John Adams, The First & Second Continental Congress & The Battle of Lexington-Concord

 

John Adams

Massachusetts chose John Adams to represent it as a delegate to the First Continental Congress. To say he was anxious about his abilities was an understatement. Adams wrote that he was “unequal to this business.” He didn’t think he had a strong enough mastery of politics.

Adams considered his responsibilities for nearly two months. He had many doubts about his abilities and those of his fellow congressmen. “We have not men fit for the times. We are deficient in genius, in education, in travel, in fortune, in everything. I feel unutterable anxiety.”

If that were true, the colonies were in it together. What they didn’t know about politics, parliamentary procedures, administering a government, and eventual war, they would learn.

The Massachusetts Committee for Congress rode out of Boston shortly after 4 p.m. on August 10, 1774. John Adams rode beside fellow congressmen Thomas Cushing, Samuel Adams, and Robert Treat Paine.

Their journey was a pleasant one.

The group traveled slowly, stopping often to test people’s temperaments. Everywhere they went, vast crowds turned out to greet them. In New Haven, Connecticut, “all the bells in town were set to ringing. The people—men, women, and children, were crowding at the doors and windows as if it were to see a coronation. At nine o’clock, the cannon was fired.”

Samuel Adams

Adams took it as a sign that the people stood behind Massachusetts and her struggle. There was a lot of talk about politics. Mr. Babcock and Major Hawley didn’t think the non-importation and the non-consumption agreement would be “faithfully followed.” They felt Congress didn’t have the “power to enforce obedience to their laws; that they will be like a legislative without an executive.”

It was a concern that would rear its ugly head again and again.

From there, the Massachusetts congressmen traveled to New York City. Adams wasn’t impressed. “With all the opulence and splendor of this city,” he observed. “There is very little good breeding to be found. They talk very loudly, very fast, and all together. If they ask you a question, before you can utter three words of your answer, they will break out on you again and talk away.” For the first time, John Adams could not get a word in edge wise.

At Princeton, the Massachusetts congressmen visited Nassau Hall College. Adams said the “library was not large but has some good books.” He visited the planetarium and watched as some electrical experiments were performed. When the bell rang for prayers, they went into the chapel. Adams observed the scholars sang “as badly as the Presbyterians at New York.”

Almost a month after they left Boston, the Massachusetts delegates met at the City Tavern in Philadelphia with their fellow congressmen. At 10 a.m., the men walked as a group to Carpenters’ Hall to inspect their meeting room.

John Adams approved.

The meeting room contained an “excellent library.” It had a “long entry” and a “convenient chamber opposite the library.” One of the first orders of business was to elect a leader. They chose Peyton Randolph of Virginia as the President. Adams described Randolph as a “large, well-looking man.” The delegates chose Charles Thomson, Chairman of the Pennsylvania Committee of Correspondence, as secretary. The balance of their first few days was spent setting ground rules for conducting congress and hammering out rules to govern the proceedings.

John Rutledge summed up Congress’s problem. “We have no legal authority. We have no coercive or legislative authority. Our constituents are bound only in honor to observe our determinations.”

That was only part of it.

Whatever Congress decided legally bound no one. Worse, the meeting itself bordered on treason. Every man in Carpenters’ Hall understood what that could mean.

In eighteenth-century England, traitors weren’t simply hanged. They could be cut down while still alive, disemboweled, beheaded, and quartered. Their remains were displayed as a warning to others.

No one in Congress talked much about that.

They had enough to worry about.

John Hancock

Just as the session got underway, Congress received a message that the city of Boston had come under attack by the British. Adams was stunned but thankful he’d had the foresight to remove his family to his farm in the rural town of Braintree before leaving.

Two days later, on September 8, Congress learned the rumor was unfounded. Adams recorded in his diary, “No blood had been spilled.” General Thomas Gage had removed the powder from the magazine at Somerville. While Congress was relieved by the news, it didn’t understand how close that incident had come to sparking a war.

What Adams referred to here was the Powder Alarm. It occurred just days before the commencement of the First Continental Congress. Did General Gage mean to send Congress a message? If so, he backed down quickly.

On September 1, Gage ordered British troops to remove the gunpowder from the magazine at Somerville, Massachusetts. Rumors spread throughout the countryside that the British had sprung a major attack; six men were dead, and war was imminent. Thousands of militiamen poured into Boston and Cambridge, ready to fight.

When the truth came out that no one was injured, General Gage had just removed the powder from the magazine the militiamen returned home. War was prevented, but the machinery that would send troops pouring in to support Massachusetts in the Lexington-Concord fight the following year was put into place.

The British troops, led by Colonel George Maddison, removed the gunpowder from the powder house at Somerville. A smaller group of soldiers marched on Cambridge and removed two field pieces, then took the powder and guns to Castle William.

The colonial response surprised General Gates. He canceled an upcoming expedition to gather the powder stored at Worcester. The American rabble he had supposed would never fight or rise against British troops had shown him differently.

The Minuteman proved themselves that day at Somerville.

John Adams was enthralled with everything about Congress. How else could he feel? The Continental Congress was an elite group of fifty-four men. Half of them were lawyers, and many delegates had college educations. Others, like George Washington and John Dickinson, were wealthy or celebrities.

John Dickinson

Adams spent much of his time assessing his peers. “Caesar Rodney is the oddest-looking man in the world. He is tall, thin, and slender as a reed, pale; his face is not bigger than a large apple, yet there is sense and fire, spirit, wit, and humor in his countenance.”

Samuel Chase “speaks warmly.” Thomas Mifflin is “a sprightly and spirited speaker.” Eliphalet Dyer and Roger Sherman “speak often and long, but very heavily and clumsily.” He found John Dickinson “very modest, delicate, and timid.”

After the newness wore off, Adams wrote to his wife, Abigail, to complain about the drudgery of it all. Everyone talked and talked, often, it seemed, just to hear their voice.

Nothing got done.

John Adams was disappointed. He vented in his diary, saying, “The deliberations of Congress are spun out to an immeasurable length. An immensity of time is spent unnecessarily.”

Like every legislative body, each delegation was guided by its interests and agenda. Worse still, even minute, unrelated topics got debated to death. Congress allowed every delegate his say, so there was much ado about nothing.

Is it any wonder Adams thought Congress was as “slow as snails?”

Part of the problem was Philadelphia. In summer, the city suffered from a hot, suffocating heat. Swarms of mosquitos and flies swarmed the members of Congress at every turn. Quarters were cramped, with two or three men crammed into each room. And the prices charged for food and lodging were exorbitant compared to a congressman’s pay.

Practically nothing came out of the First Continental Congress from a historical perspective. They drew up a laundry list of rights and grievances to redress the wrongs they felt Parliament inflicted on them.

Declaring independence was far from the minds of most members. Many suspected the Massachusetts delegation because they supposed that was their aim. 

Battle of Lexington

But Congress agreed to hit Britain where it would hurt them most: in the pocketbook. Beginning December 1, 1774, they decided to boycott all British goods. The second part of that agreement involved stopping all exports to England after September 10, 1775, unless that country repealed the Intolerable Acts.

John Adams received the honor of writing the final draft of the Resolves.

The real magic of the First Continental Congress was not in what it did, but in bringing together the representatives from twelve of the thirteen colonies (Georgia did not attend). It brought the men together and allowed them to size each other up and understand they were not in it alone. Each of the colonies had its horror stories about British oppression and taxes. 

Other than Patrick Henry and Samuel Adams, none of the representatives were ready to declare independence. Congress reaffirmed its respect and loyalty to the King. They wanted and expected the King to address their grievances and take care of a greedy Parliament they thought was sticking it to them. 

Maybe George Washington could be added to the list of those desiring independence. On July 20, he wrote Bryan Fairfax to say, “I think the Parliament of Great Britain hath no more right to put their hands into my pocket than I have to put my hands in yours for money.” A few weeks later, he wrote Fairfax again. This time, he said, it was time to draw the line. “We must assert our rights or submit.”

Finally, Congress resolved to reconvene on May 10, 1775, to continue its discussions.

As he rode out of Philadelphia, John Adams assumed he would never see the city again. That was good. It appeared the other colonies supported Boston’s plight and would come to their aid if necessary.

Adams could not ask for more than that.

The story of the Second Continental Congress is inextricably entangled with Paul Revere’s ride, the Battles at Lexington and Concord, the Battle of Bunker Hill, naming George Washington as commander-in-chief of the army, the Declaration of Independence, and millions of other details long since forgotten.

The Battle of Lexington and Concord took place on April 19, 1775. The Second Continental Congress convened on May 10, 1775. Before riding to Philadelphia to join his fellow congressmen, John Adams rode to Lexington and Concord to survey the battlefields firsthand.

To start at the beginning.

The Battle of Lexington-Concord should never have happened. Neither side wanted nor expected a fight.

The British marched all sixteen miles from Boston to Lexington with their guns unloaded. They planned to capture the weapons cache and grab the revolutionary leaders, Samuel Adams and John Hancock, harming no one.

It was a good plan. It should have worked—except a lone militiaman fired on the Regulars. When he learned about the incident, Major Pitcairn, the commander of the British Regulars, didn’t see any other option. He ordered his men to charge their weapons.

Even then, opening fire on the colonials was the last thing on his mind.

Captain John Parker, commander of the militia at Lexington, had orders not to attack. As the Regulars advanced on his men, Parker ordered them not to fire and fall back. That should have settled the matter. Many of Parker’s men stood their ground despite his orders and the advancing British Regulars.

One thing led to another, and shots were fired.

In the ensuing chaos, eight colonials got killed. Ten more were wounded. The British could have inflicted much more damage, but they regrouped and continued their march to Concord.

Concord may have been the craziest battle ever fought on this continent. As the British inched their way forward, the colonials fell back, keeping just out of range of the British guns.

Despite the fighting and the killings at Lexington, neither side was eager to fight.

Pitcairn saw the militia stationed on the hills as the Regulars marched closer to Concord. Each time his troops moved on them; the Yankees fell back without firing. This cat-and-mouse game played out for close to an hour until the British Grenadiers reached the Liberty Pole.

George Washington

Things could have gotten ugly—quickly, but Colonel James Barrett, head of the militia, cautioned his men not to fire unless fired upon. The colonials were itching for a good fight, the same as the British, but neither side wanted to draw first blood. It was important that the other side took responsibility for provoking the battle.

Once settled in, the British searched house to house for contraband. They destroyed sixty to one-hundred barrels of public flour but spared the private flour at the mill. They pounded the trunnions off three twenty-four-pounder cannons outside Ephraim Jones’ tavern. When they finished disabling the cannon, many of the officers breakfasted at Jones’ tavern. They were careful to pay as they left.

The soldiers stacked all the contraband they found near the town center, then started a huge bonfire. When the wind carried flames to the courthouse, the British and Americans set aside their differences and formed a bucket brigade to extinguish the fire rather than watch it burn.

The flames caused a misunderstanding with the militia. When they saw the smoke and flames, they assumed the worst and thought the British were burning the town—possibly killing or torturing the men and women left there.

The Americans waited, unsure what to do. Every hour their numbers swelled as more Minutemen poured in from neighboring cities. The militia ached for a good fight but was reluctant to fire the first shot. To justify the action, they needed the British to fire first.

When they could wait no longer, the militia loaded their muskets and marched toward Concord. As they advanced, Colonel Barrett cautioned the men again—they were not to fire unless fired upon.

As the Americans advanced, the British panicked  and then opened fire. Private Abner Hosmer and Captain Isaac Davis fell dead. Sixty-year-old Major John Buttrick ordered his militiamen to fire.

The waiting was over. The Revolutionary War had begun.

The fighting raged throughout the day as the British battled their way back to Boston. Both sides claimed victory, but who won or lost is debatable. The Americans suffered 49 killed and 42 wounded. The British lost 65 killed and 181 wounded.

The action at Concord ended up as a disappointment for the British. They didn’t find the weapons they set out to capture, nor did they arrest John Hancock or Samuel Adams. But for the Americans, the Battle of Lexington-Concord proved they could hold their ground against the British regulars.

Historians estimate 3,700 militia turned out throughout the day, though only 2,000 engaged in the fighting. Many Minutemen came, fired a few rounds, then went home. That earned them bragging rights. Maybe even the chance to shoot up a redcoat or two. Others stayed for the entire battle. Because the Minutemen were a volunteer force, they could come and go at their pleasure.

A few days after the battle, John Adams rode to Lexington and Concord to survey the battlefields. Adams said there was “great confusion and much distress everywhere.” Even though the army lacked “artillery, arms,” and “clothing.” It encouraged Adams to discover that “neither the officers nor men, however, wanted spirits or resolution.” He saw the dead and wounded, the damage caused by the British, and he felt the people’s sorrow and loss.

He wrote, “the die was cast...if we did not defend ourselves, they [the British] would kill us.” John Adams said, “the Battle of Lexington on April 19 changed the instruments of warfare from the Pen to the Sword.”

In the mind of John Adams, a mind always looking ahead, he understood the only answer was independence—or death. Adams could not say it out loud. Not yet. Because very few of his fellow congressmen were ready to hear it, but for John Adams, there was no other answer. Once blood had been spilled, it was a battle to the end.

John Adams was all in for independence.

As always, the wheels whirled around in Adam’s head. What should Congress do next? How could they protect the citizens boxed up in Boston? From there, he jumped to the next step. Adams knew the colonies could not do it alone. They would need to forge alliances with other European powers—notably France and Spain. Not stopping there, Adams wrote, “We ought immediately to adopt the army in Cambridge as a Continental army, to appoint a general.” He saw no other answer. As happened at Lexington and Concord, militias come and go. The colonies needed to provide and pay a regular army to win independence.

But who should command the army? General Artemus Ward commanded the army at Cambridge. He possessed sound judgment, and the men liked him. The problem was that the short, stocky Ward knew little to nothing about military discipline or fighting. He was a country bumpkin—a farmer and storekeeper who earned whatever reputation he had in the French and Indian Wars. To Adams, Ward was not up to the task.

Another man who wanted command of the army was John Hancock, the current president of the Continental Congress. Hancock and Adams grew up together. They were good friends. When Adams stood up to nominate a commander-in-chief for the army, Hancock assumed it would be him. When Adams recommended George Washington, he saw a shudder run through John Hancock. “A sudden and striking change of countenance” shot across his face. “Mortification and resentment were expressed as forcibly as his face could exhibit them.”

Earlier that morning, Adams walked through the State House Yard with his cousin, Samuel Adams. He told him, “I am determined this morning to make a direct motion that Congress should adopt the army before Boston and appoint Colonel Washington commander of it.” Samuel Adams appeared to consider the idea, but said nothing.

In Congress that morning, John Adams rose and addressed the delegates, telling them he had “but one gentleman in mind for that important command, and that was a gentleman from Virginia who was among us and very well known to us.” Washington slipped into the library to let the men deliberate in private.

Samuel Adams seconded the motion. A short debate followed, and Congress set aside making that decision. Instead, they considered who should be made second in command.

On Wednesday, June 12, 1776, Congress established the Board of War and Ordnance with five members—John Adams (secretary), Roger Sherman, James Wilson, Benjamin Harrison, and Edward Rutledge. One can only wonder what Adams thought of having to work with Rutledge. Adams described him as “a very uncouth and ungraceful speaker. He shrugs his shoulder, distorts his body, nods, and wiggles his head, and looks about with his eyes from side to side, and speaks through his nose as the Yankees sing.” Adams didn’t like Rutledge’s brother John very much either. He “dodges his head too, rather disagreeable, and both of them spout out their language in a rough and rabid torrent, but without much force or effect.”

The duties of the Board of War and Ordnance were to “obtain and keep exact accounts of all the artillery, arms, ammunition and warlike stores belonging to the United Colonies.” Along with those duties, Congress charged them with overseeing finances, communications, and handling prisoners of war.

Congress could not have made a better choice for the Secretary of the Board of War and Ordnance.

John Adams would have made a good soldier. He was pugnacious enough, but it would have been a waste of his talents. The early heroes of the Revolution were guys like Benedict Arnold. Arnold could relate to his men and share drinks or swap stories around the campfire at night. John Adams could do none of those things. He admitted he was lost regarding guy things, male bonding, and everything else. He could not tell a raunchy story to save his soul, nor was he big on drinking, womanizing, or any other guy stuff.

His friend, Jonathan Sewell, seconded that thought. He said John Adams could not “dance, drink, game, flatter, promise, dress, swear with the gentlemen, talk small talk and flirt with the ladies. In short, he has none of the essential arts or ornaments which constitute a courtier.” In his opinion, John Adams was a dull, obnoxious individual, better suited to working alone than with people.

Give him a crowd, and he could talk. Adams proved that over and over during his time in Congress. He could encourage men. He could move them to tears when he talked, but he did not have that engaging hellfire spirit that possessed Patrick Henry or his cousin Samuel Adams.

None of that mattered. John Adams was good at what counted—fomenting revolution and managing the war.

The Second Continental Congress did much more, including adopting the Declaration of Independence, but that’s a story for another article.

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