Mercy Otis Warren

They call me the conscience of the American Revolution. Though I was born a woman in a world that wished me silent, I am Mercy Otis Warren, daughter of Massachusetts, sister to James Otis, and friend to the founders of a new republic. I was born in 1728, taught not in schoolrooms, but in my uncle's study. There I listened to my brother's Latin lessons through the door, then read their books by candlelight. When tyranny darkened our doorstep, I did not stay idle. I wrote political satires. The Adieu l', etour, the group, the blockheads mocking Loyalist governors in warning of British chains. They appeared in the Massachusetts Spy, unsigned but unmistakable. My words stirred protest and sometimes fear. I published pamphlets, poems, and, in time, a history of the American Revolution, the first by any woman. I wrote not of military havoc, but of ideas of liberty, of the men and women who dared to shape a nation. George Washington wrote me in praise. Jefferson encouraged my convictions. And John Adams. Dear John. He and Abigail were my friends until my pen offended him. I wrote, even victors must guard the freedom they win, lest it be sported away by the folly of the people or the deception of their rulers. He took offence. Our friendship fell silent. For years still, I did not regret the truth. My place was not in Congress, nor on the battlefield, but in the forum of ideas. My pen carried me where politics would not let me go. I did not step beyond my place. I wrote from it. A patriot's place is wherever liberty call. Sam.