Free John Quincy Adams by Harlow Unger Page B

founding of Boston on September 17, and to his surprise, two honorary marshals escorted him from the State House to the Old South Church. Well-wishers hailed him as he passed, and even former Federalist adversaries approached with warm salutations. At the end of the day, he attended a reception at the lieutenant governor’s residence, where his friends, the Everett brothers and the editor of the Boston Patriot, were huddling with Quincy congressman Reverend Joseph Richardson. After greeting the former President, they asked if they could visit him the following day. He agreed, and at the appointed time, they informed him that Richardson’s parishioners had pleaded with him to retire from Congress to devote himself full time to his church, and he had agreed. The Everetts then asked John Quincy to run for Richardson’s seat, assuring him that he would win without opposition and flattering him with the notion of “ennobling” the House of Representatives with the presence of a former President.
    Always in character, John Quincy feigned disinterest, saying he would do nothing to support his own candidacy. Explaining his familiar position on political campaigns, he asserted that if the people called on him of their own volition, he “might deem it my duty to serve. . . . I want the people to act spontaneously.” 3 He made it clear, however, that he would remain independent of party affiliations and represent the whole nation, with his only political loyalty tied to national independence from all foreign entanglements and preservation of the Union.

    Both Louisa and Charles Francis were appalled that John Quincy would even consider returning to politics after the humiliation he had suffered. Louisa threatened not to accompany him if he returned to Washington—to no avail. Quincy voted overwhelmingly to return their former President to Washington, giving him 1,817 votes, while the two other candidates garnered a combined total of only 552 votes.
    â€œI am a member-elect of the Twenty-Second Congress,” he wrote in joyful disbelief that night, and nothing Louisa could say could detract from his satisfaction. “My return to public life . . . is disagreeable to my family,” he admitted, “yet I can not withhold my grateful acknowledgment to the Disposer of human events and to the people of my native region for this unexpected testimonial of their continued confidence.”
    It seemed as if I was deserted by all mankind. . . . In the French opera of Richard Coeur-de-Lion , the minstrel Blondel sings under the walls of his prison a song, beginning:
    O, Richard! O, mon Roi!
    L’univers t’abandonne. y
    When I first heard this song, forty-five years ago . . . it made an indelible impression upon my memory, without imagining that I should ever feel its force so much closer to home. But this call upon me by the people of the district in which I reside, to represent them in Congress, has been spontaneous. . . . My election as President of the United States was not half so gratifying to my inmost soul. No election or appointment conferred upon me ever gave me so much pleasure. 4
    As his spirits revived, he finally coaxed Louisa into returning to Washington, and the two left in December. Along the way, he showed himself still a champion of public improvements by being among the first to ride on the new steam-driven train between Baltimore and Washington. And
to his delight and Louisa’s amazement, a crowd awaited to greet them on their return. Although he would not take his seat until 1832, three hundred callers came to their house on New Year’s Day 1831, buoying his spirits still more and spurring him to seek out and meet members of Congress to determine their political views. He attended the House of Representatives to learn the rules and study member quirks and tics, and as he soaked up the thinking of his future colleagues, the joy of his return to politics spurred a renewed