All language subtitles for the_adams_chronicles_s01e02_revolutionary

Four generations of one family. Their
lives and causes reveal 150

years of American history.

I'm John Adams.

I am counsel to the accused.

Wait there.

You mean you've agreed to defend those
murderers of our people? I have agreed

defend Captain Preston and his men.

The jury will decide if they're
murderers. But I will do anything under

to secure their acquittal. Have you
turned your coat to red, John?

Of course not.

I'm no friend to the crown.

But under the law, the accused men are
allowed the counsel of their choice. And

Preston and his men have chosen me.

They must have a fair trial. John, of
all the men I know in Boston, you have

least love for the English soldiers.
Damn, we may call this killing a

in Boston, but the other colonies will
say that Boston is in a state of

that mob rule holds sway here.

Unless these soldiers are given a fair
trial, we will lose all the outside

support we've gained.

We may need that support in any future
conflict with the crown.

Mr. Adams!

This way.

John Adams, successful lawyer, subject
of George III of England, firm believer

in British law.

Because of that belief, he has just
taken a most unpopular case, the defense

a group of British soldiers accused of
killing five men in an unarmed crowd.

Boston citizenry, seething with
resentment over presumed injustices by

British Crown and Parliament, Call it a
massacre.

The soldiers call it self -defense.

An unpopular case.

A dangerous case.

Unwanted by John Adams, who has no
sympathy for the defendants, but

strongly in their right to a fair trial.

He intends to see that they get it.

will hearken to the verdict as this
court has recorded it.

You have been found not guilty of murder
by this jury and are discharged by this

court herewith.

All save Matthew Kilroy and Hugh
Montgomery who have been found guilty of

manslaughter. My Lord, my clients pray
for the benefit of clergy.

Granted. It will be taken forth to be
branded on the thumbs so that they may

never ask for mercy of this court again.

The jury is dismissed with the thanks of
his court.

Court is now adjourned. All rise.

Well

done,

Mr. Adams.

You truly think so, Mr. Quintus?

Indeed.

A good day's work, I warrant.

Two of our clients escaping with nothing
more than burned thumbs to show for

their ordeal. And six discharged as
innocent.

A sentence of death against those
soldiers would have been a foul stain on

honor of a judge. John, John, you've
convinced the jury of that fact. Don't

squander your persuasive art on me. I
use no art on that jury.

Nothing more than facts and evidence.
Mr. Adams, we've won our case.

It's time to wish our clients well and
go home.

Wish them well?

I wish the lot of them in hell.

But you believe them innocent.

Innocent of firing wantonly into a
crowd, yes, but guilty of being British

soldiers sent here to enforce the
crown's will.

Cold, Mr. Adams?

Why not put on your red coat?

I dare say it's warmer. It's lined with
the king's gold.

Stand aside.

This court is reserved for patriots.
Then it is open to me and my kin.

I understand I was only doing my duty.
Yes, but is it necessary to do it so

well?

Never fear, the verdict will be
forgotten in a month. All they'll

be those brutal soldiers who massacred
the innocents on King Street. Sam Adams,

you know damned well what happened.

A Boston mob, drunk with whiskey and
rebellion, attacked a lone British

before the customs house.

That mob was... Shh.

They will be remembered as martyrs, to
be remembered whenever men speak of

liberty.

When will you learn mobs are not fit to
rule kingdoms?

But surely they can overthrow them.

How dare they accuse you of supporting
the crown?

They are patriots, Mrs. Adams.

What's a patriot, Papa?

Mary, this is no time to ask your father
questions. No, my dear, if it's a fair

question, it deserves a fair answer.

Take equal quantities of civility...

Fear, fury, and gratitude.

Add revenge, malice, envy.

Infuse all this into the brains of a
brutal, surly, ugly man.

And there you have your patriot.

But Mama told us you were the greatest
patriot in Boston.

Johnny, Navi, you get ready for bed now.

I have medicine for your milk, John.

A new shipment of books arrived today
from England.

More books?

The law books he wanted.

Oh.

Oh, cook's works.

Two pounds?

Oh, I must have learned to borrow books
like other lawyers.

You are not other lawyers, John.

No, they build estates while I mope
about with plaguey books.

filling my head with useless bits of
law.

Mr. Adams, rest now. You have no call to
condemn yourself. You have done what

your conscience demanded.

Indeed, and we are the poorer for it.

There's a grievous fault in me.

John, you have no faults.

Foibles, perhaps, but no faults.

What foibles?

Well, you will spy catastrophe in every
event. Well, if I do, it is because it

lurks there.

Abigail, you have not seen what happens.

Whenever I try to serve the people of
this town, my wishes prove impotent.

My efforts fruitless.

We have struggled for years to make a
life here.

If we stay any longer, I shall be
ruined. I shall sink into contempt and

obscurity. You will perish for want.

John, we prosper here.

We may not be rich, but we do not owe
any man.

I shall die of Boston.

Are you ill?

Today in the court, I felt faint. I got
on the street and I felt a stab in my

chest.

I could not get my breath.

You must take to your bed at once. I'll
send for the doctor. No, I want no

doctor. I know my ailment.

It is the bad air of Boston.

Only my farm can cure me.

Very well, then. We shall return to
Braintree.

No.

We're home, Abigail.

We're home.

Papa,

may I help you carry the wood?

You finished your lessons so early,
Johnny?

Can I help you work the farm instead of
lessons?

Oh, so you want to be a farmer like your
grandfather?

Yes.

All that Latin prepares me for is to be
a Roman. And since I will not be one, of

what use is it? Well, it drains the mind
for law.

I hate it.

I want you to be a man of learning,
Johnny.

Though I fear in our country there is a
miserable prejudice against men of

education.

Papa, I make a poor figure at Latin.

My thoughts keep running after playing
trifle.

I'll tell you a secret, Johnny.

When I was your age, I hated my Latin,
too.

Did you truly?

But my father was anxious for me to go
to college.

So when I told him I did not like study,
he was quick to answer.

Very well, John, if Latin grammar does
not suit you, you may try digging

ditches. That meadow yonder needs a
ditch, and you may put by your Latin and

that. You were lucky.

Well, at first I thought it was a
marvelous change.

But in two days, I discovered that
digging ditches was harder than Latin

At last, I got my courage up to ask him
if I could go back to my Latin. And he

agreed? Oh, he was glad of it.

And if I have since gained any
distinction, it was owing to those two

labor in that abominable ditch.

Papa, is there nothing but Latin or the
ditch?

Not in this life, Johnny.

John, when are you going to stop dancing
this ridiculous brain -tree jig of

yours? Hmm?

Prancing back and forth in your farm in
Boston, in your wanton pursuit of

riches.

Mr. Hancock, did you invite me to a
public tavern to insult me?

No. To draw you out of your cowardly
retreat.

You dare call me a coward because I will
not join in your boyish pranks against

the crown.

Some of us did not inherit great
fortunes from our uncles.

We are not free to spend our days as
tavern rebels.

I have a law practice to attend to and a
growing family who need... John, don't

imagine you can escape your troubles by
abandoning ours.

How can you practice law in town or
country after this?

What's this?

More bitter news from London.

What, another tax?

Far worse. Our judges are now to be paid
by the crown rather than our own

legislature. And that will make them the
king's tools, interpreting our laws to

suit the crown.

And soon no man in Boston will be
allowed to piss without permission from

Parliament. Well, our people will never
tolerate this. See what Justice Brattle

writes here. He claims that a judge paid
by the crown would be more independent

and free the colonies of needless
expense.

Oh, Brattle is an ass.

Any judge who accepts the Crown's money
should be impeached by our legislature.

There's precedent for that in our
English common law. Will you write that

Boston Gazette? No.

But you know more law than... I am under
no obligation to publish my every

thought for the world. Mr. Adams, now,
surely your conscience will demand that

you... Mr. Hancock, do not speak to me
of conscience.

I am 37 years old and the father of four
children who depend upon me for their

future.

I own nothing but my house and land.

I have a mere 300 pounds in savings, not
much for my labors.

I must gallop after every circuit court
from here to Maine to scrape up what

little business I can. I'm obliged to
travel light, so I leave my conscience

safe at home in Braintree.

Damn, Mrs. Adams, it's... Freezing cold.

Now it's scalding.

There's no choice between freezing and
burning.

Mrs. Adams, I've cut myself.

I fear that trip to Boston has unsettled
you.

Nonsense.

You know what that imbecile Hancock said
to me the last time I was in Boston?

What? He called me a coward in a public
tavern.

He didn't. But he did.

Accused me of dancing from Braintree to
Boston, Boston to Braintree, with no

thought but to get enough money to carry
myself smoothly through the world.

Well, you mustn't dwell on the ravings
of a lunatic.

Abigail, it was God's truth in the mouth
of a madman.

In all Justice Brattle's researches
hitherto, we have not been able to

either that the judges had their
commissions for life or that the crown

authority to grant them for life.

Judges are the servants of the people
and should be paid by the people.

But now the king proposes to pay the
judges.

I have bestowed more labor upon Justice
Brattle's writings in the newspaper than

was necessary to show their
imperfection.

I subscribe myself, yours Justice
Brattles, and the public's well -wisher

very humble servant, John Adams.

How much is too much?

Attacks on tea should not foment
rebellion.

But to Boston citizens, King George's
tax on British tea, petty token of

authority that it was, was indeed too
much.

Therefore, be it hereby resolved that
the people of Boston refuse to pay for

tea which was deposited into the harbor
by the marauding band of Indians.

A blockade of Boston?

That is the Crown's answer. We are to be
cut off from all supplies and food,

starved into submission until that damn
tea is paid for.

Surely the other colonies will send aid.

Let us pray.

But first let us hope the other colonies
understand our cause.

Throughout America, in every town hall
and legislature, brave men have spoken

out in support of Boston.

proving that we have not been isolated,
that we are not alone.

In each colony, representatives have now
been elected to a Continental Congress

to be held in Philadelphia this
September.

The purpose of this Congress will be to
plan relief for Boston and a more

lasting accommodation with Great
Britain.

It is my pleasure to announce the newly
elected representatives from the colony

of Massachusetts.

Mr. James Bowden.

Mr. Thomas Cushing.

Mr. Robert Treat Payne.

Mr. Samuel Adams.

Mr. John Adams.

Two months in Philadelphia.

You've never been out of New England
before.

Abigail, you need not remind me that I'm
a provincial, unequal to the task

ahead.

My dear, you mistake my words.

I fear for your safety, not for your
success.

If only I could go with you.

Mr. Adams, I must confess.

My desire to go with you does not spring
only from my concern for you.

No?

I know I have sufficient duties to
prevent my roving, but... Oh,

John, I have always felt a great
inclination to travel.

I am curious to know what is valuable in
this world.

I promise you, I will write you
everything I see and feel.

You will see Philadelphia through my
eyes.

Will you be content with that?

I will be content with a small part of
the world.

If only it were free.

I did not know you were so passionate a
patriot.

We women are obliged to conceal our
passions from the world.

How fortunate for me that I'm not the
world.

How worn this is.

We must get some new clothes in
Philadelphia.

Nonsense. This is a Congress, not a
fancy dress ball.

I hear the Southerners are quick to
judge a man by his appearance.

Well, how would it look if I arrived
wearing velvet and my fellow delegate,

cousin Sam, appeared in his worn -out
homespun? Very well, Mr. Adams.

I do hope Sam has the grace to mend and
fashion. Oh, Sam is no more capable of

looking fashionable than you are of
looking pleased.

Try to put a cheerful face on my
leaving.

I fear I shall make a wry face like
swallowing magnesia.

But the dose will go down.

Mr. Adams, I must confess. You have
already confessed your secret craving

travel. No, John.

I must confess my secret craving for
you.

You will be careful.

I will be careful.

I cannot lose my much -loved friend.

It can't be.

You like it?

Where did you get those clothes?

An anonymous benefactor, wishing me to
look prosperous in Philadelphia, sent

them round this morning.

A real gold handle, did you notice?

I was too dazzled by the silver buckles
on your shoes. They also provided me

with enough money to live comfortably in
Philadelphia.

And you accepted it?

Oh, John, how could I refuse such
kindness? We've been voted our expenses.

to take money from a private citizen...
John, the delegates from New York and

Maryland have great estates. The others
are men of property.

If we were to appear...

Shabby, it would give a poor impression
of Massachusetts.

Nothing personal, John, but you really
should mind your dress. Such things

influence unthinking people.

My dearest Abigail, there is such a
quick succession of new scenes,

and events turning up before me that I
can't keep any regular account.

Philadelphia, for all its great size and
wealth, is no Boston.

The morals of our people are much
better.

Boston manners are more polite and
agreeable.

Our spirit is greater.

Our religion superior.

Our persons handsomer.

We exceed in everything except patience.

Fortunately, this Congress begins
tomorrow.

56 delegates, Southerners, New
Englanders, radicals, and conservatives,

uneasy community to protest mounting
injustice to their persons and their

purses. Talk of independence comes from
New England lips.

but other delegates resist an
irrevocable break with Mother England

king.

Gentlemen, we must establish certain
rules for voting before we begin.

It appears to me that the most equitable
way to vote would be according to

population. Thus, a sparsely settled
colony would have a smaller vote in this

Congress... As the representative of the
good people of Rhode Island, I must

remind this Congress...

that small colonies have an equal state
with their larger sisters in any

decision reached by this Congress. The
chair recognizes Mr. Patrick Henry of

Virginia.

Mind what he says, John. I understand
he's the sister of the South.

More important, these Southerners could
be our greatest ally.

Gentlemen.

I beg you to put aside all regional
differences.

Why, since the crown is so fit to negate
the laws that govern us, I say that

government is dissolved.

Where are your landmarks, your
boundaries, your colonies?

No, we are in a state of nature.

The distinctions between Virginians,
Pennsylvanians, and you Englanders are

more. I am not a Virginian, but an
American.

Yeah!

Filling, isn't it?

No, frightening.

Fifty men, all strangers, jealous of one
another.

Fearful, timid.

Skittish.

I fear they will never adopt our cause
as their own. John, Congress doesn't

officially begin until tomorrow. Allow
me to make some friends from

Massachusetts this afternoon.

How can you?

Watch me when the members take the vote
on the opening prayer.

Quakers here, Anglicans there,
Presbyterians, Congregationalists,

and all those Southern Episcopalians.

All of them wanting that prayer in their
own private faith.

Lesson number one.

Since the Episcopalians outnumber the
rest of us, and since we are not bigots,

Massachusetts can hear a prayer from any
gentleman of piety and virtue who is a

friend of his country.

I understand that the Reverend Duchesne,
an Episcopalian clergyman, is such a

man and among us.

Therefore, I request we beg the Reverend
to... ...fight against them that fight

against me.

Take hold of shield and buckler and
stand up for mine help.

Draw out also the spear and stop the way
against them that persecute me.

Say unto my soul...

Nothing, darling. Go back to sleep.

We now expect our sea coasts to be
ravaged.

Perhaps the very next letter I write
will inform you that I am driven away

our yet quiet cottage.

We are told for truth that the enemy is
now 8 ,000 strong.

Courage I know we have in abundance.

Conduct I hope we shall not want.

But powder, where shall we get a
sufficient supply?

Indeed, General, if we ask only for our
rights as English.

If we support a plan for a firmer union
with the crown, we will dispel all fear

of independence and assure the king...
Contempt!

Sir. Mr. Dickinson, we cannot relieve
the stress of Boston with such schemes.

And what do you think will happen if
England turns all of us adrift? We will

float, sir, safely together.

Nonsense. Civil war would break out at
once.

One colony would seek to govern all the
others, and that colony would come down

from the north like the Goths and the
Vandals. Surely you do not think

Massachusetts would attempt to take over
the leadership. Sir, you cannot deny

that your colony hanged the Quakers.

Over a hundred years ago, in a time of
ignorance... You cannot see the Quakers

like laundry and expect the world to
forget it. But ancient history had

to do with... Excuse me, gentlemen. Mr.
Adams and I have a meeting with the

Carolina delegation.

John!

How many times must I warn you that we
must stand silent and let our southern

friends do the work?

We are looked upon with too much
suspicion to win in any argument with

conservatives. Are we to hold silence
while our wives and children are in

danger? Yes, if that is the best way.

Dearest friend, since you left me, I
have passed through a great distress of

mind and body.

A violent dysentery has become our
common calamity.

Our little Tommy lies very ill now.

There is no abatement of his disorder.

Our house is now a hospital in every
part.

My dearest, it is now almost three
months since I left you.

My anxiety about you and the children
has been extreme.

Your letters are delayed in reaching me,
and I fear that mine do not arrive in

Braintree until the news is... cold and
stale.

This evening, I dined with all the
gentlemen of Virginia in an elegant and

magnificent chamber.

The meal, turtle soup and flummery,
jellies, sweetmeats, trifles, whipped

syllabubs, floating islands, a dessert
of fruit, raisins, almonds.

I drank Madeira at a great rate and
found no inconvenience in it.

A general putrefaction seems to have
taken place.

We cannot bear the house, only as we are
constantly cleansing it with hot

vinegar.

I went to Mr. Powell's and had a most
sinful feast again.

Creams, jellies, cheese, wine, porter,
beer.

Everything which could delight the eye
or allure the taste.

My dearest friend, have pity upon me, my
beloved, for the hand

of God presses sore.

My dear mother, who came to see me every
day when I was ill and take care of our

little Tommy, took the disorder and
died.

I cannot overcome my too selfish sorrow.

All her care for my welfare endears her
memory to me and heightens my worry for

her loss.

My heart is made tender by repeated
afflictions.

It was never a hard heart.

Poor Abigail.

You will tender my condolences.

I would do better, Sam.

I would send her myself.

I'm going home.

But you cannot. Our work here is yet to
be concluded.

What work?

Raising a glass of material of liberty
while this Congress seeks new ways to

comfort the king? No, I will not stay
here another day. John, tomorrow Mr.

Galloway puts forth his humble petition.

If approved by this Congress, it gives
Parliament the right to tax us freely.

And everything we have fought for in
Massachusetts would be lost.

John, we need your voice to defeat it.
My voice? They laugh at my Yankee speech

and my zeal. Yes, they laugh, but they
listen.

John, you have managed the most
impossible task.

You are ridiculous and you are
respected.

Thank you. John, we've led them further
than they ever dreamed they would go.

They voted for a strong militia, taxes
for our own treasury.

The king's judges, disowned by this
Congress, the acts of Parliament ignored

it. Now they wish to retreat.

It is up to you to make them go forward.

Gentlemen, in every government there
must be a supreme legislature.

The regulation of our trade must rest
somewhere.

And it can, in truth, rest only with
Parliament.

We must admit this much in our petition
to the King.

To deny it,

is to light the flames of war.

Be warned, gentlemen.

It could rage for 20 years and end in
our subjugation rather than our

liberation.

Massachusetts and the town of Boston are
now struggling in the common cause of

American freedom.

Mr. Galloway's humble petition would
betray that struggle.

And for what purpose?

to placate a king and a parliament who
have shown us they do not understand

humility, that only resistance can reach
their understanding.

Gentlemen, if you fail to support our
struggle today, it is not only the cause

of Massachusetts which you will abandon,
but future generations of Americans.

Done, John.

Galloway's plan defeated as we hoped.

One vote, Sam, not much of a victory.
Lesson number two, John. In politics, a

small victory is worth any number of
grand defeats. Well done, Mr. Randolph.

You've earned your smile today.

Mr. Henry, if I smile, it's because I'm
going home.

In your letters, I thought it had all
gone to ruin.

Where's the drought you wrote up?

We've lately had a charming rain.

The fences need mending, though.

What of the hired man? Why didn't he fix
it?

Oh, Isaac is far too busy drilling in
the militia.

All the local men have caught the
military fever. Even the schoolmaster is

to join.

Where are the children now?

Watching the militia drill.

Oh, Mr. Adams, how sorely I have missed
you.

Pray attend the child carefully, Mr.
Adams. She has toiled over this piece

weeks.

Is she any gift for music?

Of course she is not. She is our child.

Though she may lack in music, she
exceeds in zeal.

Very well, Nanny.

Call the Liberty Song, Papa.

It's all the rage from here to Boston.

But there's a man outside who asked for
Papa.

Abigail,

a

militia in Concord has fired on the
King's troops.

and the troops have run away.

They were not rabble, Mrs. Adams. They
were the best of men defending their

homes, fighting as Americans.

Oh, my God.

What will you do, John?

Pray God I can join them.

John, you cannot.

You are not fit to be a soldier. Your
eyes are... Please do not recall my

weakness when I now need all my
strength.

They will need organizers and lawmakers
in Philadelphia.

Will the other colonies send aid?
Indeed, now they will send aid. Not by

hundreds, but by the thousands. The
British will send 20 ,000 troops. They

hang everyone. Please, please, Mrs.
Adams.

I am a warrior by birth. You are merely
one by marriage.

Allow me to carry all the family fears
to Philadelphia. Abby, rest easy.

If I am hanged, it will be such a
splendid company.

Oh, Nappy, it was a lovely song.

I trust I'm not disturbing you. No, not
at all.

I'm looking for a list of necessities
that Mrs. Adams sent.

Since the blockade, she cannot get them
in brain change. She asked me to bring

them home when I reached us.

There was thread, needles.

Where is that damn book? John, I do
think there are graver matters before

Not for me, if I come home without them.

You read this latest report from our
army in Massachusetts?

Certainly. It's clear that old General
Ward must be replaced.

He continues to lose battles.

Indeed, but by whom?

I was thinking of putting myself forward
for the post.

You, John?

Is there another man in this Congress
who has fought so long and so well

the British?

John, it is one thing to lead a mob of
Boston patriots in the streets, quite

another to command an army in the field.
John, I know armies. I understand

military tactics and...

Strategy? I've read Caesar's campaigns.

Hannibal crossing the Alps. Hannibal?

John, isn't it enough for you to be the
president of the new Congress? I'm

wasted here, Mr. Adams.

I must have command of our army. Dammit,
Mr. Hancock, we have a country to

defend. This is no time to scramble
after rank and honors like apes after

Oh, here it is.

Thread pins. That was it, pins.

Are you suggesting that I want this...
John, John, if we truly want this

Congress to adopt our army in
Massachusetts...

Shouldn't we appoint a southerner?
Never. A Yankee militia would refuse to

orders from a southerner. Well, they
damned well better.

We can't afford a northern and a
southern party.

Besides, the habit of command sits easy
on those southerners. They are raised

from childhood to be... To hunt foxes,
not Englishmen.

John, I'm the only man here who was
qualified to command.

I've experience in fighting the English,
an independent fortune, a talent for

leadership, and the oldest friend of
John Adams.

I do expect that you will do your duty.

Gentlemen, there is great danger in
procrastination. If Congress does not

support our army in Boston, that army
will disintegrate.

Therefore, I propose that a new general
be appointed by this Congress to assume

command of the army in Boston.

There is one man who is splendidly
equipped for this high office.

A gentleman of independent fortune,
great talent, and impeccable character.

A gentleman from Virginia.

George Washington.

My dearest friend, this is Saturday,
June 17th. The British began their

bombardment of Charlestown.

Now the town is in ashes and few
survived the battle.

Many, fearing that nearby Boston will
soon be set afire, have fled the city

its terrors.

As I view the acts of man in this time
of undeclared war, I am more and more

convinced that man is a dangerous
creature.

I fear that power, whether vested in the
many or the few, is ever grasping.

Like the grave, power cries, give, give,
and the great fish swallow

up the small.

When I consider these things, I feel
anxious for the fate of our people.

What is the Congress doing? When will
they adopt our cause as their own?

Were Abigail in this Congress, they
would take action. We have wasted three

whole days debating another damn
petition to the king.

Have they no sense, no feelings, no
passions?

Oh, most splendid speech, Mr. Adams.

I fear if we debate much longer, all of
Boston will be in ashes.

Say.

You cannot expect 13 clocks to chime all
at the same time.

In a few weeks... In a few days, Dr.
Franklin, my family may be driven from

their home. In a few weeks, this
Congress may be forced to flee

More speeches, Mr. Adams?

Pray, is there no end to your store of
rhetoric?

Mr. Dickinson, I will cease my speeches
when you end your efforts to petition

the king.

All you do is encourage the belief that
we lack the will to fight. If you don't

agree with our efforts to make peace, we
will carry on in our own way. Your

petition is a measure of imbecility.

Fortunately, sir, you are not the final
judge of its merits. No, Congress must

judge. And if they pronounce against me,
I must submit.

But if they pronounce against you...
They will not.

I know the temper of this Congress.

Believe me, Mr. Adams, should you ever
speak out in a temperate fashion, I

be the first to applaud you.

Mr. Dickinson, the day that you applaud
me, I will know I have said something

very foolish.

Oh, my dear Abigail,

you ask if every member feels for us.
Every member says he does, but most feel

more for themselves.

Here you will find men who are timid,
men who are selfish, men on whose

calloused hearts nothing but money and
interest can make an impression.

Men who think a few barrels of flour are
more important than a thousand lives,

other men's lives.

A certain great fortune and piddling
genius, John Dickinson.

has given a silly cast to all our
doings. We should have had in our hands

month ago the foundation of a new
government, to have raised a navy,

an army, but they continued to delay.
Mr. Dickinson, believe me, sir, this

letter was not meant for public view. I
am certain of that, Mr. Hancock. Mr.

Adams was writing in private to his
wife.

He never dreamed the letter would be
captured by the British.

Nor that they would have the cunning to
publish it. May I, sir?

No mortal tale could equal the behavior
of these delegates.

Their fidgets, their whims, their
vanity.

Why, the ignorance of some of them would
try... Good morning, gentlemen.

Don, how could you do this to us?

Mr. Hancock, I did not put right... What
we both know is true. And you have

destroyed whatever use you might have
been to our people in this Congress. The

letter was a little intemperate. Do you
think these men will rally to the cries

of Massachusetts after he has slandered
them before the world? Mr. Adams!

When you do write the history of this
Congress, pray put me amongst the

fidgeters and the whimsical rather than
the vain and the ignorant.

Dr. Franklin, if I gave offense, none
was intended.

Sir, you gave offense.

And there is but one way to undo this
wrong.

Apologize to the Congress?

No, sir.

You must accept the apology of the
Congress.

Gentlemen, do not read the private
letters of a man to his wife.

I fear we have no more green tea.

Well, I've never tasted a better soup.

You look very tired, John.

I fear all your work for the Congress
has not been good for your health.

Well, your labors here seem to improve
you.

You know, you're very much admired in
Philadelphia.

I am?

When Dr. Franklin met you on his way
down from Boston.

He was most agreeably impressed.

Indeed.

He said you were the most accomplished
lady he had met in New England.

Down, Vanity.

Vanity?

You think me vain?

If so, I was merely jesting.

If I am vain, I preen before cows. There
is little else for me but this farm and

its labors.

Senses need lending.

Pastures must be plowed.

The children's lessons must too.

And food.

Food bears so great a price. If it is
not made at home, it cannot be got.

All I think about is grain.

Grain.

And where am I to get coffee, flour,
pepper?

of the pins I asked for.

Children's clothes are a disgrace.

I have a sore on my middle finger.

I'm so lonely here I could cry.

Do you know in the 13 years that we have
been married, less than

half of that time have we been together?

I sometimes feel that my heart like your
clothes will go to rags without love

and attention.

remembered my plans.

Johnny, I trust you will study your
French in my absence.

Yes, Papa.

I feel my lack of education every day,
particularly in the French language.

Papa, must I learn it too?

Certainly, since you were to be a
statesman like your brother.

Shall the baby perfect his French too,
Mr. Adams?

It would be well if he mocked at its
rudiments.

If we suffer their minds to creep and
grovel in infancy, they will creep and

grovel all their lives.

Remember, set your attention on great
and glorious deeds.

Root out every evil.

Weed out meanness, scorn injustice,
cowardice, falsehood, self -interest.

What? That was in your last letter,
Papa.

Papa, if we cannot go to Philadelphia
with you today, may we ride upon your

horse?

Very well. But be careful.

Now, be careful.

They do like to sit upon my horse.

It seems to improve their posture.

They like to play at being their great
hero.

General Washington.

This committee of ours must do more than
just sit.

We were appointed to declare for
independence.

Let us make that declaration before the
British overwhelm us, sir. Mr. Adams,

the colonies will stand firm and united
against their enemies. Rest assured of

that. I think not, Mr. Jefferson.

When the volunteers from Connecticut
will have no men from Massachusetts in

their corps.

Massachusetts despises all Rhode
Islanders. The troops from New York and

Pennsylvania would rather fight each
other than the enemy.

And your Virginians are no better. They
refuse to fight beside freed Negroes.

No, sir, we must declare for freedom and
confederate or we are lost, Mr.

Jefferson. I confess I'm confused, sir.

Since you're known for your eloquence,
why ask me to draft this document?

You've been a member of our Congress for
about a year, and you have not yet said

more than three sentences in public.

But you have the reputation of a
masterly pen. You write with true

while I have none of it. I disagree,
sir.

I've seen the power of your arguments
when you debate in the assembly.

Another reason for you to make the
declaration.

I have never held my tongue in public.

When a man outtalks his opponent, he
often ends up with enemies.

You have many friends here. Oh, no, sir.
I'm thought obnoxious.

Were I to draft this declaration, it
would be... Three months in revision.

We do not have the luxury of time, Mr.
Jefferson.

You can write it in a few days, and we
can win the vote within a month.

If ever a man deserved to write this
statement, it's you.

You're quite right, Mr. Jefferson.

But I beg you, let's stop all this
discussing.

Please, hesitate no longer, but begin
your work at once.

My dear Abigail, time has been given for
the whole people maturely to consider

the great question of independence and
to ripen their judgments, dissipate

fears, and allure their hopes, so that
the whole people in every colony of the

Thirteen have now adopted it as their
own act.

This will cement the union.

You will think me transported with
enthusiasm, but I am not.

I am well aware of the toil and blood
and treasure that it will cost us to

maintain this declaration and support
and defend these states.

Yet through all the gloom, I can see the
rays of ravishing light and glory.

I can see that the end is more than
worth all the means and that posterity

triumph in this day's transaction.

This day of July 1776 will be the most
memorable in the history of America.

It ought to be commemorated as the day
of deliverance, from one end of this

continent to the other, from this time
forward forevermore.