Founding Mothers: The Women Who Raised Our Nation

When George Lucas rejoined the British Army in the early 18th century, he left his 16-year-old daughter Eliza to manage his three South Carolina plantations. She thrived in the role, successfully managing the farming and business operations, educating herself and others, and even practicing as a lawyer for the poorer members of her community. She was highly entrepreneurial, planting oaks in anticipation of an American navy and experimenting with growing lucrative indigo and silk crops, significantly influencing the agricultural practices and economy of the region. She married and, after her husband’s death, raised their children, two of whom—Charles and Thomas Pinckney—would grow up to play central roles in the struggle for independence.

While she was remarkable, Eliza also had access to resources and privileges that most women did not have, including education, money, the backing of her father and husband, and access to slaves (11). It is a similar story for the other “founding mothers”: most were relatively wealthy, and, if not always formally educated, they could certainly read and write to a high standard and were often highly opinionated on matters of politics. Although their lives were often very different, their diligence and hard work in the “domestic sphere,” and sometimes beyond it, allowed their sons and husbands to dedicate their time to building a new nation and government.  

The women’s lives were often incredibly difficult. Esther Burr, mother of Founder Aaron Burr, for example, complained frequently of her sense of isolation, the trials of near-constant pregnancy and childrearing, and the hardships of entertaining her husband’s acquaintances. Despite her commitment to what she saw as her duty, her often quite candid letters to friends complain of exhaustion, loneliness, and a sense of melancholy we might now recognize as depression. Deborah Read also had a difficult life in many respects. After a complex, protracted engagement, she married Benjamin Franklin and quickly proved herself an essential partner in his business and other enterprises. Her industry and dedication helped him not only clear his debts but also acquire enough money to retire at age 42, allowing him to move into public service and politics.

In some respects, Benjamin’s move into public life made things harder for Deborah. On top of maintaining his interests and helping oversee new responsibilities, such as Benjamin’s appointment as postmaster general, she “was also called on constantly to keep what was essentially a salon going in the household” (27). Worse, Benjamin moved to London for five years, leaving her to deal with these issues on her own while rumors circulated about his relationships with other women. His return to America provided respite, but only briefly. He was soon chosen to again represent the assembly in England and returned to London, this time staying for over a decade.

Benjamin barely communicated with Deborah during this time, with months passing between letters. However, she still felt his presence: After he misjudged the prevailing mood back in America and accepted the hated Stamp Tax as a regrettable inevitability, a mob attempted to destroy their home. Deborah asked her relatives to bring their guns and fortified the house, confronting the angry protestors until they gave up and left (32). As well as remarkable acts like this, she continued to maintain the family and business interests in Benjamin’s absence, largely without complaint. In fact, it was not until she suffered a stroke in 1769 that she really began to acknowledge about how difficult life was and to ask Benjamin to return to America. Benjamin ignored her requests, so she “just stopped writing, telling her husband, [their daughter] ‘Sally will write. I can’t write anymore’” (36). He did not return until Deborah died in December 1774 and he finally had to come home and take charge of his interests again.   

Tensions grew between Britain and the colonies as Americans increasingly resented the taxes and demands made of them by the Mother Country. One of the key forms of resistance was a boycotting of British goods. Women were at the center of this effort, not only as consumers deciding to avoid British fabric and clothing but also as producers working long days spinning wool to be turned into “homespun” to replace the boycotted products. Their involvement in politics went beyond this, too, as women were increasingly leaving the domestic sphere to march the streets in protest, especially in the weeks before and after the 1770 Boston Massacre, which saw mass gatherings of men and women throughout the region expressing their pain and anger at British rule.

One woman was particularly present outside the domestic sphere at this time: Mercy Otis Warren, an outspoken republican who wrote of her views both publicly and in extensive correspondence with many of the key men and women of the period. As a child, Warren’s father had allowed her to share in her brothers’ education and encouraged her to seek greater experience and responsibility, as did her brother James Otis and her husband, James Warren. When her brother, a staunch activist, retired from politics after a severe beating from a loyalist, Mary became more actively involved in the cause, writing pamphlets, plays, and poems criticizing British rule and those who remained loyal to it. 

Despite Warren’s correspondence with renowned British republican and proto-feminist Catharine Macaulay and the influence of her outspoken friend Abigail Adams, “the position of women in pre-Revolutionary times did not seem particularly to interest America’s foremost female writer” (50). She insisted that women should remain in the domestic sphere and worked hard to avoid scandal herself, publishing her famous writing anonymously and maintaining a firm interest in domestic activities. She did, however, insist that women were every bit as patriotic and essential to the cause as men were, and that women had a duty to contribute to the struggle for liberty, something she herself continued to do through increasingly strident public writings and through advice offered to key republican figures such as John Adams.

Indeed, in many respects, Warren was one of the most outspoken voices of the period, insisting that declaring independence was absolutely necessary while Congress was still deliberating. She hoped this independence could be achieved peacefully, and she was conflicted about the growing military hostilities, viewing her husband and her friends’ involvement with a mixture of pride, fear, concern, and determination. Nevertheless, she dismissed her concerns, writing to John Adams, “I should blush if in any instance the weak passions of my sex should damp the fortitude, the patriotism and the manly resolution of yours” (55). However, when war broke out, Mercy and her husband, James, withdrew from public political life at Mercy’s insistence, and James even turned down a role in the Continental Congress.

Although Abigail Adams was an outspoken and eloquent writer from a young age (as her early letters to her new husband, John Adams, demonstrate), it was not until she began corresponding with Mary Warren that her letters took on an explicitly political focus. John was consistently impressed by her political instincts and regularly sought her advice on a range of matters, frequently crediting her with bringing far greater clarity than he could himself. He also relied on her in a number of other ways. As he traveled, first to find work as a lawyer and then to attend Congress, he trusted Abigail to look after their family, manage the farm, and keep him informed of the local political situation. These were far from simple tasks at the best of times, and they became even more difficult and draining while she was housing passing groups of republican refugees or those seeking to join the militia, all while constantly fearing attack by the British and even witnessing the Battle of Bunker Hill.

Strong and resilient, Abigail largely took this all in stride, viewing it both as her duty and a sacrifice she was willing to make so that John was free to serve his country. Nevertheless, she did struggle and occasionally requested that John be more affectionate and demonstrative in his letters to her. John failed to meet this request, however, especially after his letters were intercepted and published by the British, causing him to make his letters even more reserved. This was not Abigail and John’s only point of conflict. Abigail was often outspoken in her views, and, while John did follow and, indeed, request, her political insights and advice, he also remained somewhat conservative about the role of women in political life (70). The issue of women’s roles and women’s rights came to a head in Abigail’s famous prompt to her husband to “remember the ladies” in his political considerations (72). Although the comment is sometimes seen as playful banter between a husband and wife, Roberts believes that Abigail was being serious, even if John offered only a joking response followed by “the age-old put-down: you women don’t need power, you already have all the real power” (73). Abigail was unimpressed with his attitude and continued to call for greater rights for women throughout her life, both in correspondence with John and elsewhere.