Revolutionary Mother
A Story of Abigail Smith Adams as Told by her Daughter 1776-1786
by Evelyn Olheiser - Foothill Elementary School - Alvord USD
As I ponder the days of my youth I am struck by the strength of my mother. As a child I accepted much of my life as the usual fare for children. But as I look back with the eyes of an adult I recall with wonder the revolutionary thinking of my mother, Abigail Smith Adams.
In my Father’s absence, Mother took on the role of farmer. In addition to her wifely duties of maintaining a household, managing the servants, and seeing to our proper upbringing, Mother had to manage the finances of our small farm in Braintree. This was no small accomplishment, for the farm was our major source of income.
Although not a physically healthy woman, Mother found the strength to stay active. She bore six children, four of whom survived. I, Abigail, am the oldest born July 14,1765. My brother, John Quincy, was born almost exactly two years later on July11, 1767. Susanna was next, but she was a sickly child and only lived a short time. Charles was born in May of 1770 and Thomas in September of 1772. My youngest sister Elizabeth was born on John Quincy’s birthday in 1777, but sadly she did not live. So I am the only girl with three younger brothers. My mother taught me the wifely ways common at the time. Mother also taught me basic reading and writing skills, though I received no formal education, as did my brothers.
My Mother took great pride in her role as wife, mother, and mistress of her house. But that was not enough; Mother’s quest for knowledge and politics led her to become an ardent letter writer. She lacked a formal education and mourned her poor attempt at spelling, but she did not shy away from seeking the company of important people that shared her views. She was my father’s advisor, lover, and his political ally through many hard times.
While encouraging my Father’s political career, Mother suffered through endless separations from him. I remember vividly the days when mail would arrive. Mother would rejoice in letters from Father. My brothers and I would gather around to hear the news. Although the words Independence, Revolution and Patriot, meant little to us then the excitement in Mother’s voice as she read told us that they were important things.
When work was done, my Mother would settle down at her desk for long hours writing letters. She wanted to know what Father was doing; she sought his advice and offered hers in return. She pleaded for him to return to us soon, yet all the while, took pride in the role he was taking in the shaping of our country. She spoke of him with love and admiration. She told us stories about what he was doing and how important his job was. The talk of Revolution was increasing and Father felt his place was in Philadelphia.
Political upheaval was all around us. Father admonished Mother to “fly to the woods for safety” after the news of Lexington reached him. But Mother’s fierce independent nature would not let her cower in fear. In fact, I recall that she took my eldest brother John Quincy to a hill nearby our home to observe the Battle of Bunker Hill . I worried through the night that the battle would reach our small farm. She was visibly shaken when she returned, but she explained to us that freedom from England was a worthy cause.
Times were hard for us, as well as for our neighbors. Father was attending the Second Continental Congress in Philadelphia. The English were in control of Boston and the constant stream of patriots fleeing the city was ever at our door. With the Boston Harbor closed, Mother had to make do with what the farm could provide. Four growing children, crops, servants and needy neighbors were my Mother’s constant worries. We wore handmade clothes and candles and tea were in short supply. But Mother insisted that sacrifice was necessary to winning the war.
Mother continued correspondence with Father kept her apprised of the debate over declaring independence from Britain. Mother, a staunch supporter of women’s rights wrote Father, suggesting he “Remember the Ladies, and be more generous and favorable to them than your ancestors.” Mother wanted women to be protected from cruel husbands. Although she believed that the highest honor afforded a woman was to be a wife and mother, she felt the laws too often favored the husbands. The English commonlaw tradition of coverture left women without the rights and privileges that were afforded the men. Mother felt that a woman should be an equal partner in a marriage.
Mother also recognized the importance of education for everyone, including girls. The custom of our day was that only boys received a formal education, while girls like me learned all necessary wifely skills at home. Mother felt that this poor education left women somewhat lacking in their abilities to properly educate their children. She often wrote to Father about this very thing. Thomas Jefferson, a family friend, shared Mother’s view on this topic too. I overheard many lively discussions about women’s right to education. Mother would debate with anyone who would listen.
The scent of the freshly turned earth takes me back to the spring of 1777. I recall with renewed fear the smallpox epidemic that was spreading through Boston and the surrounding countryside. All thoughts of the British injustices were set aside. Mother decided to risk protection from the disease through inoculation. Dr. Bulfinch cut into our small arms and dropped into the wound pus taken from a smallpox sore. The waiting was awful. Would it work? Would we survive?
Mother was alone to nurse the four of us for Father was again away. Mother and John Quincy had a few blisters within a few weeks. I had to have the procedure repeated. When at last the infection took hold I was covered with sores. I could neither sit or nor lie down without pain. My once smooth face would be forever scarred. My youngest brothers, Thomas and Charles, fared little better. They were inoculated three times. Charles became so seriously ill that Mother questioned her course of action. I was frightened because I could hear the worry in my Mother’s voice. Charles was only seven years old, would he live? In the end we all recovered and Mother rejoiced we had all survived. Nursing us, caring for the household and yet never failing in her support of Father’s patriotic duties, Mother had again managed alone.
The flood of memories continues as I look to the past. The winter of 1778 was a time of mixed joy and sorrow. Father was appointed as commissioner to France. Fearing a long separation, Mother begged my father to allow her to accompany him. Father refused. He feared the ship’s safety, for if it were to be captured by the British he would be imprisoned as a traitor to the crown. We were at war with England and Mother would be branded in England for being the wife of a patriot. Mother gave in and set her mind to endure yet another lengthy separation. I was relieved. I didn’t know who would care for us if my parents left. What would happen to us if my parents were jailed as traitors? I was ever fearful of the British soldiers who might steal our house and our food.
My brother, John Quincy, was eleven at the time. Mother, ever aware of the advantages to those with a good education, thought about the benefit and pitfalls of John accompanying my Father. With hearts heavy with pride and trepidation Mother and I said a sad goodbye to Father and John in February of 1778.
Mother remained busy in Father’s absence. She kept politically abreast of the goings on in Congress. Her friend, James Lovell, was a Massachusetts delegate and he took great joy in Mother’s correspondence.
But despite all she had endured this new separation was hardest yet on Mother. I could detect a change. The letters from Father were brief and few. Mother was often angry or upset. I often caught her with a tear in her eye, or looking longingly at my Father’s picture. Her patience was stretched to breaking. Just as things were at their worst Congress called Father home and in August 1779 Father and John returned. What a wonderful summer, but it wasn’t to last. My Father was recalled to Paris. This time John Quincy and Charles were to accompany him. I admit I was somewhat jealous. I was 19 years of age and anxious to see the world.
War continued around us. The independence we so desired was coming at a high cost. Father was busy trying to secure loans in Amsterdam, while we endured shortages and loneliness at home. Mother’s heart grew heavy. She missed my father terribly and the mail was so unreliable. Despite Charles’ return Mother pleaded with Father to end this misery. I prayed every night for Father’s safe return. Was this strange idea of Independence really worth all the unrest in my home?
In 1783 the war ended with the signing of the Treaty of Paris. Father wrote and asked mother to join him abroad. This was greeted with hesitation however for Mother was afraid to travel far from home and she would be forced to leave the boys. I was elated however because Father had included me in the invitation. I was to see Paris and experience Europe. Finally the joy of seeing Father and John Quincy again took hold and Mother conceded. We were to set sail for London.
My experiences in Europe will come at another writing, for now I must see to my children. We are to visit Mother and Father and I must ready for travel. The road is long but the reunion will be wonderful, my children so enjoy their grandparents’ attentions.