American Rebels

by Nina Sankovitch

  She had formed her own ideas on how best to govern people, to nudge them toward good behavior and reward them for loyalty and hard work—and her plans applied not only to white men, but to all the population. She saw merit in every human being and would try over the coming months to get John to see things the way she did, especially in terms of the rights of blacks and women.

  Unbeknown to her when she wrote in early December, John was finally on his way home. He had asked leave from Congress—as he was “worn down with long and uninterrupted Labour”—and it had been granted; on December 9 he left for Massachusetts; he would finally arrive in Braintree on December 21.43 Abigail longed to see him: “I have been like a nun in a cloister ever since you went away.… My Evenings are lonesome and Melancholy.”44

  She wanted her John back in the flesh again; his words scrawled hastily across paper were never an adequate substitute. To have him with her, to hold and to talk to, and to persuade as best she could to her point of view on independence for everyone.

  * * *

  In early December 1775, John Hancock received word from George Washington that the British brig Nancy, an ordnance ship, had been captured by the Lee, a small schooner captained by the “rough and ready” Boston shipmaster John Manley.45 The British ship carried tons of ammunition, thousands of muskets, several brass cannon, one hundred thousand flints, and a three-thousand-pound mortar that would later be called “the noblest piece of ordnance ever landed in America.”46

  Not only would the British be denied their arms and ammunition, but with that one capture, the Americans had landed supplies they desperately needed. Ammunition stores had fallen so steeply that Congress was considering outfitting soldiers with bows and arrows—but the capture of the Nancy would help toward refilling empty coffers.

  John Hancock quickly shared the news of the Nancy’s seizure with Congress. Cheers rebounded around the meeting room in the State House. Hope once again flourished; more prizes would be secured on the high seas, the delegates were sure. In addition, Hancock reported, Henry Knox, a twenty-five-year-old former bookseller from Boston, had formulated a plan, approved by George Washington, to travel to Fort Ticonderoga in upper New York and steal away the fifty-nine cannon and mortars that were held there by the British and bring them back to army headquarters in Cambridge.

  But the optimism brought by the seizure of the Nancy was short-lived. The final weeks of 1775 brought an almost constant barrage of bad news, day after day, week after week. Lord Stirling of New Jersey, an English nobleman who had joined the rebels, wrote to John Hancock about how Tory opposition forces were strengthening in New Jersey, supported by the royal governor William Franklin (son of Benjamin); having acquired both arms and ammunition, “the Tories … assume fresh courage and talk very daringly.”47

  News came from Virginia that John Murray, Earl of Dunmore, Loyalist royal governor of the colony, had declared martial law; established a Loyalist army; proclaimed all revolutionaries to be traitors; and offered freedom to any slaves willing to fight on behalf of England. The news struck terror into the hearts of Southerners, fearful of uprisings; John Hancock condemned the “horrid attempts … to excite domestic insurrections.”48

  George Washington wrote to Hancock of the imminent depletion of his fighting forces. The terms of enlistment for over ten thousand men now serving were coming to an end, and most planned on leaving the army to return home to farms, families, and avocations. Not only was the number of soldiers set to fall precipitously, but once again, rounds of ammunition and stores of gunpowder were running perilously low. Washington also needed money, he wrote to Hancock, to pay for salaries, food, and other supplies.

  To increase the number of troops, Washington made the unilateral decision to allow blacks to fight for the American cause. Ignoring Congress’s previous instructions barring them from service, he wrote diplomatically to John Hancock that he had “presumed to depart from the [congressional] resolution, and have given license for their being enlisted.”49 After all, it was a black man, Salem Poor, who had shot and killed Major John Pitcairn at the Battle of Bunker Hill, landing a terrible blow to the British forces even as they claimed their hollow victory.

  John Adams had argued against blacks being allowed into the army last spring. But in the dead of winter in Braintree, far away from the debates in Congress, he found himself agreeing with Washington’s decision. Slowly, slowly, he was edging closer to his wife Abigail’s position on the manumission of blacks; she always understood that a passion for liberty for one sort of man must be aligned with a passion for liberty for all.

  Desperate for a victory, George Washington repeatedly wrote to Hancock asking for Congress’s approval to launch an offensive against British forces in Boston. He could not understand why Howe had not attacked the colonists and hoped that it might be because Howe’s troops were just too weak and too low on supplies, and therefore vulnerable themselves to attack.

  In fact, Howe had planned to evacuate Boston by the end of the year, moving the British forces to New York to fight there. But parliamentary approval to leave Boston didn’t arrive until December, and by then winter had arrived in full force, making travel difficult. In addition, the number of boats available to General Howe were too few to allow all the troops to leave.

  Howe knew that winter in Boston would be miserable, long, and cold. Snow had fallen early in November, wet and heavy, icing streets and making already damp shelters even chillier. Bitterly cold winds blew off the harbor, and more snow fell as December settled in. Scurvy, smallpox, and dysentery took its toll on British soldiers and Americans alike.

  Every week, scores of people died in the besieged town; Boston had become “the grave of England and the slaughterhouse of America.”50 With fuel low (the Old North Church had long been busted up, its planks, pews, and beams burned for heat, and most of the trees of Boston cut down, including the Liberty Tree) and food stores depleted, the misery would only grow worse as winter dragged on. But there was nothing Howe could do. In mid-December, he announced to his officers that they would remain in Boston until early spring.

  John Hancock urged Congress to send more money to Washington and to work harder to find more supplies for what army he did have. He also spoke in favor of Washington’s proposed attack on Boston, despite the dangers that such an attack posed to his own interests there.

  “It is true nearly all of the property I have in the world is in houses and other real estate in the town of Boston,” he told his fellow delegates. “But if the expulsion of the British army away from it—and the liberties of our country—require their being burnt to ashes, issue the order for that purpose immediately.”51

  While there were a few who opposed the offensive (on the grounds that such an attack would be an act of war against Britain—these delegates still hoped for a peaceful reconciliation with England), on December 22, Hancock was able to send the directive to Washington, giving him congressional approval to proceed and offering the sincere hope that “God crown your attempt with success. I most heartily wish it, though individually I may be the greatest sufferer.”52

  When she heard the news, Dolly was shaken by the prospect of her husband losing everything he owned: his mansion on Beacon Hill and other properties, all the furnishings of the buildings, his warehouses, and whatever goods remained stored there. She had lived through changes of fortune before and the possibility of genteel poverty didn’t scare her. But she worried about how John and Aunt Lydia would fare, losing everything they had.

  On the morning of December 23, she went to a Quaker meetinghouse not far from the Arch Street home of the Massachusetts delegation. She stayed there throughout the afternoon and into the evening, praying. She asked God to keep both the inhabitants and the properties of Boston safe. As for the British, she begged for their departure, the sooner the better.

  31

  Surrender of Boston

  Hath not blood and treasure in all ages

  been the price of civil l
iberty?

  Can Americans hope …

  that the best of blessings will be obtained

  and secured without the sharpest trials?

  —JOSIAH QUINCY SR.

  Abigail Quincy read through the letters her father had shared with her, missives from friends and neighbors who used to live close to them in Boston but were now scattered far and wide, having taken refuge in villages and towns throughout New England. How everyone missed the homes they’d left behind! And how they wished they had taken with them more of their belongings, for now all of those homes and belongings—and memories held therein—were threatened. Not by the British, who had certainly done their worst, but by American forces intent on retaking Boston.

  Abigail knew that the world she had grown up in, and then lived in as a married woman, would never survive the onslaught of a bombardment against Boston. But unlike her neighbors, Abigail felt only relief, for she would be spared reminders of her husband if she never saw Boston again. “I dread the thought of going among my friends that were his friends & acquaintances—as though they were enemies—and feel a secret pleasure in thinking we are not likely to see Boston this winter.”1

  She, like John Hancock, was ready to see the enemies brought to battle and, with God on their side, defeated. As Josiah had written years earlier, “we fear not the hour of trial, though the hosts of our enemies shall cover the field like locusts.”2

  * * *

  Samuel Quincy spent Christmas with Jonathan and Esther Sewall—in England, the day was celebrated with feasting and drinking—and he enjoyed the festivities as best he could, given the separation from his wife and family. He missed them and hoped that he would not become a hazy figure in their memories; in his letters to his wife, Hannah, he asked her to send him details of “how you live, what intercourse you have with one another, and whether my friends round you ever talk or think of me.”3

  Sam especially worried that his children, Sam and Tom, might not remember him, “as I do them, that is, with great Tenderness and Affection, and an earnest Solicitude to see them.”4

  Samuel was certain that war would be fought, and that the British would win. He only hoped it would all be over quickly, with as little blood spilled and lives lost as possible. Until then, “God preserve you all,” he wrote to Hannah, thanking her for her letters, which gave him “evidence that you were still in life.”5 He worried that he—or any member of his family—might not survive the coming war to see each other again and prayed that their separation could end soon.

  Samuel’s hopes for a short war disintegrated as reports began to arrive in England: there had been a British victory in Canada, the Americans held back from entering Quebec City in a crushing defeat of their forces. The American general, Richard Montgomery, was dead, along with fifty other Americans; close to forty men had been wounded and over four hundred Americans had been taken prisoner. And yet still the Americans hung on, camped out at the gates of the city in a brutal winter.

  Samuel had long known of Montgomery’s military exploits, and having heard his brother Josiah speak highly of Montgomery’s Whig politics, he wrote a poem in honor of the slain general.

  Oh, Spirit of the Truly Brave

  From thy obscure, sequestered grave

  Arise! Montgomery, arise!

  Thy immortal name

  bid the Youth Aspire

  Like Thee, on Glory’s Wing to rise.6

  In his diary, Samuel admitted now that the civil war would be long and bloody. He grieved over his separation from friends and family; how he longed to see them all and be back in the Boston he feared would soon be destroyed, and gone forever.

  Jonathan Sewall had no desire to ever see Boston again; he might “wish it well,” but he would never return to that place where “Rebellion and Fanaticism are engendered”—and instead would “shun it as I would a country infested with the plague.”7 His wife Esther, however, missed her old friends and her family; she was lonely for their company and also worried for their safety. No one knew for sure what was happening in Boston; too many rumors flew around London, and too few facts. What she wanted most of all was to return to her native country and see for herself what was going on. She missed her house in Cambridge and the quiet life she had led there until all the troubles began.

  * * *

  John Adams left Braintree in early January 1776 to return to Congress. But first, he traveled to Cambridge to meet with General Washington and to see the new flag that had just been hoisted to fly over army headquarters. Accompanied by a thirteen-gun salute, the flag, with the cross of St. George and St. Andrew in one corner and thirteen stripes for the thirteen colonies, was raised high above Prospect Hill. Its brilliant white and red stripes could be seen as far away as Boston, and that was the intention.

  America had not only its own army now—the Continental Army, as Washington had formally named it—but also its own flag. When British lookouts first spotted it, they thought it was a signal of surrender. But a closer examination with their telescopes revealed the details of the new flag—and destroyed any hope that the rebels might be laying down their arms and returning to the fold of Great Britain.

  * * *

  In an attempt to stir dissension in the American ranks, British officers had copies of the King’s Speech from October printed up and sent through enemy lines for wide distribution among rebel forces. In his speech, the king had offered pardon to those who laid down arms and promised merciless destruction to those who did not. The British were certain that once the rebels knew what the king had promised, there would be a wave of desertions from the American cause. After all, the offer of mercy from King George III was just too good to pass up.

  But wherever the printed speech made its way, the reaction was the same: soldiers tore their copies of the speech into shreds and threw the bits and pieces into the campfires, turning the King’s Speech to ashes.

  * * *

  By late January 1776, Washington reported to John Hancock that he had between eight and ten thousand men in his army, with more men reenlisting than he had anticipated. But he told Hancock only the number of men, not their quality, perhaps to ensure that Congress would continue to support his plan to attack Boston.

  In a letter to his friend Joseph Reed, Washington was more honest: he admitted that fewer than half the men were actually battle-ready; even worse, the amount of ammunition held by the army was too paltry, and the number of weapons were too few, to mount any kind of attack. “The reflection upon my situation and that of this army produces many an uneasy hour when all around me are wrapped in sleep. Few people know the predicament we are in.”8

  Washington, however, would not back down from his plan to attack Boston: “no opportunity can present itself earlier than my wishes.”9 In a council of war with his generals, to which John Adams (as representative of the Massachusetts Provincial Assembly) was invited, Washington told Adams to convey to Congress how urgently he needed arms and ammunition to mount the offensive. John promised he would deliver the message to his fellow delegates, unaware that Washington had another plan for securing weapons: Henry Knox, the young man he’d sent to upstate New York, should be returning soon.

  * * *

  On his way south to Philadelphia, John Adams stopped in New York, intent on finding copies of a recently published pamphlet that was receiving much praise and publicity. John found what he wanted and purchased two copies; he would keep one copy of Thomas Paine’s Common Sense for himself and send the other one home to Abigail. He was sure she would enjoy it.

  As for his own perusal of the pamphlet, John Adams appreciated the “manly and striking style” exhibited by Paine’s writing, yet believed he himself could have done a better job “if I had undertaken such a Work.” He understood how to construct the government of a new nation; whereas Paine “seems to have very inadequate Ideas of [how] to form Constitutions for single Colonies, as well as a great Model of Union for the whole.”10

  Abigail had no such complaint
s about Thomas Paine or his pamphlet. She quickly read through her copy, then read it again, before taking it upon herself to “spread it as much as it lay in my power.” Everyone in the village, she wrote John, “assents to the weighty truths it contains. I wish it could gain Credit enough in [Congress] to be carried speedily into Execution.”11

  Abigail felt as if Thomas Paine had taken the words from her own mouth when he wrote, “We have every opportunity and every encouragement before us, to form the noblest purest constitution on the face of the earth. We have it in our power to begin the world over again.”12

  She agreed as well with the method he proposed for beginning the world over again: “Everything that is right or reasonable pleads for separation,” Paine wrote, “Wherefore, since nothing but blows will do, for God’s sake let us come to a final separation.”13 Abigail prayed that Congress would do whatever had to be done to bring such a goal to fruition. To turn the world upside down, start over again, and do it right.

  And yet she feared for her colony, as the battle for Boston loomed. “The preparations increase and something great is daily expected, something terrible it will be. I impatiently wait for, yet dread the day.”14 She and John had their own property interests in Boston, nothing compared to what John Hancock laid claim to, just a small building containing the remains of John’s Boston law practice. Nevertheless, for them it was where they had shared so much time living and working together in the same house, with their children underfoot; and it was together in Boston that the first spark of their joint passion for the rights of their colony had been lit, first by Parliament’s interference and then by the events of that cold March day, almost six years ago.