American Rebels

by Nina Sankovitch

  It would take the Massachusetts delegation three weeks to arrive in Philadelphia, refusing as they did to travel on the Sabbath and taking time to stop in nearly every town they passed through to shake hands, wave to supporters, and partake of the local delicacies. They finally arrived at the end of August, in plenty of time for the start of the congress in September, and settled into their rooms on Arch Street in a boardinghouse run by a Miss Jane Port.

  Together with the other delegates from the twelve colonies, the Massachusetts contingent voted against holding their meetings in the grand State House of Pennsylvania; in its grandiosity, it was simply too British. Instead, they chose to convene the Continental Congress in the more humble Carpenter’s Hall.

  22

  Grand Object of Their View

  May a double Portion of the Genius and Spirit

  of our forefathers rest upon us and our Posterity.

  —JOHN ADAMS

  Even as the delegates were heading to Philadelphia and Carpenter’s Hall, Josiah Quincy Jr. was deciding on a journey of his own. It was a hard decision to make, with his little boy at home, another child soon to arrive, and his father in Braintree growing older. How could he leave his growing children and aging father? And then there was Abigail, patient, resolute, stronger than he was in so many ways; he trusted her above everyone else, addressing her as “My Very Dear Friend,” “my bosom friend,” and “my political confidant.”1 He was not eager to take another voyage like the one he had taken through the southern colonies and to once again be away from her for far too long.

  Unrelenting heat and sun had returned to Massachusetts; the skies were pale and empty, the ground was hard-packed, and the soil turned gray. As grasses faded to yellow, so the hopes of the colonists faded. With rumors swirling everywhere about the men in Philadelphia—had progress been made?—nerves were tight and fears grew. Fear that England would never back down, fear that the colonists would be punished with no mercy, and fear that no one in England really understood the situation in the colonies that had led to the dumping of the tea in the first place.

  Someone had to go to England to argue the cause of the colonists—to demonstrate to parliamentary leaders that the colonists’ complaints were reasonable and to correct “those who may have been led into wrong sentiments of the people of Boston.” Someone who was respectable, eloquent, and persuasive was needed to achieve “a general change in the prejudices of the people of England with regard to us Americans and our claims.”2

  Josiah Quincy Jr. would be that man. As he confided to a small circle of friends and family at the end of August 1774, “at the urgent solicitation of a great number of warm friends to my country, and myself, I have agreed to relinquish business, and embark for London.”3 He had demonstrated his diplomatic skills with the Southerners, and he was intelligent and well-bred enough to impress an English audience.

  As Sam Adams put it, Quincy, with his “glowing reputation and dignity,” could be “a valuable weapon” in the cause of “saving his Country.”4

  “I am flattered by those who perhaps place too great confidence in me,” Josiah wrote to John Dickinson in Philadelphia, “that I may do some good the ensuing winter at the court of Great Britain.”5

  Josiah hoped to tell the true stories of New England to a responsive audience in Great Britain and change their hearts and minds and attitudes toward the colonies as a whole. He had read in the Boston Gazette of Edmund Burke’s rebuttal of Parliament’s harsh measures against Massachusetts: “You will … irrevocably alienate the hearts of the colonists from the mother country,” Burke had warned. “The bill is unjust.… Bostonians will not give up quietly … you will find their obstinacy confirmed and their fury exasperated.”6

  Now Josiah would seek out those willing to listen and demonstrate not obstinacy but a willingness to compromise. Through informal conversations and scheduled meetings, he was certain that the union between mother country and colony could be preserved, and that the rights of colonists could be restored under their charter and under the British Constitution he so revered.

  The dangers in undertaking a diplomatic journey across the Atlantic were real, not only to Josiah’s health, in that a long journey over rough seas could prove debilitating to a man with his condition, but also to his personal safety. Josiah knew that “enemies here would be as indefatigable and persevering to my injury as they have been to the cause in which I am engaged heart and hand.”7

  Already spies were reporting to Gage that a patriot was setting sail for England, with “something mysterious concerning the object of his voyage.”8 No doubt there would be plans in England to have Quincy arrested once he landed: as his father wrote in great fear, “as soon as your arrival [in London] is known, you will be apprehended and secured.”9

  The Loyalists, once they heard about Josiah’s departure, predicted an even worse fate: once arrived in England, Josiah would be hanged.

  But Josiah saw the journey as necessary to fulfill his long-stated mission of “dedicating myself wholly to the service of my country.” Such a journey with such a purpose was the fulfillment of his ambitions to create a legacy for his children—“let [liberty] never perish in your hands but piously transmit it to your children”—and inspire in his progeny their own commitment to family and country.10

  And now he had two children who would receive his legacy: Abigail had given birth to a daughter in early September. Josiah insisted the baby be named Abigail after her mother.

  At the end of September, while the Continental Congress met in Philadelphia, Josiah quietly set sail from Salem on a ship bound for England; “My design is to be kept as long a secret as possible, I hope till I get to Europe.”11 The husband Abigail had taken care of so diligently, guarding his health like treasure, was gone, taking his chances with the sea and what lay on the other side of the Atlantic’s stormy expanse.

  * * *

  Even as he became absorbed in the work of the Continental Congress, John Adams found the time to send a note to Josiah before he sailed, wishing him “a prosperous Voyage and much of the exalted Pleasure of serving your Country.” As for his own work on behalf of the country, he reported to his kinsman that “We are not idle here. But how long it will be before the World will know our Meditations I cant Say.”12

  Meetings were interrupted on September 7 when John and the other delegates received word that Governor Gage had ordered British troops to seize colonial stores of gunpowder stored in Charlestown and bring the powder back to Boston. It was rumored “that the Soldiers had fired on the People and Town at Boston” in what came to be called “the Powder Alarm.” As Thomas Paine recorded in his diary, all of Philadelphia was in an uproar: “in great Concern, Bells muffled rang all PM.”13 Delegates called out for “War! War! War!” on the floor of Carpenter’s Hall, and resolutions were debated on taking momentous steps to stop the British.14

  John wrote in desperation to his Abigail, terrified of “what Scenes of Distress and Terror” were now taking place in Massachusetts. “We have received a confused Account … of a dreadfull Catastrophy. The Particulars, We have not heard. We are waiting with the Utmost Anxiety and Impatience, for further Intelligence.”15

  Such intelligence finally arrived days later, when Paul Revere rode into Philadelphia bearing news and a satchel full of messages. Revere assured the delegates that not only had there been no bombing of Boston, there had been no casualties at all resulting from Gage’s seizure of the powder. Although a significant amount of ammunition had been taken, large stores of gunpowder from other depots and hiding places were still held by the colonists, and in fact, a large supply of gunpowder was on its way to the colony, carried by none other than Captain Scott, John Hancock’s faithful steward.

  John Adams took the opportunity of Paul Revere’s return ride to Boston to send notes to his wife and other friends up north. It was vital that correspondence be entrusted only to such men as Revere; Loyalist scouts and British spies were on the roads, ready to waylay
potential messengers. Only the most speedy and the most savvy could travel the roads between Massachusetts and Pennsylvania without getting caught.

  John’s letters to Abigail expressed his many frustrations in attempting to achieve any progress in the Congress, when so many interests of the various colonies conflicted, one against the other. The Powder Alarm and its specter of war had united them but just as quickly now, they could come apart once again. Would it take another assault by Gage, and possible bloodshed inflicted on the colonists of Massachusetts, to bring negotiations to a head?

  Reports—and rumors—continued to arrive in Philadelphia, of Gage fortifying Boston, sending his troops out on missions, preparing for something terrible. Abigail wrote to John of cannons being mounted on Beacon Hill, entrenchments dug at the Neck, and cannon and troops stationed there as well: “The people are much alarmed,” she wrote.16 Clashes between rebel colonists and Crown Loyalists and officers were increasing; passions were “all in flames … [and only] The importance with which they consider the meeting of the Congress, and the result thereof to the community, withholds the arm of vengeance already lifted.”17

  John Andrews, a Boston merchant, recorded stories of provincial colonists coming into town and heading to the Boston Common to taunt soldiers or bribe them into deserting. Hale and hearty farmers provoked the soldiers, grown thin and sickly on rations, about all the good food out in the countryside. They also boasted about having ample stores of weapons in the countryside and their expertise in using them. One day a villager came to Boston and joined in target practice alongside the British, outshooting them all. Then he announced, “I have a boy at home that will toss up an apple and shoot out all the seeds as it’s coming down.”18

  When Gage tried to enlist local carpenters to build much-needed housing for his soldiers, he found his efforts stymied by John Hancock, who told Gage that the carpenters had come to him protesting of hunger. How could they be expected to work when they had barely enough to eat to sustain themselves or their families? Gage offered to have food brought in just for them, but Hancock refused the exchange of food for work when the work was on behalf of the British troops.

  In the end, Gage had to send to Halifax for workers to complete the shelters (and Hancock found other work for his carpenters). In the meantime, British soldiers shivered and, in increasing numbers, they deserted. As far away as Braintree, Abigail made note of a deserting soldier who appeared lost and woebegone on the village common, then disappeared again into the woods.

  * * *

  From Philadelphia, John advised Abigail that the colonists needed to stay vigilant. “Let them exercise every day in the Week, if they Will, the more the better. Let them furnish themselves with Artillery, Arms and Ammunition. Let them follow the Maxim, which you say they have adopted, ‘In Times of Peace, prepare for War.’”19

  John had no need to worry, Abigail answered. She and her fellow villagers were well advanced in preparing for war. The local militia drilled every fortnight; vigilant watches were kept in the countryside and along the shoreline; the village stores of gunpowder had been carried away and hidden for safekeeping; and village leaders, including Josiah Quincy Sr. and Norton Quincy, were monitoring activities in Boston. From his perch at the top of his home, Josiah could keep an eye on British ships patrolling the harbor, and on clear days, he could see troop movements in the town itself.

  Governor Gage might have banned all town meetings, but, as Abigail reported with a note of pride, in Braintree, “they have had their Town meeting here which was full as usual, chose their committee for the County meeting, and did Business without once regarding or fearing for the consequences.”20

  She also sent John updates about the farm: “The drought has been very severe. My poor Cows will certainly prefer a petition to you … they are become great Sufferers … by reason of the drought.… They Humbly pray that you would consider them, least hunger should break thro the Stone walls.” Of their family, she wrote, “Our little flock are well, and present their Duty to their Pappa.”21

  Through all of Abigail Adams’ letters ran the thread of her desire to have John with her again: “I dare not express as a distance of 300 miles distance how ardently I long for your return”; and her loneliness without him: “The tenderest regard evermore awaits you.”22

  John’s letters in return were full of regrets that he could not write more, but there was so much work to do: “It is a great Affliction to me that I cannot write to you oftener than I do. But there are so many Hindrances, that I cannot.… We have so much Business, so much Ceremony, so much Company, so many Visits to receive and return, that I have not Time to write.”23

  In his diary, John recorded the many feasts he attended as a delegate. At the home of Quakers, he’d partaken of “Ducks, Hams, Chickens, Beef, Pigg, Tarts, Creams, Custards, Gellies, fools, Trifles, floating Islands, Beer, Porter, Punch, Wine,”24 and the very next evening, he’d enjoyed “A most sinfull Feast again! Every Thing which could delight the Eye, or allure the Taste, Curds and Creams, Jellies, Sweet meats of various sorts, 20 sorts of Tarts, fools, Trifles, floating Islands, whippd Sillabubs &c. &c.—Parmesan Cheese, Punch, Wine, Porter, Beer.”25

  But to Abigail he offered no details as to the meals he was enjoying, writing in only one letter of the “incessant Feasting I have endured ever since I left Boston,”26 and instead focusing on his very busy schedule: “My Time is totally filled from the Moment I get out of Bed, untill I return to it. Visits, Ceremonies, Company, Business, News Papers, Pamphlets &c. &c. &c.”27

  He answered her affections with his own, much less ardently stated: “My Compliments, Love, Service where they are due.” Perhaps he was worried about his letters being intercepted, as he wrote, “There is so much Rascallity in the Management of Letters, now come in Fashion, that I am determined to write nothing of Consequence, not even to the Friend of my Bosom, but by Conveyances which I can be sure of.”28

  The lack of warmth, much less passion, might have left Abigail feeling dissatisfied with the already too infrequent letters from her husband. Charged with keeping the farm going and taking care of a house full of children, and answering daily inquiries from neighbors curious for news from Philadelphia, she might have welcomed a more amorous declaration from John. But she continued doggedly with her duties to farm, family, and community, whether John appreciated her hard work or not.

  23

  In the Cause of Liberty

  That Americans know their rights …

  and defend them, are matters of which I harbour no doubt.

  Whether the arts of policy or the arts of war will decide the contest,

  are problems we will solve at a more convenient season.

  —JOSIAH QUINCY JR.

  Throughout the fall of 1774, threats against the Massachusetts Loyalists mounted as fears of Gage’s next steps increased. Those colonists still loyal to Parliament, or still in their pay, were viewed as collaborators to the oppressions imposed by Gage and were to be punished. John Hancock had threatened Jonathan Sewall before—“he was all for a mob to take off that brother-in-law of his”1—but his words had been in jest.

  When the real threats arrived at Sewall’s door, Hancock was horrified—especially because it was Dolly’s sister Esther who bore the brunt of the attack, not her husband. Esther was home alone the day the mobs arrived, with just her three young children and a few servants. Jonathan had fled to Boston the day before, after hearing rumors that colonists, angered over the Powder Alarm, were plotting revenge against those they deemed responsible. Jonathan stopped in at the home of Edmund, his father-in-law, but when Edmund asked him to spend the night, Jonathan had refused and left to find refuge with a Loyalist friend.

  Edmund wrote to his daughter Katy, who had finally gone to stay with her sister Sarah in Lancaster, that he blamed Sewall for bringing such shame on the entire family, and such misery to the entire colony; but he consoled himself that with Sewall gone into hiding, Esther would be safe from t
he mob: he was certain “no hurt will come to her or her house.”2 He was wrong.

  By midday on September 1, men and boys from Cambridge and Charlestown, and even some coming from as far away as Roxbury and Dorchester, had gathered on the Cambridge Common. Dust billowed around the feet of the growing mob, turning shoes and pant legs gray; throats grew parched in the rising heat of the day. Barrels of cider and beer were rolled out, and drinks taken to stem the growing thirst.

  Then the crowd moved away from the Common, marching up Tory Row. William Brattle was the initial target of the mob, for it was he who had alerted Governor Gage to the gunpowder stored in Charlestown, thereby setting off the raid by the British and putting into motion the hysteria and fears that Gage intended to launch an all-out bombardment of Boston. Even when the fears subsided, the anger remained.

  But Brattle was not at home when the mob surrounded his house, nor were any of his family. The ire of the crowd next turned to Sewall, a known favorite of the new governor and a longtime Loyalist. The frustrated men and boys of the crowd began to march toward his house, shouting all the way. Esther, hearing the cries of the mob, drew close to the windows of her drawing room. Her two boys were with her, ages four and seven, and they too ran to the windows to see what was happening.

  Suddenly, a barrage of rocks came flying, hurled against the closed windows. Glass shattered on the floor all around her, and Esther shouted to her children to move back as far as they could up against the walls of the room. With no thought to her own safety, Esther ran to the front door of her home.