Join Emerging Revolutionary War LIVE on Monday evening, April 13 for a discussion about “Winning the War.”
Why was American victory in the Revolution so remarkable? It seems inevitable to us now, but at the time and on the battlefields, victory seemed anything but assured. How did America overcome the odds, particularly after several decisive defeats? Historians from Emerging Revolutionary War (ERW) will examine key military moments that kept the dream of independence alive.
We’ve been helping St. Bonaventure University commemorate the 250th Anniversary of the American Revolution this semester with a series of Monday-evening programs. On April 13 at 7:00 p.m. ERW historians will Zoom in for a panel discussion as part of the series. You can watch at https://sbu.zoom.us/j/98224552407 or on the ERW Facebook page.
Panelist include:
Phill Greenwalt, author of The Winter that Won the War: The Winter Encampment at Valley Forge, co-author of A Single Blow: The Battles of Lexington and Concord, and co-author of the forthcoming A Hard-Bought Victory: The Battle of Bunker Hill
Mark Maloy, author of Victory or Death: The Battles of Trenton and Princeton, To the Last Extremity: The Battles for Charleston, and a forthcoming book on the battles for New York City
Rob Orrison, co-author of All That Can Be Expected: The Battle of Camden and A Single Blow: The Battles of Lexington and Concord
Greenwalt and Maloy are both historians with the National Park Service, and Orrison serves as ERW’s chief historian.
ECW’s Chris Mackowski, who teaches at St. Bonaventure, will moderate the discussion. For people on campus or in the community around St. Bonaventure, the program will be available—with refreshments!—in 201 Plassmann Hall.
The program will be simulcast on the ERW Facebook page and on the blog of St. Bonaventure University’s History Department.
The United States Postal Service has issued a new postage stamp honoring Phillis Wheatley, a Revolution-era poet who was the first author of African descent in the American Colonies to publish a book.
Unveiled at the Old South Meeting House in Boston on Thursday, Jan. 29, 2026, the Wheatley stamps was the 49th stamp in the Black Heritage series.
For more on Wheatley, I reached out the Boston Tea Party Ships and Museum. Cathryn Philippe is a living historian at the museum who portrays Wheatley—who, as it turned out, had an interesting connection to the Boston Tea Party. Cathryn was kind enough to spend some time chatting with me about Wheatley’s story:
(I first met Cathryn several years ago, while doing a virtual field trip in Boston for the American Battlefield Trust. I had the chance to visit the Boston Tea Party Ships and Museum and see Cathryn’s portrayal for myself. Take a look here.)
For more on the Phillis Wheatley stamp, we quote part of the Postal Service’s press release:
Abigail Adams was only 32 years old when she encouraged her h (NY Public Library)
“Remember the ladies.” Of all the words Abigail Adams wrote to her husband John over a correspondence than spanned 1,160 letters and nearly 40 years, those three stand as the most famous. They come from a letter written on March 31, 1776—250 years ago today.
At the time, events in the colonies were moving at a quickening pace. Common Sense in January 1776 had not only leveraged a major public shift toward American independence, it also sparked debate about what might come after. Sentiment in the Continental Congress lagged public opinion, despite John’s best efforts to spur that sentiment along, but conversation still bubbled among the delegates about that possible future.
It was in this context that Abigail, as astute a politician as any Congressional delegate, wrote to her husband. If independence loomed, and America had the chance to jump-start a new system of its own, then why not take advantage of the winds of change and establish independence not only from Great Britian but from the old social order altogether.
[I]n the new Code of Laws which I suppose it will be necessary for you to make I desire you would Remember the Ladies, and be more generous and favourable to them than your ancestors. Do not put such unlimited power into the hands of the Husbands. Remember all Men would be tyrants if they could. If perticuliar care and attention is not paid to the Laidies we are determined to foment a Rebelion, and will not hold ourselves bound by any Laws in which we have no voice, or Representation.
That your Sex are Naturally Tyrannical is a Truth so thoroughly established as to admit of no dispute, but such of you as wish to be happy willingly give up the harsh title of Master for the more tender and endearing one of Friend. Why then, not put it out of the power of the vicious and the Lawless to use us with cruelty and indignity with impunity. Men of Sense in all Ages abhor those customs which treat us only as the vassals of your Sex. Regard us then as Beings placed by providence under your protection and in immitation of the Supreem Being, make use of that power only for our happiness.[1]
Clockwise from top left: Chris Mackowski, Christopher Dalton, Steven Pitt, and Philip Payne
To help celebrate America’s 250th birthday this year, St. Bonaventure University’s History Department will present a series of public programs through March and April—and Emerging Revolutionary War is taking part. From John Adams and Revolutionary-era Boston to George Washington’s long shadow, presenters will invite audiences to reconsider how we remember the Revolution today. And all programs will be available to watch live on Zoom and later on YouTube.
“July Fourth this year will mark 250 years since the Declaration of Independence was finalized,” says Dr. Phillip Payne, chair of the history department. “We wanted to invite members of the community to join us in commemorating that event. It’s a question we can all think about: what does the American Founding mean to us today?”
The programs, which are free and open to the public, will each begin at 7:00 p.m. Light refreshments will be served. The programs will also be available to watch via Zoom; for Zoom links, visit the history department’s blog, https://bonashistorydept.blogspot.com/.
Today, a stone cairn marks the spot atop Penn’s Hill where Abigail watched events unfold in Boston. (Chris Mackowski)
On Saturday, March 2, 1776, Abigail Adams began a letter to husband, John, then serving in the Second Continental Congress in Philadelphia. It took her more than a week to finish it. “You see in what purtubation it has been written and how many times I have left of,” she said by way of apology at the end.
The source of her “purturbation”? The long-running siege of Boston had taken a surprising—and ultimately decisive—turn.
Henry Knox’s “Noble Train” of artillery, salvaged from Fort Ticonderoga and dragged across the winter landscape, offered a sudden game-changer. Initial artillery emplacements opened fire on the night of March 2, but the decisive blow came on March 4 when American forces took possession of Dorchester Heights on the south side of Boston and adorned the hilltop with cannon.
The Adams farm in nearby Quincy sat at the base of another prominence known as Penn’s Hill. From that vantage point, Abigail had watched the battle of Bunker’s Hill the previous June. She returned to that perch to watch the March cannonading.
The latest volume in the Emerging Revolutionary War Series is now available: Atlas of Independence: John Adams and the American Revolution. Publisher Savas Beatie is now offering exclusive signed copies available for pre-order. (Details here!)
As it happens, the publication of Atlas has origins deeply entwined with the origins of the Emerging Revolutionary War Series itself. One could easily argue that there would be no United States of America without John Adams; one could also argue there might not be an Emerging Civil War Series if not for Adams, either.
ERW started as “Rev War Wednesdays” on our sister blog, Emerging Civil War. Then we started up the ERW blog. Soon, co-founders Rob Orrison and Phill Greenwalt wanted to launch a book series similar to the Emerging Revolutionary War Series. The books would provide read-friendly overviews of important stories from the Revolutionary War era, with a focus on battles and leaders.
But how to start?
Rob and Phill approached me with the idea. I thought it was great. But at the time, I was underwater with projects (and, I guess, I still am!). I couldn’t take a direct hand in launching the series, but I did tell them I’d be glad to act in an advisory capacity…on one condition.
If we launched an Emerging Revolutionary War Series, I wanted to write a book about John Adams for the series.
I wasn’t sure when I’d be able to do it, but I wanted to plant my flag and stake my claim.
I’ve had a man-crush on Adams since first reading Joseph Ellis’s Pulitzer Prize-winning Founding Brothers, published in 2000. Ellis had a great fondness for Adams, which he readily admitted. It came across clearly in the book, and I found it infectious. Hooked by the bug, I turned to Ellis’s Passionate Sage: The Character and Legacy of John Adams, which painted a fascinating portrait of the lion in winter.
In 2001, David McCullough’s John Adams biography appeared. It, too, won the Pulitzer Prize. For Adams’s legacy, the book was a game-changer. It transcended history circles to become a cultural phenomenon all its own. It was an “It” book. It became a heady time to be an Adams fan.
My Adams journey led me through all sorts of readings and site visits. I got to know and love the Adams family. I grew to know and respect (but also bear a bit of a grudge toward) Adams’s opposite pole in the Revolution, Thomas Jefferson. I read letters and diaries and other primary sources. I became deeply steeped in the politics of the Independence movement. Most people know me as a Civil War writer, but this has been my other area of historical interest, my secret fascination.
Rob and Phill agreed to my one condition, and so we set out to start the new book series. Hannah Gordon, a former student of mine, came on as initial editor. Rob and Phill wrote about Lexington and Concord. The book series was underway!
It took my a while to get started on my Adams book, though. I have too many ideas for writing projects and not enough time. Not until 2021 did I get the decks cleared enough to start working on the book, but it proceeded in fits and starts as other projects and other ECW and ERW demands jockeyed for my time.
As a result, it took me almost exactly four years to write Atlas of Independence. (For me, that’s an incredibly long amount of time to write 50,000 words!) During that time, even as I worked on other projects, I kept reading John and Abigail’s correspondence with each other and with other people, familiarizing and re-familiarizing myself with the sources. It felt like extra time with treasured friends. The book and I are both better off for it.
I tried to present a fair and balanced account of Adams’s life during the Revolution, although, like Ellis, my fondness for Adams is apparent. I made sure to avoid the sort of hagiography Adams himself detested, though. History, he believed, should not fall victim to the weakness of romance, even if that’s the way people preferred to remember their history.
With the 250th anniversary of American Independence creeping up on me, I knew I had to get the book over the finish line. Adams was central to that story, and I did not want to miss the chance to tout his role. I buckled down last year and finished the manuscript, and the staff at Savas Beatie generously worked with me to get the book to press in time for the dawn of the anniversary year.
And so now here we are. Two hundred and fifty years ago, Adams was discovering the newly published pamphlet Common Sense; today, we get to discover the newly published Atlas of Independence.
I hope you find John Adams to be excellent company. I certain have!
Signed copies of Atlas of Independence are available for pre-order from Savas Beatie for $16.95 plus shipping. Orders 1–100 will be personally signed; orders 101+ will come with an autographed book plate. Click here for details and to order your copy.
It’s hard to overemphasize how important Common Sense was as a tool of persuasion.
Sure, we all know about it. “The idea that Common Sense played a pivotal role in moving the nascent revolutionary movement toward independence is universally acknowledged today,” says historian Jett B. Conner.[1]
Yet I’ve found that, beyond its generally accepted place in American history, most people don’t quite “get” Common Sense. Reading the document today—like anything written 250 years ago—poses a challenge for modern readers. The language doesn’t catch for us the way it did for readers of its time. We aren’t living in the same political context they were. We marinade in a much different, much more immersive media environment. These factors all remove us from the visceral impact Common Sense had.
In the early days of my teaching career, I taught public relations classes. I had been a PR professional prior to that, enticed to the academy, but I wanted my classes to be grounded in the professional standards established by the Public Relations Society of America (PRSA). They had criteria for academic programs that wanted PRSA certification. My university didn’t qualify because we didn’t have a specific major in PR at the time, but I nonetheless used their standards as the model for my classes. One of the standards at the time advocated teaching the history of PR.
Several PR milestones sprang from the political arena: Andrew Jackson’s first use of a press secretary in the White House; Teddy Roosevelt’s bully pulpit; the WWI-era Creel Commission; FDR’s fireside chats; the WWII-era Office of War Information, etc.
Common Sense made the list as the most significant piece of American writing to that point—a track specifically aimed at public persuasion. And boy, did it succeed! “Common Sense was the most radical and important pamphlet written in the American Revolution and one of the most brilliant ever written in the English language,” assesses historian Gordon Wood.[2]
Prior to Common Sense’s publication in January 1776, John Dickinson’s Letters from a Farmer in Pennsylvania in 1767–8 held the record as the most influential piece of public writing. Published in 19 of the 23 major newspapers in the colonies—as well as appearing in England and France—the letters opposed Parliament’s Townsend Acts, which imposed tariffs. Dickinson, a lawyer rather than a farmer, became one of the most famous men in America because of his twelve letters, which did much to unify the colonies in common cause against British taxation.
“Farmer’s Letters captured the spirit of the moment and Americans’ imaginations like nothing before,” says Dickinson biographer Jane E. Calvertt, “selling more copies than any other pamphlet to date. The response was immediate and resounding, going far beyond anything Dickinson could have anticipated.”[3]
Thomas Paine’s Common Sense eclipsed Dickinson exponentially—some 100 times larger, according to historian John Ferling.[4]
Timing helped. Bloodshed on Lexington Green, at the North Bridge in Concord, and all along the road back to Boston added urgency to public discussions. Closure of the port of Boston and the October firebombing of Falmouth, Maine—and the foreboding message it suggested to other colonies—heightened tensions even more. England was no longer some abstract entity across the ocean, but an intrusive force ready to impose its will through violence if necessary. “It was successful because it came precisely the time when people were ready for its message,” says historian Alfred F. Young.[5]
“The suppressed rage that animated Paine’s writing in Common Sense was another important factor in its success,” contends historian Scott Liell, who said “Paine felt, and made his readers feel, ‘wounds of deadly hate.’”[6]
Through 1775, the Continental Congress remained undecided on a course of action, with factions pushing for independence and others pushing for rapprochement. Therefore, news from Philadelphia did little to provide clear guidance for public sentiment.
“[T]he idea of independence was familiar, even among the common people,” John Adams later pointed out.[7] The idea just hadn’t yet crystallized.
Common Sense—first published on January 10, 1776, as a 46-page pamphlet—became that crystal.
“[T]here is something absurd, in supposing a continent to be perpetually governed by an island,” Paine wrote. Paine made such sentiments seem like statements of the obvious. Of course a continent shouldn’t be ruled by an island. Of course one honest man was worth more to society and in the sight of God than all the crowned ruffians that ever lived. Of course.
That was the genius of Paine’s writing.
To read it today, one wouldn’t appreciate how accessible it was to common folks or realize how often people read it aloud in taverns and inns so that even people who could not read could hear its ideas and engage in discussions. A reader today wouldn’t grasp just how hungry readers of 1776 were for Common Sense’s ideas.
“In weighing the influence of a tract, the active role of the reader is often underappreciated,” Young points out.
Reading is an act of volition. A person had to buy the pamphlet; one shilling was cheap as pamphlets went but costly to a common carpenter who might make three shillings a day or to a shoemaker had made even less and out of the question for a common laborer who earned one-eighth of a shilling a day. Or a person had to borrow the pamphlet, seeking out an owner, or respond to someone’s blandishments to read it. When it was read aloud, as it was in taverns and other public places, a person had to make a decision to come to listen or to stay and hear it out.[8]
In other words, readers had to actively want to read it—and they sometimes went to great lengths and expense to do so.
Common Sense sold somewhere around 125,000 copies within its first three months and, within its first six months, went through thirty-five printings—an astounding success considering the population of the American colonies totaled just under 3 million people.[9] A translation appeared for Pennsylvania’s German communities, and editions appeared in England and France.
Sales figures probably only scratch the surface of the pamphlet’s total circulation. “As its reputation and popularity spread,” says historian Scott Liell, “individual copies were read and re-read to countless assembled groups in public houses, churches, army camps, and private parlors throughout the colonies.”[10]
“Its effects were sudden and extensive upon the American mind,” pronounced Philadelphia physician Dr. Benjamin Rush, a friend of Paine’s who had suggested the title. Suddenly, the pearl-clutching in Congress became open, vigorous, public debate. (See Kevin Pawlak’s January 9, 2026 post for more info on the public reactions.) “The controversy about independent was carried into the news papers . . .” Rush recalled. “It was carried on at the same time in all the principal cities in our country.”[11] Indeed, in was in early February 1776 in a New York City bookshop—on his way from Boston to Philadelphia—that Adams first found Common Sense. (Adams would have his own complicated history with the pamphlet, which I’ll explore in a future blog post.)
To this day, Common Sense has never been out of print. It exists today as an icon, a relic, a foundational text we’ve all heard of. We accept its primacy as fact. But few people actually read it, and fewer successfully tune in to its urgency and immediacy. In commemoration of its 250th birthday, I invite you to take a closer look at a document you certainly know and think you know, and see what new sense you may be able to draw from it. (Read it here!)
[1] Jett B. Conner, John Adams vs. Thomas Paine: Rival Plans for the Early Republic (Yardley, PA: Westholme, 2018).
[2] Gordon Wood, “Thomas Paine, America’s First Public Intellectual,” Revolutionary Characters (New York: Penguin, 2006), 209.
[3] Jane E. Calvert, Penman of the Founding: A Biography of John Dickinson (London: Oxford University Press, 2024), 184.
[5] Aldred F. Young, “The Celebration and Damnation of Thomas Paine,” Liberty Tree: Ordinary People and the American Revolution (New York: New York University Press, 2003), 271.
[6] Scott Liell, 46 Pages: Thomas Paine, Common Sense, and the Turning Point to Independence (Philadelphia: Running Press, 2003), 20.
[9] Young says, “Scholars have generally accepted a circulation of 100,000 to 150,000 copies (although none of them make clear how they reached their conclusions).” Liberty Tree, 270.
I want to take a moment to give a shout out to the Quincy Historical Society in Quincy, Massachusetts.
For my upcoming ERW Series book on John Adams in the Revolution, Atlas of Independence, I included an appendix that highlights a number of Adams-related sites in his hometown of Quincy: his birthplace; the home he first lived in with Abigail; his later-in-life home, Peacefield; the “Church of the Presidents,” which includes his crypt; and several other cool spots.
One of the places I direct people is to Merrymount Park, which features two monuments to Adams and members of his family. The newer of the two consists of a statue of John that stands across a small plaza from a dual statue of Abigail and a young John Quincy. The distance symbolizes the distance between John and his family for much of his public life.
Sculptor Lloyd Lillie created the Abigail and John Quincy statues first, in 1997. They stood together in downtown Quincy along Hancock Street. John was installed across from them in 2001, separated by traffic. When the city redesigned downtown and created the new Hancock-Adams Commons in 2022, the statues were relocated to Merrymount Park to join an older monument already standing there.
That older monument was a little harder to investigate.
The monument itself is made from Quincy granite, a longtime staple of the local economy. A bas relief bronze tablet mounted on the granite shows John and an adult John Quincy—both as presidents—seated together for an imagined conversation with each other. An inscription reads: “Father and Son, Second and Sixth Presidents of the Nation, Statesmen, Diplomats, Patriots, and Builders of our great Republic, they labored in the vanguard of human democracy on this soil.”
Beyond that, I knew the memorial had once been moved to the site where the John and John Quincy birthplaces stand along Franklin Street, but I didn’t know when and I didn’t know when the monument came back to Merrymount. I couldn’t even find the year of the monument’s dedication or the name of the sculptor. The internet didn’t seem to know these things, and none of my reference materials referenced them.
And so it was that I reached out to the Quincy Historical Society to see if they might have anything in their archives that could help me out.
Archivist Mikayla Martin went above and beyond to assist, sending me a neat little bonanza of stuff! Since she sent me more material than I had room for in the book, I thought I’d take the opportunity to share my windfall here so that you, too, could benefit from the Quincy Historical Society’s kindness.
The memorial, as it turned out, was dedicated in 1927. The chief of staff of the United States Army at the time, Maj. Gen. Charles P. Summerall, served as master of ceremonies for the event, according to a clipping from the Patriot Ledger the historical society sent me:
Photographer Warren S. Parker captured this image of the Adams Memorial on April 18, 1929. (courtesy of the Quincy Historical Society)
The Patriot Ledger hailed the memorial’s sculptor, Bruce Wilder Saville, as “One of Quincy’s most distinguished native sons.” Saville was best known in town for another of his works, the WWI “Doughboy” Memorial that stood in front of the Coddington School. The Quincy Historical Society included Saville’s obituary from the Patriot Ledger, which I’ll reproduce below, along with a photo of the Doughboy Memorial that the society sent me.
Another newspaper clipping revealed that the $5,000 memorial was a gift to the city of Quincy from the U.S. government. In 1961, city leaders voted to move the monument to the Adams birthplaces, but when the NPS took over management of the site 1979, the city returned the monument to Merrymount Park. I’ll reproduce a newspaper article related to that, as well (see below).
Every monument and memorial has a story of its own, and I find those stories fascinating. They can tell us a lot about the people they honor as well as the people who are doing the honoring.
Please consider supporting your own local historical society (and, if you’re so inclined, please consider supporting the Quincy Historical Society while you’re at it). Organizations like this provide invaluable services to researchers everywhere, but more importantly, they carry the torch for the history in your own back yard.
We’re excited to share a sneak-peak of our next upcoming title in the Emerging Revolutionary War Series, published by Savas Beatie:
About the Book:
“The man to whom the country is most indebted for the great measure of independence is Mr. John Adams…. I call him the Atlas of American independence.”
So attested one of the delegates to the Second Continental Congress, moved to support independence after months of angst, indecision, dithering, and fear. Thomas Jefferson called Adams “our colossus on the floor,” arguing with power, passion, and persuasive force of reason why America needed to take the extraordinary step to break from the British Empire and set up an independent nation.
Born of humble means outside Boston, Massachusetts, Adams’s work ethic led him to become one of the colony’s most successful attorneys. Yet he burned with a powerful ambition and yearned for more. “I never shall shine, till some animating Occasion calls forth all my Powers,” he fretted.
Festering tension in Boston with British soldiers and taxation and trade policies—tension that spread across all thirteen colonies—provided the occasion Adam longed for, and soon he found himself at the center of the storm, thrust onto the national stage where all his “Powers” transformed him into the intellectual architect of American independence. Perhaps more than any other American, he rose to the historical moment, urging his contemporaries into the unknown future.
But his efforts came at tremendous cost: long separations from his beloved children and “dearest friend” and wife, Abigail, who forged for herself a role as long-distance political counselor even as she managed affairs on the family farm in a way nearly unprecedented for 18th century America.
“The times alone have destined me to fame,” Adams wrote. Atlas of Independence: John Adams and the American Revolution offers a reader-friendly overview of Adams’s seminal role in that tumultuous Founding time.
About the Author:
Chris Mackowski, Ph.D., is a writing professor in St. Bonaventure University’s Jandoli School of Communication. He is the co-founder and editor-in-chief of Emerging Civil War and advisory editor for Emerging Revolutionary War.
He has written, co-written, or edited more than thirty books.
“[T]he Battle of Lexington on the 19th of April, changed the Instruments of Warfare from the Penn to the Sword,” John Adams wrote years after the event. He was well acquainted with the pen as an instrument of warfare. By the spring of 1775, he was twelve letters into a thirteen-letter volley that would become known as the “Novanglus letters”—a series that appeared in the Boston Gazette starting January 23.[1]
The final of those letters appeared, by happenstance, on April 19—the same day as the battles of Lexington and Concord. The thirteenth letter of the series never appeared because of the suspension of printing in Massachusetts following the battle.[2]
Adams was, at the time of the battle, preparing to return to Philadelphia for the next session of the Continental Congress. Before his departure, however, he resolved to ride out to the battlefield so he could see with his own eyes the results of the bloodshed that had occurred. He felt it would make him a more reliable witness when he reported on the event to Congress.
On April 22, Adams rode by horseback from his home in Quincy to Cambridge, where the local militia had concentrated. There, Adams met with military leaders, generals Artemis Ward, William Heath, and Joseph Warren. He also informally inspected the troops, “the New England Army,” as he characterized them.[3]
“There was great Confusion and much distress,” Adams recounted: “Artillery, Arms, Cloathing were wanting and a sufficient Supply of Provisions not easily obtained. Neither the officers nor Men however wanted Spirits or Resolution.”
But how long would such spirit and resolve last, Adams wondered? This questions would inform his strategy when he eventually arrived in Philadelphia.
From Cambridge, Adams rode west toward “Lexington and along the Scene of Action for many miles. . . .” Rubble from the battle still laid strewn along the road from Concord to Lexington and from Lexington back into Boston—a route Adams traced in reverse. He did not write down details of what he saw, but they made a deep impression, as would soon become evident in his attitudes about independence.
To help make sense of what he saw, he “enquired of the Inhabitants” about “the Circumstances” of the battle. “These were not calculated to diminish my Ardour in the Cause,” he admitted. “They on the Contrary convinced me that the Die was cast, the Rubicon passed, and as Lord Mansfield expressed it in Parliament, if We did not defend ourselves they would kill Us.”
Just after his visit to the battlefield, illness debilitated Adams, which delayed his departure for Congress. He did manage to catch up to his fellow delegates en route. Along the way, they saw first-hand how the events at Lexingon and Concord had galvanized public opinion, although it would yet be some months before Congress itself followed public opinion.
But for Adams, events had indeed crossed the Rubicon. He began his unceasing, inexorable push toward independence.
Yet it was a two-pronged approach for Adams, who not only operated on that larger existential level but also on a more immediate, pragmatic one. After all, the sword, not the pen, was now the main weapon. He began advocating for measures that would transform “the New England Army” into a Continental one. His nomination of George Washington to lead the fledgling force, for example, was a masterful stroke to diversify the army and, thus, ensure more colonies had skin in the game.
Congress’s slow pace toward independence would frustrate Adams almost to no end over the fifteen months that would follow. However, the bloodshed of Lexington and Concord made an impression on Adams that would drive him onward, inexorably, toward July 1776 and beyond.
[3] Quote from Adams come from John Adams autobiography, part 1, “John Adams,” through 1776, sheet 18 of 53 [electronic edition]. Adams Family Papers: An Electronic Archive. Massachusetts Historical Society. http://www.masshist.org/digitaladams/
Emerging Revolutionary War Era 