When Henry Knox wrote to George Washington apologizing for getting to Noweich,Connecicut so late, he had a pretty good excuse: he spent a bunch of money on hiring people to move materials down; and those people had trouble getting the job done.
But then Henry Knox also tells the story of leaving the caravan briefly to look at Newport RI and determine whether it’s defensible. Imagine how he felt when, after he spent two days figuring out the five best places to stand when defending Newport, he has to explain why he lost those two days afterward. But he did take the time to frame it as an activity that surely would make the Commander-in-Chief look better.
Mercy Otis Warren doesn’t get nearly enough love in our history books, and barely enough of it here, besides. Having said that, our episode a little over a year ago was a fun little tribute.
Mercy Otis Warren was a playwright, a pamphleteer and a poet before, during and after the Revolution. Some of her plays were thinly veiled attacks on the British. She was self-taught and pretty brilliant at it, considering that she was one of the first to advocate for a Bill of Rights (though nobody knew she’d written the piece advocating one until her great-great-grandson found a document tying the pamphlet to her).
And while this episode focuses on correspondence between her and John Adams, she frequently exchanged letters with George Washington, John Hancock, Patrick Henry, Samuel Adams, and Thomas Jefferson. But her best relationship was with John Adams, who she looked to as a wiritng mentor. It was at his suggestion that she began writing a history of the Revolution while it was still being fought. She didn’t need primary sources to write her history, she was the primary source. At worst, she was getting it second-hand from the members of the Continental Congress and local leaders.
Mercy was married to James Warren, and I mention that here because oftentimes she’s thought to be the widow of Dr. Joseph Warren, who died at Bunker Hill. In fact, despite having the same name, Joseph was not related to James, nor to Mercy.
Incidentally, Mike gives a shout-out to the Massachusetts Historical Society, which is a fascinating repository of documents and items related to the history of the state, but which has a special lens on the Revolution, especially this year. So I figured I’d do the same here, along with a link. If you’re in town, it’s not to be missed. And it’s free, though donations are encouraged. Go check them out and from there it’s a short walk to Fenway Park, where you can catch a Red Sox game. (Alas, they were playing away games while we were in town.)
When Abigail Adams wrote her “remember the ladies” letter on March 31, she wasn’t just filling the page with anything that came into her head. Abigail Adams was quite intelligent and John treated her as an intellectual equal, seeking out her counsel on many matters. This in an era in which such things are rare. (And shame on us for giving it short shrift.)
This also means that John’s reply, which Mike talks about today, was in earnest, if it was a little naïve in retrospect.
Mike also mentions that he and I were at the Massachusetts Historical Society last week, which is true, and we hope to have some material to share with you over the next few weeks. In addition, we shot a bunch of video which will need some editing, after which we’ll give you our tour of Old Boston. Or maybe Mike’s tour; I don’t appear on camera at all. Try to live with that disappointment.
While there were a lot of smaller things going on on this day in 1776, there are typically multiple things going on for any given day. We often have to make choices regarding what we’re going to concentrate on, and don’t think we don’t feel a twinge of regret when we spot something else that happened on thus-and-such a date and had a moment of “Man, I wish we’d done that one.”
So today we were fortunate in that there were several smaller items going on, but we didn’t have to use up a lot of audio real estate to cover all of them. It’s nice to have the luxury of telling all the stories you’ve got for a day.
Incidentally: Mike and I are in Boston this week, absorbing history, interviewing people and shooting video for you to enjoy in a few weeks when we’ve finished editing it. It’s an extra dimension to the show that we hope you’ll enjoy.
One of John Adams’ stronger talents was being able to see the motivation behind the action, and because of this he was usually able to thwart unattractive actions somehow.
In today’s case, he was able to thwart people who opposed him by simply agreeing with them. As a newly-minted Chief Justice of Massachusetts, some Loyalist (if not Loyalist, then certainly in the Don’t Declare Independence crowd) delegates from Maryland suggested that because he worked for Massachusetts, he had an inherent conflict of interest and therefore couldn’t vote in Congress.
Now, at that time a colony’s quorum was exactly one delegate, so if he was the only person from Massachusetts attending that day, Massachusetts wouldn’t be able to cast a vote. So, Adams did the sensible thing and agreed with the Marylanders. Then he resigned from the position they thought he’d never give up.
Samuel Adams in 1772, painted by John Singleton Copley. via Wikimedia Commons and the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston.
Samuel Adams made a point of telling his second cousin John Adams that he didn’t have a lot of time to write. Then he cranked out 570 words of worries about the language in the New Hampshire constitution, which had been ratified ten days earlier.
Then the next day he tacked on another 250 words. If he’d typed all 820 words out, it would be about three pages (double-spaced). The script for this episode is 219 words; even when Adams was in a hurry he was verbose.
But Samuel Adams kinda-sorta had a point, in that the New Hampshire constitution hedged its bets a little bit. Clearly he had this in mind when he worked on the original Articles of Confederation (the document that preceded the US Constitution), and when he joined the Constitutional Convention for Massachusetts a couple of years later.
The United States Marine Corps celebrates its birthday every year on this day, usually with a ball (the dancing kind) and a cake-cutting ceremony. The cover art today is from their 233rd birthday celebration.
Until 1921, the Marines marked the occasion on July 11, which was the date of the re-establishment of the Corps, since they were disbanded after the Revolution. But John Adams (again) came to the rescue and signed an act to re-organize the Corps. However, July 11 didn’t get a lot of attention. But when Commandant John Lejeune (the guy after whom the camp was named) was asked to draft an order to celebrate the Corps, he wrote Marine Corps Order 47, establishing the original November 10 date as the Marines’ birthday.
Also, for what it’s worth, the “halls of Montezuma” refers to Chapultepec Castle in Mexico City (left). So yes, it really is a thing, and it’s still standing.
In July 1775, there were still several delegates to the Second Continental Congress who thought that reconciliation with Britain was a possibility. There were a few others who may not have necessarily been of that opinion, but were willing to take a chance. Some of these men, led by John Dickinson, formed a committee to draft what’s come to be known as the Olive Branch Petition. The intent was to continue pledging loyalty to the King, but to simultaneously ask for some equitability in trade and tax regulations.
The document asked for a firm settlement to the Colonies’ grievances, and identified all of the colonies as signatories except Georgia. The only reason Georgia wasn’t named is because they only had one delegate at the time, and he wasn’t comfortable with speaking for the entire colony. Consequently, he abstained from many votes.
It was on this day that Congress learned what King George III had to say back in August regarding the Olive Branch Petition.
The Second Continental Congress was having a busy week, with the worries about the trade embargo going on, and whether ships from other nations could get in/out safely.
And John Adams was worried, too–worried that he wouldn’t be able to keep up with the demand for gunpowder for the soldiers. One of the components of gunpowder is saltpeter, and while it isn’t hard to make, it’s certainly easier to let someone else make it and then pay them for their efforts. Fortunately, help arrived in the form of a “recipe” for saltpeter published in a local newspaper.
We have two fun events for you today: first up, North Carolina reaches an important deadline it had set back in August.
Then, by sheer coincidence, John and Abigail Adams each wrote a letter to the other. Of course, they wrote to one another quite frequently, so this probably happened more often than you’d think. But remember also that any news they received was probably two weeks old by the time the letter landed in their hands.
I will close today’s notes with an amusing anecdote that John Adams used to close his letter. He wrote:
A few days ago, in Company with Dr. Zubly, somebody said, there was nobody on our side but the Almighty. The Dr. who is a Native of Switzerland, and speaks but broken English, quickly replied “Dat is enough.—Dat is enough,” and turning to me, says he, it puts me in mind of a fellow who once said, The Catholicks have on their side the Pope, and the K[ing] of France and the K. of Spain, and the K. of Sardinia, and the K. of Poland and the Emperor of Germany &c. &c. &c. But as to them poor Devils the Protestants, they have nothing on their side but God Almighty.
