American Rebels

by Nina Sankovitch

  “Everything is peace here, and I wish it may soon return to my dear, dear country,” Samuel wrote to his wife. He ruefully noted that he was becoming acquainted with all the respectable watering holes in town—Paul’s Head Tavern, the Crown & Anchor, the Adelphi—but had yet to see the inside of a lord’s home or office. There was little he could do here in London for his country, and having heard of the utter misery of Boston and the surrounding villages, he was “peculiarly anxious” to hear from his wife; “it is now five months since I saw you, and more than three since I heard from you.… Next [to] the pleasure of seeing you, is that of seeing your handwriting; next to hearing you, hearing from you.”10

  To his brother-in-law Henry Hill, Sam wrote of the futility of his mission to England: “every proposal of hope … to alter the measures of Government & redress the Grievances … is spurned at … the People of this Country are united in their attachment to the reigning Prince and his illustrious family.… The political subordination of the Colonies is in this island a sacred tenet.”

  The Battle of Bunker Hill only ignited further passion on the part of the British to tighten the screws on the colonies, Samuel warned; and “more ships and troops, every species of ammunition and warlike implements … are already embarked” for Boston.11

  Depressed by the likelihood of a bloody war in which many of his friends would die—and which would threaten his own wife and children as well—Samuel felt useless and emasculated. “To stay longer in England, absent from my friends and family with a bare subsistence, inactive, without prospects, and useless to myself and the world was death to me.”12

  To his wife he lamented, “The continuance of our unhappy separation has something in it so unexpected, so unprecedented, so complicated with evil and misfortune.”13

  Sam turned his lost hope for peace into fervent prayers for a short war; it was the best outcome he could imagine. He wrote to Henry Hill, it is “my duty patiently to submit to the event as it may be governed by the all-wise counsel of that Being who ruleth in the heavens, and is the God of armies.”14

  Meanwhile, his wife, Hannah, lived with her brother in Cambridge, the center of the war in America. George Washington’s headquarters on Brattle Street were just a few blocks away, and the thousands of New England soldiers encamped nearby could be heard and smelled from the garden of the Hill home. The sounds of the militias were bad enough—the daily drills and actual sniping, shots and balls fired across the water at Boston, the incessant drumming, a tattoo of impending battle always rattling in her brain.

  But the smells were even worse—the reek of untended latrines; the lingering odors of sickness and the scouring sharpness of vinegar used to cleanse sickness away; the terrible stench of cooking, as every varmint that could be caught was roasted over an open fire—Hannah and the other inhabitants of the house held a handkerchief to their faces when they went outside to ward off the smells that would never fade away.

  * * *

  The second meeting of the Second Continental Congress began in Philadelphia on September 5, 1775. John Hancock and his new wife, Dolly, had settled into rooms on Arch Street, in the house they shared with the other Massachusetts delegates. John was once again suffering from gout and Dolly’s attention was focused on his comfort; she left their trunks and furnishings untouched as she sought out new doctors in Philadelphia. But there was little to offer John in terms of treatment, and he took to his bed to endure in silence the severe burning and swelling of his joints.

  The pain was so bad that for the first weeks of Congress, John could not attend most meetings, although he hid the severity of the illness as best he could: “Mr. Hancock having a Touch of the Gout, there was no President in the Chair,” wrote Richard Smith, delegate of New Jersey. Smith noted the absence with a note of melancholy; support for Hancock’s continued presidency of the Congress remained strong, and most of the delegates eagerly awaited his return.

  Even Peyton Randolph, the first president chosen, had no problem with Hancock continuing in the role. John Adams, however, wrote to James Warren of his disapproval: “Mr. Randolph, our former President is here, and Sits very humbly in his Seat, while our new one, continues in the Chair, without Seeming to feel the Impropriety.”15

  Soon enough, Randolph once again succumbed to illness while Hancock improved in health, and by the middle of September, Hancock was firmly in charge once again. (Randolph died on October 17 and his funeral took place one week later; this was the only day off that Congress had the entire fall.) Hancock’s duties were many, and included signing off on, and then assigning responsibility for, the implementation of legislation and resolutions passed by Congress, such as securing ammunition and arms, and setting up a navy. He also had to write out and sign requisitions for all the money needed to implement congressional actions, such as army salaries and funds for supplies. As president, he was charged with initiating negotiations for support from France through letters and petitions, and had to approve and write up officers’ commissions by the dozens.

  But now he had help. Dolly took on the responsibilities of clerk for her husband. She was kept busy “trimming off the rough edges of bills of credit issues by Congress and signed by the President,” she recalled later, “and packing them up in saddle bags to be sent off to various quarters for use by the army.”16 She also took on responsibility for sending out the officers’ commissions signed by her husband and taking notes of the daily meetings, as dictated by Hancock to her late at night.

  Even John Adams had to admit that Dolly was a welcome addition to the delegation from Massachusetts—“she lives and behaves with Modesty, Decency, Dignity and Discretion I assure you. Her Behaviour is easy and genteel”—although he did not go so far as to acknowledge her assistance to the actual workings of Congress: “She avoids talking upon Politicks. In large and mixed Companies she is totally silent, as a Lady ought to be.”17

  Ignoring her work as clerk, he instead appreciated the respectable socializing she’d instigated, breaking up the ten-hour days, six days a week, of congressional meetings, with “after-hours caucusing and conversation.”18

  But Dolly’s work was acknowledged in another way. At the beginning of November, good news was received from Canada, where the Continental Army was engaged in a battle to conquer the Province of Quebec. Fort Chambly on the route to Montreal had been taken by the Americans, and a number of English troops from the Seventh Regiment (Royal Fusiliers) had been taken prisoner.

  The flags of the Royal Fusiliers were sent to Philadelphia, and in a short but moving ceremony, presented as a gift to Dolly. They were hung ceremoniously in the rooms she shared with her husband, where they were displayed “with great Splendor and Elegance.”19 While the victory in Canada would be short-lived, the flags remained, a tribute to Dorothy Hancock’s contribution to the cause.

  * * *

  Within a week of John Adams leaving Abigail in Braintree en route to Philadelphia, the scourge of dysentery arrived in the village. Abigail was the first to fall ill in her household; she even considered writing to John and asking him to return, but she worried that if he came back to the village, he “should be a partaker of the common calamity”—and she wanted her man to stay healthy.

  After a few days, Abigail began to feel better, but then one of her servant girls fell sick, and then another did. And then little Tommy became feverish and splotchy. Abigail wrote to John that their youngest child “lies very ill now—there is no abatement at present of his disorder.… I hope he is not dangerous.”20

  Tommy recovered within a week of falling ill—although “was you to look in upon him you would not know him, from a hearty hale corn fed Boy, he is become pale lean and wan”21—but the servant Patty suffered throughout September, her symptoms turning her into what Abigail described as “the most ghastly object my Eyes ever beheld.”

  Because Patty was “continually desirous of my being with her the little While she expects to live,” Abigail tended to her, even when she became �
�such a putrid mass” that no one could bear to come near her, much less “do their Duty towards her.”22

  All of Braintree suffered the horrors of the disease. Abigail wrote to John: “18 have been buried since you left us.… [There have been] 4, 3 and 2 funerals in a day for many days.… Mrs. Randle has one child that is not expected to live out the night, Mrs. Belcher has another, Joseph Bracket another.… Mr. Wibird lies bad. Major Miller is dangerous. Revd. Mr. Gay is not expected to live.… So sickly and so Mortal a time the oldest Man does not remember.”23

  Two weeks later, the illness still raged: “Some poor parents are mourning the loss of 3, 4 and 5 children, and some families are wholly striped of every Member.”24

  Abigail’s home was turned into a hospital. She nursed on her own, “such is the distress of the neighborhood that I can scarcely find a well person to assist me in looking after the sick.”25 The only help she had was from her mother, who traveled every day from Weymouth to do what she could for her daughter and for the household.

  But then Abigail’s mother fell sick; “She has taken the disorder and lies so bad that we have little hopes of her Recovery. She is possess’d with the Idea that she shall not recover, and I fear it will prove but too true,” Abigail wrote mournfully to John at the end of September.26

  * * *

  By mid-September, Abigail Quincy’s son, Josiah, was well on his way to recovery. Abigail Quincy wrote to Josiah Sr. in Braintree that her little boy’s fever had passed and he was feeling so much better that he was now going out on horseback rides through the countryside: a relief for both mother and grandfather that this one child survived.

  Abigail Quincy also wrote of her continuing sorrow over the loss of Josiah Jr.; her love for her “dear husband,” she wrote to his father, “will remain till I cease to breathe the vital air.”27

  And even after—for Abigail was resolute in her desire that in death, she and her husband be reunited, his body exhumed from its grave in Gloucester and the two of them laid together, as he had wished, in the burial grounds at Braintree.

  * * *

  Abigail Adams’ mother died on October 1, 1775. Abigail wrote to John, “How can I tell you (o my bursting Heart) that my Dear Mother has Left me … she left this world for an infinitely better [one].… Almighty God restrain the pestilence which walketh in darkness and wasteth … and which has laid in the dust one of the dearest of parents.”28

  Her father, who had administered the final blessing on his wife, was devastated. “Child, I see your Mother, go to what part of the house I will,” he told Abigail.29 He would not remarry but would hold Elizabeth Quincy Smith in his heart as his only love until he died, nine years later.

  Patty, Abigail’s servant girl, whom she considered “one of my own Family,” died on October 8; “she made the fourth Corpse that was this day committed to the Ground” in Braintree.30 Abigail had written back in September that “the desolation of War is not so distressing as the Havoc made by the pestilence.”31 She prayed to “the Father of Mercies” now to keep her remaining family well and safe and wondered if the twin plagues of illness and discord would ever end.32

  * * *

  On October 10, 1775, Josiah Quincy Sr. sat in a chair at his window overlooking Boston Harbor. Another royal governor was leaving Massachusetts, and Josiah wanted to watch him go. Governor Gage had been recalled to England, blamed by Parliament for the losses suffered at Bunker Hill and for failing to take decisive action against the colonists earlier in the year. Sir William Howe replaced Gage as commander of the British forces in New England. Lord North was hopeful that Howe would be able to crush the colonists there, and splinter all support in Congress for war against England.

  Josiah took a knife from the table beside him, used for peeling the apples that were picked every morning, still wet with dew, from the orchards that grew up and down the hillsides of his property. Carefully, he carved into the glass of his window with the point of his knife: “Oct. 10, 1775. Governor Gage sailed for England with a fair wind.”33

  He laid the knife back down. His heart was heavy. Fair winds blew for Gage, but he knew storm clouds, fomented by Howe, would soon be descending over all of New England.

  * * *

  British forces, in the form of four hulking navy ships, approached the port town of Falmouth on Cape Cod early in the morning of October 17. In weeks past, a few shots had been fired from Falmouth toward passing British vessels. Howe was now determined to deliver a message, not only to the rebels of Falmouth but to all New Englanders, that any aggressive acts against Britain would be punished.

  A messenger from the English ships rowed to shore and delivered Howe’s ultimatum to the people of Falmouth: rebel leaders, along with all town munitions, were to be surrendered immediately or Falmouth would be destroyed.

  No surrenders were made and the following day, the English fired an eight-hour barrage of cannonballs, bombs, and incendiary shells into the town. When townspeople were spotted trying to put out fires, a landing party of British soldiers pushed them back, ensuring that the fires burned through the day and night.

  By dawn the next morning, more than three hundred buildings, along with wharves, warehouses, and fishing boats, lay in ruins, reduced to ashes and charred beams. With a long winter on its way, the residents of Falmouth were left without homes or food, and without boats to secure sustenance from the sea. A flood of refugees made its way inland, seeking shelter.

  In Braintree, John Adams’ mother was worried that the British Navy would next travel to Philadelphia and bombard that town, placing her son in danger. Abigail, however, incensed as she was over “Poor Falmouth [which] has shared the fate of Charlestown,” worried less about John and more about the future of her colony: “are we become a Sodom? I would fain hope we are not.”34

  More and more, Abigail was beginning to think that the only path to salvation was through independence: “Unsearchable are the ways of Heaven who permitteth Evil to befall a city and a people by those very hands who were by them constituted the Guardians and protecters of them,” she wrote to John.35 England no longer protected the colonies, but instead hurt them; and the colonies must separate from such evildoers.

  Two weeks later, as more details of the bombing of Falmouth came out and the miseries of Boston multiplied (“Poor poor inhabitants of Boston, what will be their fate?”), Abigail became certain of her position.36 She opposed any “reconciliation between [the] tyrant State, and these Colonies.”

  She proclaimed to John: “Let us separate, they are unworthy to be our Brethren. Let us renounce them and instead of supplications as formerly for their prosperity and happiness, Let us beseech the almighty to blast their counsels and bring to Nought all their devices.”37

  Independence! This was her rallying cry now.

  * * *

  George Washington, stunned by the “cruelty and barbarity … revenge and malice” in the bombardment of Falmouth, saw the British military action as “proof of the diabolical designs” of Lord North and his ministry.38 He demanded that Congress now allow Americans to engage in privateering—the capturing of enemy boats at sea—as both retaliation for the bombing of Falmouth and to secure much-needed supplies for the colonists.

  Although Congress would not officially condone privateering for months, the leaders of Massachusetts directed its colony’s vessels to attack and capture any passing British ship; prizes could be claimed for the goods found on board, and any army supplies would go to the continental forces. By the end of October, a fleet of scrappy New Englanders in their humble boats set sail, intent on their prey; they aimed their schooners, sloops, and brigs at the navy ships of England, the most powerful armed vessels in the world.

  * * *

  In November, the Continental Congress in Philadelphia received word from London. The king had responded to their Olive Branch Petition by declaring them all to be in “open and avowed rebellion … traitorously preparing, ordering, and levying war against” England. King George vow
ed that there would be “condign punishment [for] the authors, perpetrators, and abettors of such traitorous designs.”39

  On October 26, the king, in opening Parliament, once again declared the colonies to be in rebellion and vowed that England would “put a speedy end to these disorders by the most decisive exertions of force.” He alluded to additional armed support from “foreign assistance,” that is, mercenaries.

  Although he promised to pardon the “deluded multitude … sensible of their error,” the leaders of the treasonous conspiracy against England would be punished without mercy.40

  The Olive Branch had been swatted away. England had declared war on its colonies in America.

  * * *

  John Adams, in responding to the king’s rejection of the petition, stayed away from words like independence and separation. And yet he was already beginning to devise a system of government that, as he wrote to Richard Henry Lee, “is most readily and easily adopted by a Colony, upon a Sudden Emergency”—such as the sudden emergency of finding itself independent. He offered details to Lee of a “a Legislative, an Executive and a judicial Power” with a “balancing each of these Powers against the other two” in order to check the impulse “in human Nature towards Tyranny” and to preserve Freedoms as guaranteed in “the Constitution.”41

  Adams’ vision of this “emergency” government would prove to be the framework of the new nation—but a nation that now he could see only in his dreams and speak of only in private.

  As usual, Abigail both dreamed and spoke more freely. She had put much thought into how a new country would be best governed and shared with her husband her concerns; “if we separate from Britain, what Code of Laws will be established.… How shall we be governed so as to retain our Liberties? Can any government be free which is not administered by general stated Laws? Who shall frame these Laws? Who will give them force and energy?”42