Chapter Five #2
“Well, I think it’s sublime,” I said, for something in my nature always responded to principled defiance. No one had been harmed, and I could feel no pity for those tea leaves floating in the harbor—though I daresay I was thirsty enough for tea that I was tempted to taste it.
Even steeped in harbor water, it had to be better than coffee.
Fortunately, even without my beverage of choice, I could start this day with an elixir of pride. I knew John felt it, too,
for he said, “There is a dignity, a majesty, in this effort of the patriots that I greatly admire. The people should never rise without doing something
to be remembered—something notable and striking. And this destruction of the tea is so bold, so daring, so firm, that it must
have important consequence.”
We hoped the important consequence of our civil resistance would be that Parliament would reconsider their intolerable acts.
Instead, the consequence was retaliation.
On a cold and damp afternoon in March, I was on the docks shopping for fish when redcoats with fixed bayonets flooded the
harbor. One of the soldiers pushed my shoulder, barking, “Go home, woman. There’ll be no business today.”
In outrage at this rudeness, I snapped my cape and wheeled away, though it meant leaving without our evening’s supper. And
on the walk home, I saw the king’s soldiers nailing up posts saying the harbor was now closed and would not be re-opened until
we paid for the dumped tea.
All trade in the city came to a standstill.
In the days and weeks that followed, shops shuttered, boarding up their windows. Soon we couldn’t buy bread from a bakery,
nor flour to bake our own, even if we could’ve secured firewood. And over a cold meal of pickled cabbage and salt pork, I
said, “So they mean to cripple Boston.”
“All Massachusetts Bay Colony,” John returned. “We’ll no longer be allowed a fair trial by a jury of peers. And town meetings
are forbidden without the express consent of the royal governor.”
This last made my mouth drop open because town meetings were a way of life in Massachusetts, often taking place directly after our Sabbath services, with the citizenry still seated in the pews.
So this felt like an assault upon the spiritual and social glue that held us together. “How will they keep us apart?”
“By stationing soldiers in every tavern and vacant building,” my husband replied.
It was infuriating. Yet, panic did not set in until the royal governor mounted cannons on Beacon Hill.
“They want us to know they can fire upon us with impunity,” Dr. Warren said when he stopped to check on Charlie and Tommy,
who both suffered earaches.
Knowing that Dr. Warren was recently betrothed to a young patriot poetess of Boston, I wanted to both congratulate him and
praise his choice in bride. But Warren’s attention was riveted upon my husband. “Mr. Adams, they intend to quarter soldiers
in our homes. To force us to obedience. To spy upon our doings and make us hold our tongues at our own dinner tables.”
My husband rubbed his temples. “I must again move my family back to Braintree.”
Dr. Warren leaned forward, forcing my husband to look at him. “Now is no time to shrink from hazardous duty, sir. I fear your
country may soon call upon you.”
This embarrassed my husband, who didn’t wish to be thought a coward. “My country may call upon me as easily in Braintree as
in Boston. But in the meantime, I don’t think my wife will suffer a redcoat in the house. Not with four children under the
age of ten. The first time a soldier woke Tommy from his nap, Abigail would be so wroth that I’d find myself clasped in leg
irons to answer for her saucy tongue.”
I smirked, because he was not far wrong.
But Dr. Warren was not amused. “They’re going to dissolve our legislature. They’re going to stop you from doing the work you
were elected to do. And if we submit to these abuses, we’ll become as exploited and downtrodden as India from whence our tea
comes.”
My husband sighed. “We cannot resist alone. If our sister colonies were to come to our aid, it could make a difference. If New York and Virginia and Pennsylvania would
stand shoulder to shoulder with us, then we’d stand a chance.”
“We hoped you’d say that,” Dr. Warren replied. “A congress of colonial representatives has been called. From Massachusetts we want to send you as one of the delegates.”
We didn’t sleep that night, tossing and turning in silence. I knew that if John attended this colonial congress, he’d draw
attention to himself. The kind of attention that was dangerous when royal officials were murmuring words like treason.
It wasn’t until the next morning, as I readied a cold porridge slurry for the children’s breakfast, that I found the courage
to ask, “Are you going to accept?”
John took my hands with a wry but weary smile. “I am going to accept and become a delegate to this congress, thereby consenting to my own ruin, to your ruin, and the ruin of
our children. I give you this warning so you may prepare your mind for your fate.”
He said this in half jest, but I’m ashamed to say that I drew back with a burst of fearful tears.
“Oh, Abigail,” he said, trying to offer comfort.
But I turned away. I’d already experienced the painful consequences of living in the public eye. John’s political office hadn’t
enriched us—quite the contrary—and by abandoning his law practice, he’d be cutting his income from half of nothing, to nothing
at all. Our financial situation would strain to the limits.
How was I to prepare for that?
But I remembered the words of Mercy Otis Warren.
He won’t get far without your support, my dear . . .
So, I dried my eyes for my husband’s sake. Then I grew very still as I took in the picture. Two confused children, wondering
what this serious talk might mean. My hands gripping my porridge-stained apron. My husband bareheaded, neckcloth askew, his
face wan from lack of sleep, his eyes beseeching me for understanding.
But his gaze was also determined and clear.
I felt clarity then, too. My husband must do his duty and serve. And I must do my duty, too.
Hadn’t I said the act of dumping the tea was sublime? I would hate myself for a coward if I now cringed with fear. I had children who must grow up in this world; if I was to call myself a good mother, then I must take as a blessing any role I might ever be offered in shaping it for them.
As I stood there, my stays felt too tight; it was difficult to take a breath. For when I did, I knew I would speak something
momentous into my little world. I would not merely prepare my mind but make a choice. “Well, then. I’m willing in this cause
to run all risks with you and to be ruined with you if you are ruined.”
At hearing this, my husband actually startled. Then, quite suddenly, he flew up from his chair to kiss me in a way that felt
like communion. He kissed me and kissed me, unmindful of our children watching. And I knew we were in this together now, whatever
may come.
Only later did I confess my fears. “It will be too dangerous to stay in Boston without you. I will have to take the children
back to the farm in Braintree. But how will we get word to each other when you’re in Philadelphia? Surely, we cannot trust
the post.”
“My law clerks have agreed to carry correspondence to you,” John said. “If that route is compromised, rely upon Mr. Revere.
He is courier now for our soon-to-be outlawed legislature.”
I nodded, hoping to make closer acquaintance with the hard-riding silversmith. “I only worry, John, that I will be unequal
to the trust you place in me for the farm.”
“Truthfully, I fear myself unequal to the times that have put our little family at such a crossroads. I don’t know if I really
can do anything to help in congress. I am merely a country lawyer . . .”
“No, John. You’re not merely anything. These are extraordinary times, but I’ve always known that I married an extraordinary man.”
“Did you?” he asked, his eyes searching mine.
“I really did,” I whispered, the certainty rising from the depths of my soul. In reassuring him, I renewed confidence in myself,
too. Since these were extraordinary times I’d simply have to become an extraordinary wife and mother; there wasn’t any other choice.
I could be frugal. I could be clever. I could stretch every coin to keep my children fed.
I’d find a way.