American Rebels

by Nina Sankovitch

  Josiah was stunned. He had yet to receive a single letter from America and was not prepared for the enormity of what the Continental Congress had achieved. Another boycott? Militias? It was as if America were declaring war. In fact, Horace Walpole, past member of Parliament who opposed Lord North’s policies, declared: “The long-expected sloop is arrived at last, and is indeed a man of war!”35

  But when Franklin shared with Josiah the contents of the petition, Josiah saw that despite the measures undertaken by the congress, such as the boycott and militia and committees, their petition to the king was both moderate and conciliatory. The Americans asked for relief from their revered sovereign in a humble way and expressed no threat of rebellion or any kind of violence at all: “so far as promoting innovations, we have only opposed them … and can be charged with no offence, unless it be to receive injuries and be sensible of them.”36

  Lord Dartmouth agreed to pass the petition on to the king but could not promise that King George would receive it, much less read it. With Christmas coming, Parliament was disbanded and would take up the problems of America in the new year.

  Ben Franklin met with Lord Richard Howe on Christmas Day, in an effort to work with him to formulate a plan for reconciliation between the colonies and England. Josiah was not invited, but he would not have come if he had been. He was desperate to leave London, to get away from the damp chill and dirty air of the city. He passed the New Year’s holiday in Bath and spent hours on end wandering the hills that surrounded the ancient city. He was anxious for news from across the sea; he waited for instructions on what to do now, for his colony and his country.

  On both sides of the Atlantic, fear was growing that battles, not of words but of guns and swords, would have to be fought to resolve the conflict between England and America. And not just battles, but a war.

  25

  Sharpening Quills and Swords

  We have too many high sounding words,

  and too few actions that correspond with them.

  —ABIGAIL ADAMS

  John Adams was hard at work in Braintree in the early days of 1775, holed up in his corner office while the winds howled off the sea a mile away and snow piled up against the farmhouse, rising to a height just below the window ledges. The snowfall had been unexpected and would melt within days under the sunny skies to come. But for now, roads were impassable and Braintree felt isolated and quiet, a village alone along the sea.

  During the past weeks, a spate of letters had come out in the Massachusetts Gazette, all purportedly the writings of an anonymous Tory who went by the pen name “Massachusettensis.” The letters praised parliamentary rule in the colonies and warned against the “proliferation of Committees” (a direct attack at both the Provincial Congress and the Continental Congress); the writer warned that the protests against England would lead to annihilation: “With the British navy in the front, Canadians and Savages in the rear, a regular army in the midst, desolation will pass through our land like a whirlwind, our houses burnt to ashes, our fair possessions laid waste.”1

  Well-written and hugely popular—John Adams himself described the letters as “shining like the moon among the lesser stars”—the letters offered support to those colonists who feared that protests against parliamentary authority were going too far and who believed reconciliation was only achievable through reasonable concessions made on both sides.2

  Eventually, it would be revealed that the letters had been penned by Daniel Leonard, an old friend of John who had become a confirmed Loyalist; Adams blamed Thomas Hutchinson for having “seduced from my Bosom, three of the most intimate Friends I ever had in my Life, Jonathan Sewall, Samuel Quincy, and Daniel Leonard.”3

  But for a long time, John was convinced that Jonathan Sewall had written the letters. He took the essays as a personal attack by his old friend, a public retaliation for John’s refusal to take Jonathan’s advice those long months ago, when they walked together on the hill overlooking Casco Bay. John decided he had to answer the letters with ones of his own; he would respond to the points made by Massachusettensis and go even further, to prove once and for all that he, John Adams, had made the right choice in attending the Continental Congress and choosing a unified America.

  In his essays, penned under the name “Novangelus,” he emphatically refuted that colonists opposing parliamentary oppression were seeking an independence from England. But even as he wrote these words, the idea of a unified and independent country began to grow—and would be seeded in the minds of his readers: “The patriots of this province desire nothing new—they wish only to keep their old privileges.… They were for 150 years allowed to tax themselves, and govern their internal concerns … [while] Parliament governed their trade.… This plan, they wish may continue forever. But it is honestly confessed, rather than become subject to the absolute authority of parliament, in all cases of taxation and internal polity, they will be driven to throw off” any continued oversight from England.4

  John had not quite issued a call for independence—but he had come close.

  * * *

  Josiah Quincy Jr. finally received a packet of letters from America when he returned to London from Bath in the new year. He dug into the pile, reveling in hearing once again his friends’ voices and feeling the love of his wife and family. From his wife came concerns for his well-being and news of the children. From his father, a wish that his son’s health was vibrant; hearing good news on that score “would be almost as joyful and reviving to your aged Father, as to hear that through your Mediation, Peace and Harmony were restored between the Parent State and her injured and oppressed children.”5

  From Dr. Joseph Warren came advice that was both radical and reasonable: “If the late acts of Parliament are not to be repealed, the wisest step for both countries is fairly to separate, and not spend their blood and treasure destroying each other.”6 Josiah found it hard to believe there might a peaceful, bloodless solution to the conflict—and like Warren, he saw independence of the American colonies as a real possibility, not just an idea. He had seen for himself what he considered to be a corrupt regime controlling Parliament, and believed that separating America from England might be necessary to protect not only the liberties of the colonies but their sanctity as well.

  In return for all the letters he received, Josiah consigned to his local agent a large number to be sent to America. On most of his correspondence, he used an assumed name, “Henry Ireton,” fearing that his own name would excite too much interest and possible interception of his mail. In a letter to his father, Josiah made a joke about the possibility of his correspondence being confiscated: “This letter is intended to contain nothing but what spies of the ministry may be willing to let pass; and having gratified their own curiosity, I wish they may also be candid and generous enough to let my friends gratify theirs too.”7 But his humor barely disguised his concerns.

  He was right to be worried. There were those in the British government heavily advocating a policy of screening all letters carried by packet ships to and from the American colonies. Although official action on the proposal wouldn’t take place for months, Josiah correctly suspected that agents of Parliament had already begun searching the mail of known agitators. Josiah Quincy Jr. was known to be one such agitator—within days of his arrival in London, he was denounced in Parliament as a man “walking the streets of London … [who instead] ought to be in [the prisons] Newgate or Tyburn.”8 It would be easy enough to steal letters from a packet sailing to America, and Josiah had to be very careful not only how he signed his letters but how he sent them.

  He grew increasingly certain that letters addressed to him had already been confiscated, having received no news at all from Sam Adams, John Adams, or any of the other delegates to the Continental Congress. He wrestled with what to do, unsure of his role or purpose now that a boycott had started and a petition had been sent to the king. Was he to negotiate some kind of peace with England or resign himself and his country to war?<
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  When Parliament began meeting again, in January 1775, Josiah was unexpectedly buoyed by the valiant and moving speeches he heard there. Friends in Parliament finally came to the floor to argue on behalf of the colonies, and Josiah, overjoyed, enthusiastically recorded their speeches word for word.

  Lord Chatham, Lord Camden, Lord Shelburne—all gave rousing orations asking for consideration of the complaints made by the colonists, and suggesting avenues for peaceful resolution of the disputes between colonies and Parliament. They also predicted grave consequences if no resolution could be reached. “You cannot force a form of Government upon any people,” the Duke of Richmond said. “You may spread fire, sword, and desolation, but that will not be government.”9

  Josiah wrote home to Abigail that the colonies’ commercial pressures might prove enough after all to both stave off war and propel Parliament to rescind the Intolerable Acts: “The people of this country must be made to feel the importance of their American brethren … must feel it at every nerve.… The cause of the colonies grows every day more popular; that of the ministry, more desperate. There can be no doubt that the peaceful, spiritless, and self-denying warfare [the boycott] would yield an ample victory.”10

  As his spirits rose, his health improved; “I never enjoyed greater health or spirits,” he wrote to his wife.11 He urged her to spread the message that if Americans continue to “withstand the blandishments of luxury, and the delusions of false pride, they may purchase liberty … they must soon make their election, the loaf of slavery or the sword of blood.”12

  He suddenly had real hope that the sword of blood could be avoided. There seemed to be so much support in Parliament for rescinding the Port Bill’s harsh measures against Massachusetts, and even removing troops from the colony. And petitions were pouring in from manufacturers all over Great Britain pleading for a resolution with the colonies and a return to full trade and commerce.

  But all too soon, Josiah’s hopes were dashed. Behind the scenes, the ministry had been planning a program to annihilate colonial resistance all along. At the end of January, Josiah Quincy Jr. sat stock-still, listening to the roll call of votes offered on Lord Chatham’s motion to withdraw all British troops from Boston: it was defeated, 69 votes against to 18 in favor. Another vote was taken, on a proposal to hear pro-American petitions from the merchants of London: it was also defeated.

  Josiah realized then that all his allies in Parliament could not help America: they were too few, and the ministry and Lord North were too powerful. He returned to his rooms, disheartened, and wrote in his journal, “This debate and division show that if King, Lords, and Commons can subdue America into bondage against the almost universal sentiment, opinion, wish, and hope of the Englishmen of this Island, the deed will be done.”13

  That evening, Josiah once again fell ill. His fever returned, and with it, a cough so deep and rough that blood came up. He retreated to his bed for days.

  Visitors came by daily, bringing updates on Parliament, each new item more disturbing to Quincy than the one before: Lord Dartmouth had sent instructions to Governor Gage to arrest the principal rebels, including John Hancock and Sam Adams. More troops were on their way to Boston. New bills were being crafted that would proclaim Massachusetts to be in rebellion and punish the colony by exacting even more punitive measures, including imposing bans on fisheries under British control. And Lord North planned on offering conciliatory measures to certain factions in America in an effort to divide the colonies. If Massachusetts could be isolated and its rebellious factions destroyed, Lord North was sure that the rest of America would bow down to parliamentary control and pay obeisance to the Crown.

  * * *

  At the beginning of February, as Josiah Quincy Jr. lay sick and exhausted in London, John Hancock called to order the second meeting of the Massachusetts Provincial Congress. Close to three hundred delegates and observers crowded into the meetinghouse in Cambridge, assembling on the hard pews. The odor of wet wool and sweat mixed with the scent of burning wood, as the woodstove worked overtime against the freezing temperatures seeping in through the slats of the walls and the high windows.

  Rumors now abounded throughout the colony: more British troops would arrive any day; Hancock and Adams, along with other patriot leaders, were to be arrested and possibly condemned to hang; and new, even more punitive measures were being considered by Parliament for the already heavily burdened New Englanders.

  On February 2, the Massachusetts Spy printed the full text of King George’s speech given at the opening of Parliament in November, in which he denounced the colonists of Massachusetts and deemed them guilty of treason. The colonists were at last learning what Josiah Jr. had already come to understand: the king was against them.

  Abigail Adams was horrified: “Yesterday brought us such a Speach from the Throne as will stain with everlasting infamy the reign of George the 3 … the most wicked and hostile measures will be persued against us—even without giving us an opportunity to be heard in our defence. Infatuated Brittain! poor distressed America. Heaven only knows what is next to take place but it seems to me the Sword is now our only, yet dreadful alternative.”14

  The specter of the King’s Speech hung over the Provincial Congress. In addressing the gathered representatives, Hancock counseled that the time to prepare for war had come. A motion was made and quickly passed, reelecting Hancock president of the congress. Calling on Sam Adams and Joseph Warren to help, Hancock began to form committees, which in turn would take on responsibility for carrying forward measures that would ensure the colony was ready for whatever was coming next from Britain, including civil war.

  A plan was put forth for manufacturing firearms in the colony and safeguarding existing stores of arms and ammunition. Vigilant watch was to be kept on British movements in Boston. The citizens of the colony were to be educated as to “the imminent danger they are in, from the present disposition of the British ministry and parliament … there is reason to fear that they will attempt our sudden destruction … inhabitants of this colony [are] to prepare themselves for the last event.”15

  John Adams in Braintree was relieved to receive news of another item that had been considered and then approved by the Provincial Congress: each delegate to the Continental Congress would be paid, both for past service and for the upcoming session scheduled for May. With few legal clients, and little income from the farm because of the previous season’s drought, the money would be welcome in the Adams household. John may have suspected that part of his salary would be paid out of Hancock’s own coffers, but Adams still bristled at the wealth of his childhood friend, and he failed to acknowledge Hancock’s generosity in sharing what he had. The colony struggled to gather the funds needed to keep their fledgling—and illegal—government going, and Hancock continued to help as much as he could.

  Across the Boston Neck, “a great uneasiness” had settled on the town.16 The number of Redcoats seemed to exceed the number of locals, as so many Bostonians had fled to the countryside and those who remained avoided public venues, fearful of encounters that could quickly turn ugly.

  Abigail Adams wrote to her friend and mentor, Mercy Otis Warren, about an incident involving a drunken soldier who started a melee that in the end involved nine more British officers, all “pretty well warmd with liquor … who fell upon the [Town] Watch.”17 Abigail, hearing of the altercation with a “good deal of pertubation of Spirits,” waited for news from Boston, to “relieve me from my apprehensions.” But she noted that the fight had been spontaneous; it did not appear “that there was any premediated design to raise a Tumult.”18

  Nevertheless, such incidents were occurring with greater frequency in Boston and its surrounding villages as more soldiers arrived in Massachusetts. Finding life in the colonies difficult, with meager rations and inadequate housing, the British troops resorted to hanging out in taverns to stay warm and drinking rum to dull hunger; drunken brawls between soldiers and colonists was the all-too-common resul
t.

  “Thus are we to be in continual hazard and Jeopardy of our lives from a Set of dissolute unprincipald officers,” Abigail complained to Mercy; “subjected to “an Ignorant abandoned Soldiery who are made to believe that their Errant here is to Quell a Lawless Set of Rebels.” She added at the end, “who can think of it without the utmost indignation.”19

  * * *

  Dolly Quincy, her sister Katy, and her father, Edmund, remained in Boston but spent as much time as possible in the Hancock mansion with Aunt Lydia, feeling secure on Beacon Hill. Even the rumors of John Hancock’s imminent arrest didn’t alarm them. As James Lovell had written in a letter to Josiah Quincy Jr., the feeling among the patriots of Boston was that despite his early and harsh restrictions in the port, Governor Gage was turning out to be a reasonable man: “we know [his] Conduct has fallen vastly short of the bloody expectations of those Villains who surround him.”20

  After all, Gage had court-martialed the British soldiers who attacked the town watch in January. He had started to allow the movement of certain goods into harbor waters. And as a man seasoned by brutal war (having served in battles in the Netherlands and Scotland, and also in the Seven Years’ War in America, alongside a young George Washington), he was loathe to start another one. He wouldn’t seek out the arrest of Hancock or Sam Adams, knowing that such a move would surely spark insurrection throughout the colony.

  But then another threat appeared on the streets of Boston. By early March 1775, cases of smallpox were once again being reported, both in private homes and in the barracks; the scourge had also appeared in the surrounding towns of Roxbury, Cambridge, and Mendon. The town selectmen, led by Hancock, imposed quarantines and required that all affected homes be treated by a smoking out of the interiors. Both town leaders and Governor Gage were intent on keeping the number of cases down, in the already miserable town.