy, used to wearing nice English dresses of calico and chintz decorated with frippery, closeted her favorite garments with little enthusiasm. Even as other towns in Massachusetts, and then other colonies in America, joined the boycott of British goods, Dolly was a reluctant participant. When attending a dinner party at the Hancock mansion, she couldn’t fail but notice that the dresses worn by many of the other women were of the finest materials and decorated with touches of lace and ribbon. The wives of wealthy colonial merchants and high-ranking Crown officers seemed unconcerned that they were flaunting the latest in British fashion.

  But with her father, Edmund, serving on the Boston Committee for Non-Importation, Dolly had to dress the part of dutiful colonist. John Hancock, who liked nice clothes as much as Dolly did, understood her reluctance to dress down. Nevertheless, he willingly moderated his style to somber colors and simple waistcoats; following his example, Dolly did the best she could at revamping her older dresses into a more modest look. Her lovely ribbons and laces she threw into a drawer, to be salvaged later, when the boycott was over.

  * * *

  At the end of the year, John Hancock joined fellow members of the Massachusetts House of Representatives, including Sam Adams and Thomas Cushing, in sending a petition to the king of England. The petition asked the king to condemn the Townshend Acts as a violation of their “sacred right” to be taxed only by the acts of representat
ives elected by them and to repeal all its measures.27 Governor Bernard labeled the petition treasonous, and in the end, the king would refuse to receive it.

  The colonists, nevertheless, were sure that God and the law were on their side, and that their liberty would be protected by both. As Josiah Quincy wrote in one of his Hyperion essays, “if our God be for us, who shall be against us? Though our enemies should be as the vermin of the field, or as the insects of the air, yet will I not be dismayed; for the breath of his mouth shall scatter them abroad, the power of his strength shall confound and overwhelm them with mighty destruction.”28

  The test would come soon.

  10

  The Arrival of Troops

  The pulse of the people beats high,

  and it may well be imagined,

  that in our present state,

  all ranks among us are much agitated.

  —JOSIAH QUINCY JR.

  On May 17, 1768, John Hancock watched from his harborside offices as the British warship Romney sailed into Boston Harbor. With fifty guns trained on the town, the Romney bore the clear message that the colonists must willingly submit to Parliament’s latest demands in the form of the Townshend Acts or they would be forced to comply by the guns and troops of His Majesty, the king of England.

  But the colonists led by Hancock, Adams, and the other Sons of Liberty had no intention of complying with the Townshend Acts, no matter the form of intimidation employed by the king and Parliament. Already in February, John Hancock and his fellow selectmen, along with Josiah Quincy Jr. and his brother Ned, had circulated a letter composed by the Massachusetts legislators condemning the Townshend Acts. The letter was distributed up and down the continental coastline, and sent to all other legislatures of the American colonies for approval.

  In the letter, the New Englanders first asserted their strong allegiance to the Crown and then stated that Parliament, through its passage of the Townshend Acts, had unfairly taxed the colonists without their consent, given that they had no representative voice in Parliament: “his Majesty’s American subjects … have an equitable claim to the full enjoyment of the fundamental rules of the British constitution; [and] … it is an essential, unalterable right in nature, engrafted into the British constitution, as a fundamental law, and ever held sacred and irrevocable … that what a man has honestly acquired is absolutely his own, which he may freely give, but cannot be taken from him without his consent.”1

  Governor Bernard condemned the circulated letter as treasonous and demanded that it be rescinded. Of the one hundred twenty members of the Massachusetts House, ninety-two refused to rescind circulation of the letter. “Ninety-two” became a rallying cry against the Townshend Acts across the land. Paul Revere crafted a silver bowl dedicated to “the Glorious Ninety-two,” and presents for Massachusetts legislators flowed in from other colonies, including a gift of ninety-two drinking glasses sent from South Carolina.2 In New Hampshire, the citizens of the town of Petersham carefully removed all but ninety-two branches from an elm tree, dedicating the tree to Liberty.3

  Enraged by its refusal to rescind the letter, Governor Bernard dissolved the General Assembly of Massachusetts and prohibited its members from meeting. Josiah took to his pen to attack Bernard, in letters published in the Gazette. The right to peaceably assemble and to legislate, Quincy argued, were enshrined in the colonial charter, British constitutional law, and natural law. Governor Bernard had no authority to take such rights away.

  * * *

  Colonial resistance to the Townshend Acts, and Britain’s determination to enforce them, had been tested with the arrival of John Hancock’s ship Lydia to Boston Harbor in early April. The Lydia was laden with cargo, much of it taxable under the Townshend Acts. But Hancock had no intention of allowing customs officials to board the vessel in order to verify what sort of cargo the Lydia was carrying and what duties might be owed under the act. He publicly vowed that “he would not suffer any of [the Crown] officers to go even on board any of his London ships.”4

  James Otis Jr., who had been serving as Hancock’s legal adviser, counseled Hancock on how to legally restrict access to the vessel. As he explained to Hancock, even British customs officers had to comply with the law; in order to be able to search a ship, they had to present a correctly drafted and executed warrant. Hancock just had to wait for the right moment to challenge the warrants carried by the customs men.

  On the evening of April 9, Hancock received word at his home that the Lydia had been boarded by a customs inspector. He hastily threw on his coat and hustled into a carriage, instructing his driver to get him down to Hancock’s Wharf as quickly as possible. He sent messages to a number of the men he employed at the wharf, and to James Scott, the captain of the Lydia, as well. The messages dictated by Hancock were carried out as instructed. The Sons of Liberty were put on alert, and men began to gather in anticipation.

  When Hancock arrived at the wharf, he found that Owen Richards, the tidewaiter employed by the customs office, had already descended into the hold of the ship. Hancock, accompanied by a number of his men, rushed below. They surrounded the lone official, and Hancock demanded to see his warrant for searching the ship. As luck would have it, Richards’ papers carried no date and thus were invalid. Hancock was well within his rights to have Richards removed from his ship, and he directed his men to do so. Richards was taken by the arms and forcibly removed from the Lydia.

  A crowd had gathered at the wharf, summoned by the Sons of Liberty. The mood was tense, the crowd unsettled and anxious. Hancock took control of the situation, asking only that Richards be allowed to go home in peace; he told the crowd that it was best to retire for the evening, and that he himself was eager to get back to his bed. Having taken interviews of witnesses, Thomas Hutchinson wrote later, “Mr. H. was escorted up the wharf, he having the approbation of the spectators. He was obliged to entreat them not to remonstrate throughout the town.”5

  It was a public relations coup for Hancock: he had both defied the customs officers and prevented a riot. When Jonathan Sewall, in his capacity as attorney general for the colony, admitted he could not prosecute Hancock for failure to comply with customs, stating publicly that Hancock had acted “within the boundaries of the law” in protecting his ship the Lydia from an unlawful search, the coup seemed complete. Who was running things in Boston, was the question in many people’s minds—the minions of the British Crown or the merchant prince on Beacon Hill?

  John Adams was impressed by James Otis Jr.’s counsel. At the same time, Adams hoped that he himself might become a lawyer for his old childhood friend. He had finally moved his family into Boston earlier in the year and was working hard at building up his client base from their new home on Brattle Street. The house, where he had his office, was conveniently located close to both the wharves and warehouses of Boston and the town house where the state legislature met.

  The substantial three-floor brick house rented by the Adams family was a pleasant place, painted white and with a fine garden at the back lined with pear trees and roses. The front of the house faced directly onto Brattle Square and the wooden church across the way.

  Looking out from the windows, it seemed to Abigail Adams as if all of Boston passed by their home, all day long and into the evening; sixteen thousand inhabitants, loud and boisterous and busy, a far cry from the five hundred or so families in Braintree, almost all of whom Abigail had known by name. But despite the “Noisy, Busy Town”—or perhaps because of its liveliness and energy—Abigail was happy those first months in Boston.6

  As she had hoped, now that they lived in Boston, John was often at home, with his law office set up on the ground floor of their house. The Adams family’s social life, which had once centered on the Quincys of Braintree, with Uncle Norton up on the hill and Josiah Quincy down the road, now expanded to include not only more Quincys—Josiah Quincy Jr. often came by for a meal—but also their new good friend and family physician Joseph Warren (whom they met through Josiah
and Ned Quincy), and their old friends Jonathan Sewall and his wife, Esther Quincy Sewall, who lived just over the Boston Neck, in Charlestown.

  Despite the published letters of debate that passed between Philanthrop (pen name of Sewall) and Governor Winthrop (pen name of Adams), the two old friends enjoyed spending time together; as John wrote, “although we were at Antipodes in Politicks We had never abated in mutual Esteem or cooled in Warmth of our Friendship.”7 The two men genuinely liked each other, and Abigail and Esther, cousins and girlhood friends, were also pleased with each other’s company. And yet when Jonathan Sewall came to Adams with a proposal to serve as advocate general in the High Court of Admiralty, upon the direct request of Governor Bernard, John wasted not a moment’s breath in turning down the offer.

  As he recalled later, Sewall “knew very well my political principles, the system I had adopted, and the connections and friendships I had formed in consequence of them. He also knew that the British government, including the king, his Ministers, and Parliament, apparently supported by a great majority of the nation, were persevering in a system wholly inconsistent with all my ideas of right, justice, and policy.” He told Sewall, “therefore I could not place myself in a situation in which my duty and my inclination would be so much at variance.”8

  Sewall begged John to reconsider the offer, and even returned to the Adams home three weeks later to ask again, but John remained firm: “I told him my answer had been ready, because my mind was clear, and my determination decided and unalterable.”9 As it turned out, John’s legal skills would soon be called upon by another friend with whom he had shared happy moments in his younger days, but this time, it was a man whose political principles he shared.