Americanism Redux

November 27, your today, on the journey to the American Founding, 250 years ago, in 1775

[I wasn’t going to write an entry on our Thanksgiving Day. I changed my mind when I found the letter below, written today 250 years ago, from Abigail Adams to her husband, John. Abigail wrote from outside Boston to John, inside Philadelphia with the rest of the Second Continental Congress. The letter speaks for itself—may it enrich your sense of thanksgiving.]

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“Tis a fortnight tonight since I wrote you a line during which, I have been confined with the jaundice, rheumatism, and a most violent cold; I yesterday took a puke which has relieved me, and I feel much better today. Many, very many, people who have had the dysentery are now afflicted both with the jaundice and rheumatism, some it has left in heticks, some in dropsies.

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The great and incessant rains we have had this fall (the like cannot be recollected) may have occasioned some of the present disorders. The jaundice is very prevalent in the Camp. We have lately had a week of very cold weather, as cold as January, and a flight of snow, which I hope will purify the air of some of the noxious vapors. It has spoiled many hundreds of bushels of Apples, which were designed for cider, and which the great rains had prevented people from making up. Suppose we have lost five barrels by it.

Colonel Warren returned last week to Plymouth, so that I shall not hear anything from you till he goes back again which will not be til the last of this month.

He Dampened my Spirits greatly by telling me that the Court had prolonged your Stay another month. I was pleasing myself with the thoughts that you would soon be upon your return. Tis in vain to repine. I hope the publick will reap what I sacrifice.

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I wish I knew what might things were fabricating. If a form of Government is to be established here, what one will be assumed? Will it be left to our assemblies to choose one? And will not many men have many minds? And shall we not run into Dissentions among ourselves?

I am more and more convinced that Man is a dangerous creature, and that power, whether vested in man or a few, is ever grasping, and the like grave cries give, give. The great fish swallow up the small, and he who is most strenuous for the Rights of the people, when vested with power, is as eager after the prerogatives of Government. You tell me of degrees of perfection to which Humane Nature is capable of arriving, and I believe it, but at the same time lament that our admiration should arise from the scarcity of the instances.

The Building up a Great Empire, which was only hinted at by my correspondent, may now I suppose be realized even by the unbelievers. Yet will not ten thousand Difficulties arise in the formation of it? The Reigns of Government have been so long slackened, that I fear the people will not quietly submit to those restraints which are necessary for the peace, and security of the community; if we separate from Britain, what Code of Laws will be established? How shall we be governed so as to retain our Liberties? Can any government be free which is not administered by general stated Laws? Who shall frame these Laws Who will give them force and energy? Tis true your Resolutions as a Body have hitherto had the force of Laws. But will they continue to have?

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When I consider these things and the prejudices of people in favor of Ancient customs and Regulations, I feel anxious for the fate of our Monarchy or Democracy or whatever is to take place. I soon get lost in a Labyrinth of perplexities, but whatever occurs, may justice and righteousness be the Stability of our times, and order arise out of confusion. Great difficulties may be surmounted, by patience and perseverance.

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I believe I have tired you with politics. As to news we have not any at all. I shudder at the approach of winter when I think I am to remain desolate. Suppose your weather is warm yet. Mr. Mason and Thaxter live with me, and render some part of my time less disconsolate. Mr. Mason is a youth who will please you, he has Spirit, taste, and Sense. His application to his Studies is constant and I am much mistaken if he does not make a very good figure in his profession.

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I have with me now, the only Daughter of your Brother; I feel a tenderer affection for her as she has lost a kind parent. Though too young to be sensible of her own loss, I can pity her. She appears to be a child of a very good Disposition – only wants to be a little used to company.

Our Little ones send Duty to papa and want much to see him. Tom says he won’t come home till the Battle is over – some strange notion he has got into his head. He has got a political creed to say to him when he returns.

I must bid you good night. Tis late for one who am much of an invalid. I was disappointed last week in receiving a packet by the post, and upon unsealing it found only four newspapers. I think you are more cautious than you need be. All Letters I believe have come safely to hand. I have Sixteen from you, and wish I had as many more. Adieu, yours,…

Also

In Poone (now called Pune), a dozen men gather for their regular meeting. They belong to a group that’s been organized for a little over a year, named the Barabhai. They’re councilors in the Maratha Empire in India, the de facto ruling body in a structure headed by the child Sawai Madhavrao. Today, these men continue their planning on how to proceed in a war against British control. One of the topics that needs resolved is how, and whether, to seek French support in the Maratha struggle against the British. The issue before the Barabhai is rather similar to that facing John Adams and the rest of the Second Continental Congress in Philadelphia.

For You Now

(a home of Adams)

The pro-colonial rights movement has been grappling with the issue of Union for more than a year. That effort has been centered in the work of the Continental Congress meeting in Philadelphia first at Carpenters Hall and now at the Pennsylvania State House (now Independence Hall). As a location of work, we can rightfully call this “Union House”.

In spring 1775, when the Continental Congress approved a policy of adopting the mass of local soldiers surrounding Boston, they converted these units into a Continental Army with a commanding general, George Washington. Since that time, Washington has been neck-deep in organizing and training the men into an effective military force, the armed-power version of the Union movement launched in and by the Continental Congress. We can rightfully call Washington’s main encampment and its nearly 20,000 men semi-encircling British-held Boston as “Union City”.

And now, with the eloquent and penetrating letter by Abigail Adams, we can know with one-hundred percent certitude that a third “Union” space exists—that embodied in human dwellings up and down the east coast of North America. Everywhere, in families or singly, people decide on a daily basis whether or not to support the Union cause. They are, together for those who so choose, “Union Homes”.

There we have it—Union House, Union City, and Union Homes.

None of them are static, none of them are stuck in cement. They bend and flex and absorb pressure to the point of break. Will they finally break?

In their world, we don’t know.

Suggestion

Take a moment to consider: by next Thanksgiving, what do you want to be true for you? For your community? For your nation?

(Your River–Happy Thanksgiving)