Rise To Rebellion: A Novel of the American Revolution

“There is an awful danger when the people become accustomed to tyranny.”

Speaking to his cousin John Adams, Sam Adams argues that, despite the tragic loss of life, the Boston Massacre is exactly what the cause of liberty has needed. He understands the appeal of complacency, and his job, as he sees it, is to prevent that complacency from becoming habitual. When a people become too inured to their own oppression, it becomes normalized, and they cannot see how their rights are slowly being stripped away right under their noses. This quote also captures the theme of The Privilege and Abuse of Power regarding English occupation.

“Any colonial governor had to accept that his loyalty went first to England and a distant second to the people he governed.”

Franklin uses his influence to secure a governorship for his son, William, an appointment he realizes will place him at odds with any colonists advocating independence. The logic of a regional government—allegiance to a foreign power over its own constituency—is so normalized in Franklin’s mind that he never thinks twice about it. The obvious conflict of interest, however, is not lost on the residents of Massachusetts or New Jersey (William Franklin’s state) and triggers animosity, occasional violence, and fractured family relationships. These fractured family relationships also highlight the theme of The Tension of Conflicting Identities, as loyalties and identities were divided.

“It was as though they needed to see the watery bridge to the old country, that sense of connection, unbreakable. What no one could predict was the draw of the great wilderness, how many would begin to turn the other way, to look west.”

This quote offers a visual metaphor for America’s divided loyalties through the coastal towns and the great wilderness beyond. In the early days of the colonies when survival was not assured, many built homes along the coast to feel at least a symbolic connection to their home country via the “watery bridge” of the Atlantic. A century later, however, as the colonies have prospered, the great expanse of the west beckons many to turn their backs from England and look toward the future.

“He can withhold his acknowledgement of that if he wants to, but it's not his decision. It's the decision of the people.”

Franklin’s relationship with Lord Hillsborough turns confrontational when unrest in the colonies grows, and Franklin increasingly becomes a target of British ire. The ideological division is already present, as Franklin and Hillsborough fundamentally disagree on with whom the proper authority lies. For Hillsborough, it has always been and will continue to be the king. Franklin’s growing awareness of the colonies’ dissatisfaction situates him within a radical mindset—the power of the people to decide their own fate supersedes the arbitrary authority of a king. This attitude highlights the theme of The Radical Concept of Self-Government.

“Boast of your Shakespeare, you're Isaac Newton, your Walter Raleigh. Be fiercely loyal to your monarchy, recall with pride your Elizabeth, your Henry the Eighth. How easy it is to overlook your people.”

After touring the Irish countryside and witnessing the severe poverty and despair of the peasants, Franklin is struck by the enormous gap in wealth between the aristocracy and the king’s subjects. As a long-time resident of London, he is well aware of the pride of British culture—its contributions to literature and science, the reverence bestowed upon its monarchy, but those cultural achievements pale in the face of the stark injustice of an empire whose hand weighs so heavily on its subjects. It is a startling epiphany for Franklin and pushes him ever closer to the cause of independence.

“Perhaps it is time that all thirteen colonies recognize that we are in fact united. If we can be dismissed, disregarded, and abused as one people, then perhaps we should stand as one people.”

When England attempts to extradite citizens of Rhode Island for the destruction of the Gaspee, the subtext is clear to Adams: “The only justice that matters is English justice” (94). As a staunch advocate of the law’s equalizing power, Adams sees the move as a direct challenge to the colonies’ ability to handle their own legal affairs. He begins to see the hypocrisy with which the colonies are treated: Their resources are taken piecemeal, when need be, but when it comes to transgressions, they are considered one people. Adams makes the argument crucial to the colonies’ survival—they must see themselves as one country.

“All great scientific breakthroughs begin as simply as finding a fly in your wine bottle.”

When Franklin finds a fly floating in his wine, he forms a hypothesis: The wine has preserved the fly to allow its revival. His hypothesis proves correct. With this minor incident, Franklin describes in detail the scientific method: Form a hypothesis, test it, replicate it, and develop a theory. He also describes the genesis of all scientific inquiry: observation and curiosity.

“Despite all that has happened, you still want to believe that reason will prevail.”

In the early stages of unrest, John Adams clings to the hope that the conflict can be resolved reasonably, without force, leading to a long-running debate with his cousin, Sam. While John Adams sees Sam as an agitator, Sam sees himself as a realist simply waiting for the rest of the colonists to catch up. John Adams holds on to his optimism until every avenue of peaceful resolution is exhausted.

“It's much harder to attack an idea, to understand that there is a threat to something you can't touch.”

Adams confides to Abigail that he “hasn’t been paying attention” (113), that the evidence of England’s oppression has been in plain view for a long time. As a lawyer, a man who deals with abstract principles, he argues that it’s easy to get absorbed in arcane and intangible ideas and ignore how those ideas manifest. Without the immediacy of soldiers ransacking his home or ships cutting off vital supplies, the threat seems too distant to take a stand. Now, however, with the dissolution of Massachusetts’s judiciary, the intangible has become tangible.

“Gage stared at the man's dirty uniform, the rough beard, the brown teeth, felt a rising tide of disappointment, turned without speaking, moved out into the gray daylight.”

When Gage is recalled to London, he anticipates a hero’s welcome for his years of service to the crown. Instead, no welcoming committee awaits, and he encounters no reception at the port office. What he sees is a visual metaphor for both the king’s apathy and the slow unraveling of the empire. The unkempt officer in charge of the Naval Office is a stark contrast to the clean, well-maintained image of the British military, a façade that will soon crumble beneath the weight of its own pretense.

“It is certainly well established in England that the decisions for all are best left to the better sort of men, the aristocracy. We are bred for this sort of thing.”

After Hutchinson’s letters are made public, he reflects on his own service as governor and at what he sees as the ingratitude of the “rabble” for his leniency. This invasion of privacy convinces him that the Sons of Liberty and the other malcontents are far too uncivilized to govern themselves, that the ruling elite should be selected only from the well-bred ranks of the aristocracy. He makes the quintessentially non-democratic argument that “the people”—like unruly children—cannot be trusted to watch over themselves without the firm hand of their betters. Hutchinson’s refusal to imagine governance by the people dooms his tenure to failure and highlights The Privilege and Abuse of Power.

“It was the voices of those who knew that this time, with the arguments done, the debates exhausted, the talk no longer effective, it was time for deed.”

With a cargo of tea sitting in the harbor and the colonists refusing to allow it to be unloaded, a standoff arises between Governor Hutchinson and the people of Boston. Hutchinson responds with a heavy hand, declaring public meetings illegal. The right to free assembly is yet one more freedom being chipped away—in addition to the right to their own judiciary—and collectively, the assembly sees it as the final straw. No more petitions, no more attempts at reconciliation; the time has come for direct action.

“All the ill will, all the turmoil and loss of confidence the crown has suffered, may be properly laid at the feet of the man who soils this proceeding with his presence.”

When Franklin is called to testify for his role in the Hutchinson letters scandal, he finds a scathing personal attack. He understands that, as an American, he is a target for British anger at the colonies, but Lord Wedderburn’s tirade is so extreme, Franklin finally realizes the gulf between the two countries cannot be broached, highlighting The Radical Concept of Self-Government.

“My command does not believe the rebellion will receive assistance from the other colonies.”

England’s defeat is marked by a series of serious miscalculations, not the least of which is the assumption that the unrest in Boston is isolated to Boston alone. While that may have been true in the early days of the colonies, Gage and his staff fail to appreciate how the colonies have matured. They have slowly begun to understand that an attack on one colony is an attack on all of them. They make the crucial choice to join a fight that is not in their own backyard.

“There was a reason to become united. The alarm had been sounded. They had a cause.”

When the king dissolves the Massachusetts Assembly and institutes military rule, the inevitable has finally arrived. Thus far, the colonies have been culturally distinct, each one maintaining the “pride of their uniqueness” (188), but with England’s tyranny in full view, colonial borders become less important than the well-being of neighbors, of Americans. The king, so accustomed to his oppression being tolerated, cannot see what his actions have done: They have given all the colonies a cause, a grievance under which to unite.

“We will weed out the traitors, and in the end, no one will even remember their names.”

Gage, now governor of Massachusetts, believes his intimidation is successful, that all that is required to end the rebellion is to cut off its head and let the rest of the movement die. His misjudgment is severe: He fails to bring the leaders—notably Sam Adams and Patrick Henry—to account, and ironically, their names have been enshrined in history (unlike his own).

“I have serious doubts if we are men fit for the times we are in.”

Adams expresses doubt that the Continental Congress will live up to expectations, that he and his fellow delegates are not equal to the task. This depiction not only of his characters’ heroic actions but also of their flaws—their lack of foresight, their pride, or in Adams’s case, his self-doubt—removes them from the pedestal of iconic status and brings them to earth, humanizes them as men and women being tested by their circumstances and who, despite their fears, ultimately rise to the challenge.

“If the king himself could come here, simply speak to them, appear before them as the ultimate symbol of all that we stand for this absurd talk of rebellion would simply dissolve.”

Major Pitcairn makes the same argument Gage has been hearing for years, an argument he has made himself—that the rebels are simply a misguided collection of malcontents who don’t appreciate their ties to an empire with a glorious history and culture. Like the rest of the ruling elite in London (and the military commanders on the ground), what they cannot understand is that the colonies yearn to create their own history and culture independent of England.

“The uncontrollable violence intensified with each shot from a hidden musket and by the time the soldiers finally reached the safety of Boston, they had left in their wake a terror of their own, citizens who had no part of the day's fight murdered in their homes, houses and farms put to the torch.”

Following the Battle of Lexington and Concord, Pitcairn’s troops are harassed by sniper fire all the way back to Boston. The fear of death hiding in the trees evokes a rage in the troops that manifests in aggression against innocent civilians.

“This time there are dead on both sides. It should not be so easy to separate the two, as though we accept with such certainty that one side is completely evil, the other virtuous.”

As Adams tours Lexington Green and sees the bloodshed firsthand, he resists the good-versus-evil narrative that reduces a complex political dispute to good guys and bad guys. This nuance provides an awareness that ultimately leads to stronger strategies.

“He closed his eyes, lowered his head, the word again rising in his head: general. Glorious titles. Glorious war.”

Joseph Warren, recently awarded the rank of major general, finds himself in command during the Battle of Breed’s Hill, a command he wisely cedes to the veteran William Prescott. His experience in the field contrasts sharply with the patriotic songs and poems written about courage under fire. Instead, he sees carnage and terror, and the juxtaposition of reality and myth is laid bare on a bloody battlefield.

“We will never recover from what happened here. Not the army, perhaps not England herself.”

In a moment of keen insight, Gage assesses the damage, both strategic and moral, of Breed’s Hill. Although they ultimately take the hill, the cost in manpower and morale is incommensurate with the acquisition of such a small piece of ground. Not only have the British lost many troops in the battle itself, but many more will die from disease and infection in the crowded hospital facility. Although General Howe believes Gage may be exaggerating the cost, Gage’s prediction proves prescient. The battle has shattered every illusion the British held about the colonists and their insignificant militia. The blow to national ego alone may be enough to doom their efforts.

“The people cannot be pushed into accepting independence from their beloved king, they must ripen to it.”

In an unusual reversal of roles, Adams expresses impatience at the sluggish acceptance of independence from men like John Dickinson, while Sam, usually the restless agitator, concedes the importance of patience. His years spent organizing and speaking have taught him that persuasion is notoriously difficult, and often only time and events can change people’s minds.