A Woman at the Front (1775-6)
Abigail Adams in 1766
Sunday, 18 June, 1775.
The day — perhaps the decisive day — is come, on which the fate of America depends. My bursting heart must find vent at my pen. I have just heard that our dear friend, Dr. Warren, is no more, but fell gloriously fighting for his country saying better to die honorably in the field than ignominiously hang upon the gallows. Great is our loss. He has distinguished himself in every engagement by his courage and fortitude, by animating the soldiers and leading them on by his own example. A particular account of these dreadful but I hope glorious days will be transmitted you, no doubt, in the exactest manner.
Charlestown is laid in ashes. The battle began upon our entrenchments upon Bunker’s Hill, Saturday morning about three o’clock, and has not ceased yet. It is expected they will come out over the Neck tonight and a dreadful battle must ensue. How many have fallen, we know not. The constant roar of the cannon is so distressing that we cannot eat, drink, or sleep. I shall tarry here till it is thought unsafe by my friends and then I have secured myself a retreat at your brother’s, who has kindly offered me part of his house. I cannot compose myself to write any further at present. I will add more as I hear further.
16 July, 1775.
The appointment of the generals Washington and Lee gives universal satisfaction. The people have the highest opinion of Lee’s abilities, but you know the continuation of the popular breath depends much upon favorable events. I had the pleasure of seeing both the generals and their aids-de-camp soon after their arrival and of being personally made known to them. They very politely express their regard for you. I was struck with General Washington. You had prepared me to entertain a favorable opinion of him, but I thought the half was not told me. Dignity with ease and complacency, the gentleman and soldier look agreeably blended in him. Modesty marks every line and feature of his face.
As to intelligence from Boston, it is but very seldom we are able to collect anything that may be relied on, and to report the vague, flying rumors would be endless. I heard yesterday by one Mr. Roulstone, a goldsmith who got out in a fishing schooner, that their distress increased upon them fast. Their beef is all spent, their malt and cider all gone. All the fresh provisions they can procure, they are obliged to give to the sick and wounded. Thirteen of our men who were in jail and were wounded at the battle of Charlestown, were dead. No man dared now to be seen talking to his friend in the street. They were obliged to be within every evening at ten o’clock, according to martial law. Nor could any inhabitant walk any street in town after that time without a pass from Gage. He has ordered all the molasses to be distilled up into rum for the soldiers, taken away all licenses and given out others, obliging to a forfeiture of ten pounds if any rum is sold without written orders from the general.
As to the situation of the camps, our men are in general healthy, much more so at Roxbury than at Cambridge and the camp is in vastly better order. General Thomas has the character of an excellent officer. His merit has certainly been overlooked, as modest merit generally is. I hear General Washington is much pleased with his conduct.
Every article here in the West India way is very scarce and dear. In six weeks we shall not be able to purchase any article of the kind. I wish you would let Bass get me one pound of pepper and two yards of black calamanco for shoes. I cannot wear leather if I go barefoot. Bass may make a fine profit if he lays in a stock for himself. You can hardly imagine how much we want many common small articles which are not manufactured amongst ourselves, but we will have them in time. Not one pin to be purchased for love or money. I wish you could convey me a thousand by any friend traveling this way. It is very provoking to have such a plenty so near us but Tantalus-like, not be able to touch. I should have been glad to have laid in a small stock of the West India articles, but I cannot get one copper. No person thinks of paying anything and I do not choose to run in debt. We have not yet been much distressed for grain. Everything at present looks blooming. O that peace would once more extend her olive branch.
12 November, 1775.
The intelligence you will receive before this reaches you will, I should think, make a plain path though a dangerous one for you. I could not join today in the petitions of our worthy pastor for a reconciliation between our no longer parent state, but tyrant state, and these colonies. 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.
Saturday Evening, 2 March, 1776.
I heartily wish every Tory was extirpated from America. They are continually, by secret means, undermining and injuring our cause. I am charmed with the sentiments of “Common Sense” and wonder how an honest heart, one who wishes the welfare of his country and the happiness of posterity, can hesitate one moment at adopting them. I want to know how these sentiments are received in Congress. I dare say there would be no difficulty in procuring a vote and instructions from all the Assemblies in New England for independency. I most sincerely wish that now, in the lucky moment, it might be done.
I have been kept in a continual state of anxiety and expectation, ever since you left me. It has been said “tomorrow” and “tomorrow” for this month, but when the dreadful tomorrow will be, I know not. But hark! The house this instant shakes with the roar of cannon. I have been to the door and find it is a cannonade from our army. Orders are come for all the remaining militia to repair to the lines Monday night by twelve o’clock. No sleep for me tonight. And if I cannot, who have no guilt upon my soul with regard to this cause, how shall the miserable wretches who have been the procurers of this dreadful scene and those who are to be the actors lie down with the load of guilt upon their souls?
Sunday Evening, 3 March.
I went to bed after twelve but got no rest. The cannon continued firing and my heart beat pace with them all night. We have had a pretty quiet day but what tomorrow will bring forth, God only knows.
Tolerably quiet. Today the militia have all mustered with three days’ provision and are all marched by three o’clock this afternoon, though their notice was no longer ago than eight o’clock Saturday. And now we have scarcely a man but our regular guards, either in Weymouth, Hingham, Braintree, or Milton. And the militia from the more remote towns are called in as seacoast guards. Can you form to yourself an idea of our sensations?
I have just returned from Penn’s Hill where I have been sitting to hear the amazing roar of cannon and from whence I could see every shell which was thrown. The sound, I think, is one of the grandest in nature and is of the true species of the sublime. ’Tis now an incessant roar, but O! the fatal ideas which are connected with the sound! How many of our dear countrymen must fall!
I went to bed about twelve and rose again a little after one. I could no more sleep than if I had been in the engagement. The rattling of the windows, the jar of the house, the continual roar of twenty-four pounders, and the bursting of shells give us such ideas and realize a scene to us of which we could form scarcely any conception. About six this morning there was quiet. I rejoiced in a few hours’ calm. I hear we got possession of Dorchester Hill last night. Four thousand men upon it today, lost but one man. The ships are all drawn round the town. Tonight we shall realize a more terrible scene still. I sometimes think I cannot stand it. I wish myself with you, out of hearing as I cannot assist them. I hope to give you joy of Boston, even if it is in ruins, before I send this away. I am too much agitated to write as I ought and languid for want of rest.
Source: Charles Francis Adams, editor, Letters of Mrs. Adams (Boston, 1840), I, 39-90. https://archive.org/details/in.ernet.dli.2015.45494/page/n573/mode/2up