Lafayette, We Come!
by Rupert Sargent Holland · English · Gutenberg #43843 · 382,279 chars · public domain (US)
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Title: Lafayette, We Come!
Author: Rupert Sargent Holland
Release date: September 29, 2013 [eBook #43843]
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Language: English
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LAFAYETTE, WE COME! ***
[Illustration: LAFAYETTE MEETS WASHINGTON]
Lafayette, We Come!
The Story of How a Young
Frenchman Fought for Liberty
in America and How America
Now Fights for Liberty in France
By
RUPERT S. HOLLAND
_Author of “Historic Boyhoods,” “The Knights
of the Golden Spur,” etc._
[Illustration: Colophon]
PHILADELPHIA
GEORGE W. JACOBS & COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
Copyright, 1918, by
GEORGE W. JACOBS & COMPANY
_All rights reserved_
Printed in U. S. A.
_To
Those Men of the Great Republic
Who Have Answered
The Call of Lafayette,
Lover of Liberty_
Illustrations
Lafayette meets Washington _Frontispiece_
_Facing page_
Lafayette, a Prussian prisoner 226
“America’s Answer” 302
Foreword
In 1777 the young Marquis de Lafayette, only nineteen years old, came
from France to the aid of the Thirteen Colonies of North America because
he heard their cry for liberty ringing across the Atlantic Ocean. In
1917 the United States of America drew the sword in defense of the
sacred principle of liberty for which the country of Lafayette was
fighting. The debt of gratitude had never been forgotten; the ideals of
the gallant Frenchman and of the young Republic of the Western World
were the same; what he had done for us we of America are now doing for
him.
It is a glorious story, and one never to be forgotten while men love
liberty and truth. Every boy and girl should know it, for it is the
story of a brave, generous, noble-minded youth, who gave such devoted
service to America that he stands with Washington and Lincoln as one of
the great benefactors of our land. “I’m going to America to fight for
freedom!” he cried; and the cry still rings in our ears more than a
century later. The message is the same one we hear to-day and that is
carrying us across the Atlantic to France. From Lafayette’s story we
learn courage, fidelity to honor, loyalty to conviction, the qualities
that make men free and great. The principles of “liberty, equality, and
fraternity” of France are the same as those of our own Declaration of
Independence, and the men of the countries of Washington and Lafayette
now fight under a common banner. “Lafayette, we come!” was America’s
answer to the great man who offered all he had to us in the days of
1777.
Contents
I. THE LITTLE MARQUIS OF FRANCE 7
II. “WAKE UP! I’M GOING TO AMERICA TO
FIGHT FOR FREEDOM!” 25
III. HOW LAFAYETTE RAN AWAY TO SEA 45
IV. THE YOUNG FRENCHMAN REACHES
AMERICA 63
V. “I WILL FIGHT FOR AMERICAN LIBERTY
AS A VOLUNTEER!” 82
VI. LAFAYETTE WINS THE FRIENDSHIP OF
WASHINGTON 102
VII. THE FRENCHMAN IN THE FIELD AGAIN 123
VIII. THE MARQUIS AIDS THE UNITED STATES
IN FRANCE 153
IX. HOW LAFAYETTE SOUGHT TO GIVE
LIBERTY TO FRANCE 172
X. STORM-CLOUDS OF THE FRENCH REVOLUTION 194
XI. LAFAYETTE IN PRISON AND EXILE 225
XII. IN THE DAYS OF NAPOLEON 248
XIII. THE UNITED STATES WELCOMES THE
HERO 272
XIV. THE LOVER OF LIBERTY 287
XV. AMERICA’S MESSAGE TO FRANCE--“LAFAYETTE,
WE COME!” 302
I
THE LITTLE MARQUIS OF FRANCE
In the mountains of Auvergne in Southern France, in what was for many
centuries called the province of Auvergne, but what is now known as the
department of Haute-Loire, or Upper Loire, stands a great fortified
castle, the Château of Chavaniac. For six hundred years it has stood
there, part fortress and part manor-house and farm, a huge structure,
built piecemeal through centuries, with many towers and battlements and
thick stone walls long overgrown with moss. Before it lies the valley of
the Allier and the great rugged mountains of Auvergne. Love of freedom
is deeply rooted in the country round it, for the people of Auvergne
have always been an independent, proud and fearless race.
In this old Château of Chavaniac there was born on September 6, 1757,
the Marquis de Lafayette. He was baptized the next day, with all the
ceremonies befitting a baby of such high rank, and the register of the
little parish church in the neighboring village records the baptism
as that of “the very noble and very powerful gentleman Monseigneur
Marie-Joseph-Paul-Yves-Roch-Gilbert Dumotier de Lafayette, the
lawful son of the very noble and very powerful gentleman Monseigneur
Michel-Louis-Christophle-Roch-Gilbert Dumotier, Marquis de Lafayette,
Baron de Vissac, Seigneur de Saint-Romain and other places, and of
the very noble and very powerful lady Madame Marie-Louise-Julie
Delareviere.”
A good many names for a small boy to carry, but his family was very
old, and it was the custom of France to give many family names to each
child. He was called Gilbert Motier for short, however, though he was
actually born with the title and rank of Marquis, for his father had
been killed in battle six weeks before the little heir to Chavaniac was
born.
The family name of Motier could be traced back to before the year 1000.
Then one of the family came into possession of a farm called the Villa
Faya, and he lengthened his name to Motier of La Fayette. And as other
properties came to belong to the family the men added new names and
titles until in 1757 the heir to the old château had not only a long
string of names but was also a marquis and baron and seigneur by right
of his birth. There were few families in Auvergne of older lineage than
the house of Lafayette.
The little heir’s father, Michel-Louis, Marquis de Lafayette, had been
killed while leading a charge at the head of his regiment of French
Grenadiers in the battle of Hastenbeck, one of the battles of what was
known as the Seven Years’ War in Europe, which took place at about
the same time as the French and Indian War in America. Although only
twenty-four years old Michel-Louis de Lafayette was already a colonel
and a knight of the order of Saint Louis and had shown himself a true
descendant of the old fighting stock of Auvergne nobles. Now the small
baby boy, the new Marquis, succeeded to his father’s titles as well as
to the castle and several other even older manor-houses, for the most
part in ruins, that were perched high up in the mountains.
For all its blue blood, however, the family were what is known as “land
poor.” The little Marquis owned large farms in the mountains, but the
crops were not very abundant and most of the money that had come in from
them for some time had been needed to provide for the fighting men.
Fortunately the boy’s mother and grandmother and aunts, who all lived at
Chavaniac, were strong and sturdy people, willing to live the simple,
healthy, frugal life of their neighbors in the province and so save as
much of the family fortune as they could for the time when the heir
should make his bow at court.
Without brothers or sisters and with few playmates, spending his time
out-of-doors in the woods and fields of Chavaniac, the young Lafayette
had a rather solitary childhood and grew up awkward and shy. He was a
lean, long-limbed fellow with a hook nose, reddish hair, and a very
bashful manner. But his eyes were bright and very intelligent; whenever
anything really caught his attention he quickly became intensely
interested in it, and he was devoted to all the birds and beasts of the
country round about his home.
Some of these beasts, however, were dangerous; there was a great gray
wolf that the farmers said had been breaking into sheepfolds and doing
great damage. The boy of eight years old heard the story and set out,
sword in hand, to hunt and slay the wolf. There is no account of his
ever coming up with that particular monster, but the peasants of the
neighborhood liked to tell all visitors this story as proof of the
courage of their young Marquis.
But the family had no intention of keeping the head of their house in
this far-off province of France. He must learn to conduct himself as a
polished gentleman and courtier, he must go to Paris and prepare himself
to take the place at the royal court that belonged to a son of his long,
distinguished line. His family had rich and powerful relations, who
were quite ready to help the boy, and so, when he was eleven years old,
he left the quiet castle of Chavaniac and went to a school for young
noblemen, the College du Plessis at Paris.
Lafayette’s mother’s uncle, taking a liking to the boy, had him
enrolled as a cadet in one of the famous regiments of France, “The
Black Musketeers,” and this gave the boy a proud position at school,
and many a day he took some of his new friends to see the Musketeers
drill and learn something of the Manual of Arms. The company of other
boys, both at the College du Plessis in Paris and then at the Academy
at Versailles, as well as the interest he took in his gallant Black
Musketeers, made Lafayette less shy and awkward than he had been at
Chavaniac, though he was still much more reserved and thoughtful than
most boys of his age. He learned to write his own language well, and his
compositions in school showed the practical common sense of his country
bringing-up. He wrote a paper on the horse, and the chief point he
brought out in it was that if you try to make a horse do too many things
well he is sure to get restless and throw you, a bit of wisdom he had
doubtless learned in Auvergne.
The boy Marquis was at school in Paris when, in 1770, his devoted
mother and the rich granduncle who had had him appointed a cadet of
the Musketeers both died. The little Lafayette was now very much
alone; his grandmother in the distant castle in the mountains was his
nearest relation, and, though only a boy of thirteen, he had to decide
important questions for himself. But the granduncle had been very fond
of the lad, and in his will he left Lafayette all his fortune and
estates. The fortune was very large, and as a result the boy Marquis,
instead of being only a poor young country nobleman from Auvergne,
became a very rich and important person.
Immediately the proud and luxury-loving society of the French court
took a great interest in Gilbert Motier de Lafayette. Every father and
mother who had a daughter they wished to marry turned their attention
to the boy. And Lafayette, who, like most boys of his age, paid little
attention to girls, was beset with all sorts of invitations to parties
and balls.
In Europe in those days marriages were arranged by parents with little
regard to the wishes of their children. Sometimes babies of noble
families were betrothed to each other while they were still in the
cradle. It was all a question of social standing and of money. So
Lafayette’s guardians put their heads together and looked around for the
most suitable girl for him to marry.
The guardians chose the second daughter of the Duke d’Ayen,
Mademoiselle Marie-Adrienne-Françoise de Noailles, a girl twelve years
old. The Duke was pleased with the proposal; the Marquis de Lafayette
would make a most desirable husband for his daughter. But the little
girl’s mother had strong ideas of her own. When the Duke told her of the
husband selected for Marie-Adrienne she objected.
“It is too great a risk to run for Adrienne,” she said. “The Marquis de
Lafayette is very young, very rich, and very wilful. He seems to be a
good boy, so far as his standing at school and his conduct in society
are concerned; but with no one to guide him, no one to look after his
fortune and hold him back from extravagance and foolishness, without a
near relative, and with his character as yet unformed and uncertain, our
daughter’s marriage to him is out of the question, and I will not agree
to it.”
Both the Duke and the Duchess were strong-willed; Adrienne’s father
insisted on the match and her mother opposed it more and more
positively. At last they actually quarreled and almost separated over
this question of the marriage of two children, neither of whom had
been consulted in regard to their own feelings. At last, however, the
Duke suggested a compromise; the marriage should not take place for two
years, Adrienne should not leave her mother for three years, and in the
meantime the Duke would look after the education of the boy and see that
he became a suitable husband for their daughter.
This suited the Duchess better. “If the boy is brought up in our home
where I can see and study him,” she said, “I will agree. Then, having
taken all precautions, and having no negligence wherewith to reproach
ourselves, we need do nothing but peacefully submit to the will of God,
who knows best what is fitting for us.”
The shy boy came to the Duke’s house and met the little girl. Adrienne
was very attractive, sweet-natured, pretty, and delightful company.
Before the two knew the plans that had been made concerning them they
grew to like each other very much, became splendid companions, and
were glad when they learned that they were to marry some day. As for
Adrienne’s mother, the more she saw of the boy the better she liked him;
she took him into her house and heart as if he were her own son, trying
to make up to him for the loss of his own mother. The Duke kept his
agreement. He saw that Lafayette was properly educated at the Academy
at Versailles where young noblemen were taught military duties and that
in proper time he obtained his commission as an officer in the royal
regiment of the Black Musketeers.
Then, on April 11, 1774, Lafayette and Adrienne were married. The groom
was sixteen years old and the bride fourteen, but those were quite
proper ages for marriage among the French nobility. For a year the young
husband and wife lived at the great house of the Duke d’Ayen in Paris,
still under the watchful eye of the careful Duchess, and then they took
a house for themselves in the capital, going occasionally to the old
castle of Chavaniac in Auvergne.
The boy Marquis never regretted his marriage to Adrienne. Through
all the adventures of his later life his love for her was strong
and enduring. And she was as fine and noble and generous a woman as
Lafayette was a brave, heroic man.
Rich, a marquis in his own right, married to a daughter of one of the
greatest houses of France, Lafayette had the entrance to the highest
circles at court, to the innermost circle in fact, that of the young
King Louis XVI. and his Queen Marie Antoinette. And never was there a
gayer court to be found; the youthful King and his beautiful wife and
all their friends seemed to live for pleasure only; they were gorgeous
butterflies who flitted about the beautiful gardens of the Palace at
Versailles and basked in continual sunshine.
But the boy of seventeen, son of a line of rugged Auvergne fighters,
men of independent natures, did not take readily to the unceasing show
and luxury of court. Balls and dramas, rustic dances and dinners and
suppers, all the extravagant entertainments that the clever mind of the
young Queen could devise, followed in endless succession. True it was
that some of the courtiers had the fashion of talking a good deal about
the rights of man and human liberty, but that was simply a fashion in a
country where only the nobles had liberty and the talk of such things
only furnished polite conversation in drawing-rooms. To Lafayette,
however, liberty meant more than that; young though he was, he had seen
enough of the world to wish that there might be less suffering among
the poor and more liberality among the wealthy. The constant stream of
pleasures at Versailles often gave him food for thought, and though he
was very fond of the King and Queen and their youthful court, he had
less and less regard for the older nobles, who appeared to him as vain
and stiff and foolish as so many strutting peacocks.
Sometimes, however, for all his thoughtfulness, he joined
whole-heartedly in the revels the Queen devised. On one midsummer night
Marie Antoinette gave a fête at Versailles, and Lafayette led the
revels. The Queen had declared that she meant to have a _fête champêtre_
in the gardens that should be different from anything the court of
France had ever seen. All her guests should appear either as goblins
or as nymphs. They should not be required to dance the quadrille or
any other stately measure, but would be free to play any jokes that
came into their heads. As Marie Antoinette outlined these plans to him
Lafayette shook his head in doubt.
“What will the lords in waiting say to this?” he asked, “and your
Majesty’s own ladies?”
The pretty Queen laughed and shrugged her shoulders. “Who cares?” she
answered. “As long as Louis is King I shall do what pleases me.”
Then a new idea occurred to her and she clapped her hands with delight.
“I shall go to Louis,” she said, “and have him issue a royal order
commanding every one who comes to the fête to dress as a goblin or a
nymph. He will do it for me, I know.”
King Louis was too fond of his wife to deny her anything, so he issued
the order she wanted, much though he feared that it might affront the
older courtiers. And the courtiers were affronted and horrified. The
Royal Chamberlain and the Queen’s Mistress of the Robes went to the King
in his workshop, for Louis was always busy with clocks and locks and
keys, and told him that such a performance as was planned would make the
court of France appear ridiculous.
Louis listened to them patiently, and when they had left he sent for
Marie Antoinette and her friends. They described how absurd the
courtiers would look as nymphs and goblins and the King laughed till he
cried. Then he dismissed the whole matter and went back to the tools on
his work-table.
So Marie Antoinette had her party, and the gardens of Versailles saw the
strange spectacle of tall, stiff goblins wearing elaborate powdered wigs
and jeweled swords, and stout wood-nymphs with bare arms and shoulders
and glittering with gems. The Queen’s friends, a crowd of hobgoblins,
swooped down upon the stately Mistress of the Robes and carried her
off to a summer-house on the edge of the woods, where they kept her a
prisoner while they sang her the latest ballads of the Paris streets.
The court was shocked and indignant, and the next day there was such a
buzzing of angry bees about the head of the King that he had to lecture
the Queen and her friends and forbid any more such revels.
As the older courtiers regained their influence over Louis the young
Lafayette went less and less often to Versailles. He was too independent
by nature to bow the knee to the powdered and painted lords and ladies
who controlled the court. Instead of seeking their society he spent
more and more time with his regiment of Musketeers. But this did not
satisfy his father-in-law, the Duke d’Ayen, who was eager for Lafayette
to shine in the sun of royal favor. So the Duke went to the young Count
de Segur, Lafayette’s close friend and cousin, and begged him to try and
stir the Marquis to greater ambition.
The Count, who knew Lafayette well, had to laugh at the words of the
Duke d’Ayen. “Indifferent! Indolent! Faith, my dear marshal, you do
not yet know our Lafayette! I should say he has altogether too much
enthusiasm. Why, it was only yesterday that he almost insisted on my
fighting a duel with him because I did not agree with him in a matter of
which I knew nothing, and of which he thought I should know everything.
He is anything but indifferent and indolent, I can assure you!”
Pleased with this information, and feeling that he had much
misunderstood his son-in-law, the Duke made plans to have Lafayette
attached to the suite of one of the princes of France, and picked out
the Count of Provence, the scapegrace brother of Louis XVI. This Prince
was only two years older than Lafayette, and famous for his overbearing
manners. As a result, when the Duke told his son-in-law of the interview
he had arranged for him with the Count of Provence, Lafayette at once
determined that nothing should make him accept service with so arrogant
a fellow.
Having decided that he wanted no favors from that particular Prince,
Lafayette set about to make his decision clear. His opportunity soon
came. The King and Queen gave a masked ball at court, and the youthful
Marquis was one of their guests. With his mask concealing his face he
went up to the King’s brother, the Count of Provence, and began to talk
about liberty and equality and the rights of man, saying a great deal
that he probably did not believe in his desire to make the Count angry.
The plan succeeded beautifully. The Count tried to answer, but every
time he opened his mouth Lafayette said more violent things and made
more eloquent pleas for democracy. At last the young Prince could stand
the tirade no longer. “Sir,” said he, lifting his mask and staring at
his talkative companion, “I shall remember this interview.”
“Sir,” answered the young Marquis, also lifting his mask and bowing
gracefully, “memory is the wisdom of fools.”
It was a rash remark to make to a royal prince, but it had the effect
that Lafayette desired. With an angry gesture the Count of Provence
turned on his heel and made it clear to every one about him that the
Marquis was in disgrace. In later days the Count showed that he had
remembered Lafayette’s words to him.
News of what the Marquis had said quickly flew through the court and
speedily reached the ears of the Duke d’Ayen. He was horrified; his
son-in-law had not only insulted the Prince and so lost his chance
of becoming a gentleman of his suite, but had also made himself a
laughing-stock. The Duke lectured the boy, and told him that he was
throwing away all his chances for worldly advancement. But Lafayette
answered that he cared nothing for princely favor and meant to follow
the dictates of his own nature.
So the Duke, finally despairing of doing anything with so independent
a fellow, had him ordered to join his regiment, and Lafayette left
Paris to seek his fortune elsewhere. Already, although he was only
seventeen, the boy Marquis had shown that he was a true son of Auvergne,
not a parasite of the King’s court, as were most of his friends, but an
independent, liberty-loving man.
II
“WAKE UP! I’M GOING TO AMERICA TO FIGHT FOR FREEDOM!”
Although the young Marquis had deliberately given up a career at court,
there was every promise of his having a brilliant career in the army.
Soon after his famous speech to the King’s brother, in August, 1775, he
was transferred from his regiment of Black Musketeers to a command in
what was known as the “Regiment de Noailles,” which had for its colonel
a young man of very distinguished family, Monseigneur the Prince de
Poix, who was a cousin of Lafayette’s wife.
The “Regiment de Noailles” was stationed at Metz, a garrison city some
two hundred miles to the east of Paris. The commander of Metz was the
Count de Broglie, a marshal and prince of France, who had commanded the
French armies in the Seven Years’ War, in one of the battles of which
Lafayette’s father had been killed. The Count de Broglie had known
Lafayette’s father and had greatly admired him, and he did all he could
to befriend the son, inviting him to all the entertainments he gave.
It happened that early in August the Count de Broglie gave a dinner in
honor of a young English prince, the Duke of Gloucester, and Lafayette,
in the blue and silver uniform of his rank, was one of the guests at
the table. The Duke of Gloucester was at the time in disgrace with his
brother, King George the Third of England, because he had dared to marry
a wife whom King George disliked. The Duke was really in exile from
England, and in the company of the French officers he had no hesitation
in speaking his mind about his royal brother and even in poking fun at
some of his plans. And the Duke made a special point of criticizing King
George for his policy toward the colonists in America.
In that very year of the dinner-party at Metz, in the spring of 1775, a
rebellion had broken out in the colonies, and there had actually been a
fight between American farmers and British regulars at the village of
Lexington in the colony of Massachusetts Bay. The Duke had received
word of the obstinate resistance of the farmers--peasants, he called
them--at Lexington and Concord, and of the retreat of Lord Percy and
his troops to Boston. The Duke told the dinner-party all about the
discomfiture of his royal brother, laughing heartily at it, and also
related how in that same seaport of Boston the townspeople had thrown a
cargo of tea into the harbor rather than pay the royal tax on it.
The Duke talked and Lafayette listened. The Duke spoke admiringly of the
pluck of the American farmers, but pointed out that it was impossible
for the colonists to win against regular troops unless experienced
officers and leaders should help them. “They are poor, they are ill
led,” said the Duke, “they have no gentlemen-soldiers to show them
how to fight, and the king my brother is determined to bring them into
subjection by harsh and forcible methods if need be. But my letters say
that the Americans seem set upon opposing force with force, and, as the
country is large and the colonies scattered, it certainly looks as if
the trouble would be long and serious. If but the Americans were well
led, I should say the rebellion might really develop into a serious
affair.”
Most of the officers knew little about America; even Lafayette had only
a vague idea about the colonies on the other side of the Atlantic Ocean.
But the Duke’s words stirred him deeply; he sat leaning far forward, his
eyes shining with interest, his face expressing the closest attention.
Finally, as the guests rose from the table, Lafayette burst forth
impetuously. “But could one help these peasants over there beyond the
seas, monseigneur?” he asked the Duke.
The English prince smiled at the young Frenchman’s eagerness. “One
could, my lord marquis, if he were there,” he answered.
“Then tell me, I pray you,” continued Lafayette, “how one may do it,
monseigneur. Tell me how to set about it. For see, I will join these
Americans; I will help them fight for freedom!”
Again the Duke smiled; the words seemed extravagant on the lips of a
French officer. But a glance at Lafayette’s face showed how much the
boy was in earnest. The words were no idle boast; the speaker plainly
meant them. So the Duke answered, “Why, I believe you would, my lord. It
wouldn’t take much to start you across the sea,--if your people would
let you.”
Lafayette smiled to himself. He had already done one thing that his
family disapproved of, and he did not intend to let them prevent his
embarking on such an enterprise as this, one that appealed so intensely
to his love of liberty. He asked the Duke of Gloucester all the
questions he could think of, and the Duke gave him all the information
he had about America.
The dinner-party broke up, and most of the officers soon forgot all the
conversation; but not so the young Marquis; that evening had been one
of the great events of his life. As he said afterward, “From that hour
I could think of nothing but this enterprise, and I resolved to go to
Paris at once to make further inquiries.”
His mind made up by what he had heard at Metz, Lafayette set off for
Paris. But once there, it was hard to decide where he should turn for
help. His father-in-law, he knew, would be even more scandalized by his
new plan than he had been by the affront the young man had given the
King’s brother. His own wife was too young and inexperienced to give
him wise counsel in such a matter. Finally he chose for his first real
confidant his cousin and close friend, the Count de Segur. Lafayette
went at once to his cousin’s house, though it was only seven o’clock
in the morning, was told that the Count was not yet out of bed, but,
without waiting to be announced, rushed upstairs and woke the young man.
The Count saw his cousin standing beside him and shaking him by the arm.
In great surprise he sat up. “Wake up! wake up!” cried Lafayette. “Wake
up! I’m going to America to fight for freedom! Nobody knows it yet; but
I love you too much not to tell you.”
The Count sprang out of bed and caught Lafayette’s hand. “If that is so,
I will go with you!” he cried. “I will go to America too! I will fight
with you for freedom! How soon do you start?”
It was easier said than done, however. The two young men had breakfast
and eagerly discussed this momentous matter. The upshot of their
discussion was to decide to enlist a third friend in their cause, and so
they set out to see Lafayette’s brother-in-law, the Viscount Louis Marie
de Noailles, who was a year older than the Marquis.
The young Viscount, like the Count de Segur, heard Lafayette’s news
with delight, for he also belonged to that small section of the French
nobility that was very much interested in what was called “the rights
of man.” So here were three young fellows,--hardly more than boys,--for
none of the three was over twenty years old, all of high rank and large
fortune, eager to do what they could to help the fighting farmers of the
American colonies.
At the very start, however, they ran into difficulties. France and
England, though not on very friendly terms at that particular time,
were yet keeping the peace between them, and the French prime minister
was afraid that if the English government should learn that a number of
young French aristocrats were intending to aid the rebellious American
colonists it might cause ill-feeling between France and England. The
prime minister, therefore, frowned on all such schemes as that of
Lafayette, and so the three young liberty-loving conspirators had to
set about their business with the greatest secrecy.
Lafayette’s next step was to hunt out a man who had been sent over to
France from the American colonies as a secret agent, a representative of
what was known as the American Committee of Secret Correspondence, of
which Benjamin Franklin was a member. This man was Silas Deane of the
colony of Connecticut. Deane was secretly sending arms and supplies from
France to America, but he was so closely watched by the agents of the
English Ambassador, Lord Stormont, that it was very difficult to see him
without rousing suspicions.
While the Marquis was studying the problem of how to get in touch with
Deane he confided his secret to the Count de Broglie, his superior
officer at Metz and his very good friend. The Count was at once opposed
to any such rash venture. “You want to throw your life away in that land
of savages!” exclaimed De Broglie. “Why, my dear Lafayette, it is the
craziest scheme I ever heard of! And to what purpose?”
“For the noblest of purposes, sir,” answered the Marquis. “To help a
devoted people win their liberty! What ambition could be nobler?”
“It is a dream, my friend, a dream that can never be fulfilled,” said
the old soldier. “I will not help you to throw your life away. I saw
your uncle die in the wars of Italy, I witnessed your brave father’s
death at the battle of Hastenbeck, and I cannot be a party to the
ruin of the last of your name, the only one left of the stock of the
Lafayettes!”
But even the old Marshal could not withstand the ardor and enthusiasm of
the youth. So vehemently did Lafayette set forth his wishes that finally
the Count promised that he would not actively oppose his plans, and
presently agreed to introduce the Marquis to a Bavarian soldier named De
Kalb, who might be able to help him.
“I will introduce you to De Kalb,” said the Count. “He is in Paris
now, and perhaps through him you may be able to communicate with this
American agent, Monsieur Deane.”
De Kalb was a soldier of fortune who had been to America long before
the Revolution and knew a great deal about the colonies. At present
he was in France, giving what information he could to the government
there. And the upshot of Lafayette’s talk with the Count de Broglie
was that the latter not only gave the Marquis a letter to De Kalb
but also actually asked De Kalb to go to America and see if he could
arrange things so that he, the Count de Broglie, might be invited by the
American Congress to cross the ocean and become commander-in-chief of
the American army! Perhaps it was natural that the veteran Marshal of
France should think that he would make a better commander-in-chief than
the untried George Washington.
The Baron de Kalb arranged that the Count de Broglie should see Silas
Deane of Connecticut. Silas Deane was impressed with the importance of
securing such a powerful friend and leader for his hard-pressed people,
and he at once agreed to see what he could do for De Broglie, and
promised Baron de Kalb the rank of major-general in the American army
and signed an agreement with him by which fifteen French officers should
go to America on a ship that was fitting out with arms and supplies.
This fell in beautifully with Lafayette’s wishes. De Broglie introduced
the Marquis to De Kalb, and De Kalb presented him to Silas Deane. This
was in December, 1776, and Lafayette, only nineteen, slight of figure,
looked very boyish for such an enterprise. But he plainly showed that
his whole heart was in his plan, and, as he said himself, “made so
much out of the small excitement that my going away was likely to
cause,” that the American agent was carried away by his enthusiasm,
and in his own rather reckless fashion, wrote out a paper by which the
young Marquis was to enter the service of the American colonies as a
major-general.
Deane’s enthusiasm over Lafayette’s offer of his services may be seen
from what he wrote in the agreement. The paper he sent to Congress
in regard to this volunteer ran as follows: “His high birth, his
alliances, the great dignities which his family holds at this court, his
considerable estates in this realm, his personal merit, his reputation,
his disinterestedness, and, above all, his zeal for the liberty of our
provinces, are such as have only been able to engage me to promise him
the rank of major-general in the name of the United States. In witness
of which I have signed the present this seventh of December, 1776. Silas
Deane, Agent for the United States of America.”
By this time the colonies had issued their Declaration of Independence,
and called themselves, as Silas Deane described them, the United States
of America.
Imagine Lafayette’s joy at this result of his meeting with Silas Deane!
It seemed as if his enthusiasm had already won him his goal. But there
were other people to be considered, and his family were not as much
delighted with his plans as the man from Connecticut had been.
As a matter of fact his father-in-law, the powerful Duke d’Ayen, was
furious, and so were most of the others of his family. His cousin, the
Count de Segur, described the feelings of Lafayette’s relations. “It
is easy to conceive their astonishment,” he wrote, “when they learned
suddenly that this young sage of nineteen, so cool and so indifferent,
had been so far carried away by the love of glory and of danger as to
intend to cross the ocean and fight in the cause of American freedom.”
There was more of a storm at home than when the self-filled young
Marquis had of his own accord disgraced himself at court.
But his wife Adrienne, girl though she was, understood him far better
than the rest of the family, and even sympathized with his great desire.
“God wills that you should go,” she said to her husband. “I have prayed
for guidance and strength. Whatever others think, you shall not be
blamed.”
Others, however, did have to be reckoned with. Lafayette’s two friends,
the Count de Segur and the Viscount de Noailles, both of whom had been
so eager to go with him, had found that their fathers would not supply
them with the money they needed and that the King would not consent to
their going to America. Reluctantly they had to give up their plans. But
Lafayette was rich, he had no need to ask for funds from any one; there
was no difficulty for him on that score.
He was, however, an officer of France, and it was on that ground that
his father-in-law tried to put an end to his scheme. He went to the
King with his complaint about the wilful Marquis. At the same time the
English Ambassador, who had got wind of the matter, also complained
to King Louis. And Louis XVI., who had never concerned himself much
about liberty and took little interest in the rebel farmers across the
Atlantic, said that while he admired the enthusiasm of the Marquis de
Lafayette, he could not think of permitting officers of his army to
serve with the men of America who were in rebellion against his good
friend the King of England. Therefore he issued an order forbidding any
soldier in his service taking part in the Revolution in America.
The Duke d’Ayen was delighted. He went to Lafayette, and trying to put
the matter on a friendly footing, said, “You had better return to your
regiment at Metz, my dear son.”
Lafayette drew himself up, his face as determined as ever. “No Lafayette
was ever known to turn back,” he answered. “I shall do as I have
determined.”
One of Lafayette’s ancestors had adopted as his motto the words “_Cur
non_,” meaning “Why not?” and the Marquis now put these on his own coat
of arms, the idea being, as he himself said, that they should serve him
“both as an encouragement and a response.”
By this time the young republic in America had sent Benjamin Franklin
to help Silas Deane in Paris. Franklin heard of Lafayette’s desires and
knew how much help his influence might bring the new republic. So he set
about to see what he could do to further Lafayette’s plans.
At that moment things looked gloomy indeed for the Americans. Their
army had been badly defeated at the battle of Long Island, and their
friends in Europe were depressed. That, however, seemed to Lafayette
all the more reason for taking them aid as quickly as he could, and
when he heard that Benjamin Franklin was interested in him he made an
opportunity to see the latter.
Franklin was perfectly fair with Lafayette. He gave the young
Frenchman the exact news he had received from America, information
that Washington’s army of three thousand ragged and suffering men were
retreating across New Jersey before the victorious and well-equipped
troops of General Howe. He pointed out that the credit of the new
republic was certain to sink lower and lower unless Washington should be
able to win a victory and that at present it looked as if any such event
was far away. And in view of all this Franklin, and Silas Deane also,
was frank enough to tell Lafayette that his plan of aiding the United
States at that particular time was almost foolhardy.
The Frenchman thanked them for their candor. “Until this moment,
gentlemen,” said he, “I have only been able to show you my zeal in your
struggle; now the time has come when that zeal may be put to actual use.
I am going to buy a ship and carry your officers and supplies to America
in it. We must show our confidence in the cause, and it is in just such
a time of danger as this that I want to share whatever fortune may have
in store for you.”
Franklin was immensely touched by the generosity of the young Marquis
and told him so. But, practical man as he was, although he gladly
accepted Lafayette’s offer, he pointed out that as the American agents
were closely watched in Paris it would be better for Lafayette to work
through third parties and in some other place than the French capital,
if possible.
Lafayette took these suggestions. At once he found that it was extremely
difficult to secure a ship without discovery by the English Ambassador.
Here the Count de Broglie again gave him aid. He introduced the Marquis
to Captain Dubois, the brother of his secretary, an officer in one
of the King’s West Indian regiments, who happened to be at home on
furlough at the time, and Lafayette engaged him as his agent. He sent
him secretly to Bordeaux, the French seaport that was supposed to be
safest from suspicion, and gave him the money to buy and supply a ship,
the plan being that Captain Dubois should appear to be fitting out the
vessel for the needs of his own regiment in the West Indies.
The needed repairs to the ship would take some time, and meanwhile, in
order to escape all possible suspicion of his plans, Lafayette arranged
with his cousin, the Prince de Poix, to make a journey to England. The
Marquis de Noailles, Lafayette’s uncle, was the French Ambassador to
England, and he welcomed the two young noblemen with delight. Every
one supposed that Lafayette had at last given up his wild schemes,
and all the great houses of London were thrown open to him. He wrote
of the amusement he felt at being presented to King George III., and
of how much he enjoyed a ball at the house of Lord George Germain, the
secretary for the colonies. At the opera he met Sir Henry Clinton, with
whom he had a pleasant, friendly chat. The next time Sir Henry and he
were to meet was to be on the field of arms at the Battle of Monmouth.
But he never took advantage of his hosts. He kept away from the English
barracks and shipyards, though he was invited to inspect them. He was
careful to a degree to avoid any act that might later be considered as
having been in the nature of a breach of confidence. And after three
weeks in the gay world of London he felt that he could brook no longer
delay and told his uncle the Ambassador that he had taken a fancy to
cross the Channel for a short visit at home.
His uncle opposed this idea, saying that so abrupt a departure would
be discourteous to the English court, but Lafayette insisted. So the
Marquis de Noailles finally offered to give out the report that his
nephew was sick until the latter should return to London. Lafayette
agreed. “I would not have proposed this stratagem,” he said later, “but
I did not object to it.”
The voyage on the Channel was rough and Lafayette was seasick. As soon
as he reached France he went to Paris and stayed in hiding at the house
of Baron de Kalb. He had another interview with the American agents and
sent out his directions to the men who were to sail with him. Then he
slipped away to Bordeaux, where he found the sloop _Victory_, bought
by Captain Dubois with Lafayette’s money, and now ready for the voyage
across the Atlantic.
Lafayette, however, could not sail away from France under his own name,
and as a permit was required of every one leaving the country, a special
one had to be made out for him. This is still kept at Bordeaux, and
describes the passenger on the sloop as “Gilbert du Mottie, Chevalier
de Chavaillac, aged about twenty, rather tall, light-haired, embarking
on the _Victory_, Captain Lebourcier commanding, for a voyage to the
Cape on private business.” His name was not very much changed, for he
was really Gilbert du Motier and also the Chevalier de Chavaniac, but
probably a careless clerk, who had no concern in this particular young
man’s affairs, made the mistakes in spelling, and so aided Lafayette’s
disguise.
But all was not yet smooth sailing. Lord Stormont, the English
Ambassador, heard of Lafayette’s departure from Paris and also of his
plans to leave France, and at once protested to the King. Lafayette’s
father-in-law likewise protested, and no sooner had the young nobleman
arrived in Bordeaux than royal officers were on his track. The French
government did not want him to sail, no matter how much it might
secretly sympathize with the young republic across the ocean.
Having come so far, however, the intrepid Marquis did not intend to be
stopped. He meant to sail on his ship, he meant to carry out the brave
words he had spoken to his cousin. “I’m going to America to fight for
freedom!” he had said, and he was determined to accomplish that end.
III
HOW LAFAYETTE RAN AWAY TO SEA
Lafayette did actually run away to sea, with the officers of King Louis
XVI. hot-foot after him. When he learned that his plans were known and
that he would surely be stopped if he delayed he ordered the captain
of the _Victory_ to set sail from Bordeaux without waiting for the
necessary sailing-papers. His intention was to run into the Spanish port
of Las Pasajes, just across the French frontier on the Bay of Biscay,
and there complete his arrangements for crossing the Atlantic, for the
sloop still needed some repairs before starting on such a voyage.
At Las Pasajes, however, he found more obstacles and difficulties.
Instead of the sailing-papers he expected letters and orders and French
officers were waiting for him. The letters were from his family,
protesting against his rash act, the orders were from Louis XVI.’s
ministers, and charged him with deserting the army, breaking his oath
of allegiance to the King, and involving France in difficulties with
England. And the officers were from the court, with documents bearing
the King’s own seal, and commanding Lieutenant the Marquis de Lafayette
of the regiment of De Noailles to go at once to the French port of
Marseilles and there await further orders.
The news that affected the runaway nobleman most was contained in
the letters from home. He had had to leave Paris without telling his
intentions to his wife, much as he hated to do this. He knew that she
really approved of his plans and would do nothing to thwart them, but
the letters said that she was ill and in great distress of mind. He
would have braved the King’s order of arrest and all the other threats,
but he could not stand the idea of his wife being in distress on his
account. So, with the greatest reluctance he said good-bye to his
plans, left his ship in the Spanish port, and crossed the border back
to France.
It looked as if this was to be the end of Lafayette’s gallant
adventure. The Baron de Kalb, very much disappointed, wrote to his
wife, “This is the end of his expedition to America to join the army of
the insurgents.”
It might have been the end with another man, but not with Lafayette. He
rode back to Bordeaux, and there found that much of the outcry raised
against him was due to the wiles of his obstinate father-in-law, the
Duke d’Ayen. It was true that the English Ambassador had protested to
King Louis’ ministers, but there was no real danger of Lafayette’s
sailing disturbing the relations between England and France. New letters
told Lafayette that his wife was well and happy, though she missed
him. The threats and the orders were due, not to the anger of his own
government, but to the determination of the Duke that his son-in-law
should not risk his life and fortune in such a rash enterprise.
When he learned all this the Marquis determined to match the obstinacy
of the Duke with an even greater obstinacy of his own. His first
thought was to join his ship the _Victory_ at once, but he had no
permit to cross into Spain, and if he should be caught disobeying the
King’s orders a second time he might get into more serious trouble.
His father-in-law was waiting to see him at Marseilles, and so he now
arranged to go to that city.
In Bordeaux Lafayette met a young French officer, named Du Mauroy, who
had also received from Silas Deane a commission in the American army,
and who was very anxious to reach the United States. The two made their
plans together, and the upshot of it was that they presently set out
together in a post-chaise for Marseilles.
They did not keep on the road to Marseilles long, however. No sooner
were they well out of Bordeaux than they changed their course and drove
in the direction of the Spanish border. In a quiet place on the road
Lafayette slipped out of the chaise and hid in the woods. There he
disguised himself as a post-boy or courier, and then rode on ahead, on
horseback, as if he were the servant of the gentleman in the carriage.
His companion, Du Mauroy, had a permit to leave France, and the plan
was that he should try to get the Marquis across the Spanish frontier
as his body-servant. The chaise went galloping along as fast as the
horses could pull it, because the young men had good reason to fear
that French officers would speedily be on their track, if they were
not already pursuing them. They came to a little village, St. Jean de
Luz, where Lafayette had stopped on his journey from Las Pasajes to
Bordeaux a short time before, and there, as the Marquis, disguised as
the post-boy, rode into the stable-yard of the inn the daughter of
the innkeeper recognized him as the same young man she had waited on
earlier.
The girl gave a cry of surprise. “Oh, monsieur!” she exclaimed.
Lafayette put his finger to his lips in warning. “Yes, my girl,” he said
quickly. “Monsieur my patron wants fresh horses at once. He is coming
just behind me, and is riding post-haste to Spain.”
The girl understood. Perhaps she was used to odd things happening in a
village so close to the border of France and Spain, perhaps she liked
the young man and wanted to help him in his adventure. She called a
stable-boy and had him get the fresh horses that were needed, and when
the disguised Marquis and his friend were safely across the frontier and
some French officers came galloping up to the inn in pursuit of them
she told the latter that the post-chaise had driven off by the opposite
road to the one it had really taken.
At last, on April seventeenth, Lafayette reached the Spanish seaport of
Las Pasajes again and went on board of his sloop the _Victory_. After
six months of plotting and planning and all sorts of discouragements he
was actually free to sail for America, and on the twentieth of April,
1777, he gave the order to Captain Leboucier to hoist anchor and put out
to sea. On the deck of the _Victory_ with him stood De Kalb and about
twenty young Frenchmen, all, like their commander, eager to fight for
the cause of liberty. The shores of Spain dropped astern, and Lafayette
and his friends turned their eyes westward in the direction of the New
World.
When news of Lafayette’s sailing reached Paris it caused the greatest
interest. Though the King and the older members of his court might
frown and shake their heads the younger people were frankly delighted.
Coffee-houses echoed with praise of the daring Lieutenant, and whenever
his name was mentioned in public it met with the loudest applause. In
the world of society opinions differed; most of the luxury-loving
nobility thought the adventure of the Marquis a wild-goose chase. The
Chevalier de Marais wrote to his mother, “All Paris is discussing
the adventure of a young courtier, the son-in-law of Noailles, who
has a pretty wife, two children, fifty thousand crowns a year,--in
fact, everything which can make life here agreeable and dear, but who
deserted all that a week ago to join the insurgents. His name is M. de
Lafayette.”
And the Chevalier’s mother answered from her château in the country,
“What new kind of folly is this, my dear child? What! the madness
of knight-errantry still exists! It has disciples! Go to help the
insurgents! I am delighted that you reassure me about yourself, for I
should tremble for you; but since you see that M. de Lafayette is a
madman, I am tranquil.”
A celebrated Frenchwoman, Madame du Deffand, wrote to the Englishman
Horace Walpole, “Of course it is a piece of folly, but it does him no
discredit. He receives more praise than blame.” And that was the opinion
of a large part of France. If a young man chose to do such a wild thing
as to become a knight-errant he might be criticized for his lack of
wisdom, but on the whole he was not to be condemned.
Meantime, as the _Victory_ was spreading her sails on the broad
Atlantic, Benjamin Franklin was writing to the American Congress. This
was what he said: “The Marquis de Lafayette, a young nobleman of great
family connections here and great wealth, is gone to America in a ship
of his own, accompanied by some officers of distinction, in order to
serve in our armies. He is exceedingly beloved, and everybody’s good
wishes attend him. We cannot but hope he may meet with such a reception
as will make the country and his expedition agreeable to him. Those who
censure it as imprudent in him, do, nevertheless, applaud his spirit;
and we are satisfied that the civilities and respect that may be shown
him will be serviceable to our affairs here, as pleasing not only to
his powerful relations and the court, but to the whole French nation.
He has left a beautiful young wife; and for her sake, particularly, we
hope that his bravery and ardent desire to distinguish himself will be
a little restrained by the General’s prudence, so as not to permit his
being hazarded much, except on some important occasion.”
The _Victory_ was not a very seaworthy ship. Lafayette had been swindled
by the men who had sold the sloop to his agent; she was a very slow
craft, and was poorly furnished and scantily armed. Her two small cannon
and small stock of muskets would have been a poor defense in case she
had been attacked by any of the pirates who swarmed on the high seas in
those days or by the English cruisers who were looking for ships laden
with supplies for America.
In addition to the defects of his ship Lafayette soon found he had other
obstacles to cope with. He discovered that the captain of the _Victory_
considered himself a much more important person than the owner and meant
to follow his own course.
The papers with which the ship had sailed from Spain declared that her
destination was the West Indies. But ships often sailed for other ports
than those they were supposed to, and Lafayette wanted to reach the
United States as quickly as he could. He went to the captain and said,
“You will please make your course as direct as possible for Charlestown
in the Carolinas.”
“The Carolinas, sir!” exclaimed the captain. “Why, I cannot do that. The
ship’s papers are made out for the West Indies and will only protect us
if we sail for a port there. I intend to sail for the West Indies, and
you will have to get transportation across to the colonies from there.”
Lafayette was amazed. “This ship is mine,” he declared, “and I direct
you to sail to Charlestown.”
But the captain was obstinate. “I am the master of this ship, sir,”
said he, “and responsible for its safety. If we should be caught by an
English cruiser and she finds that we are headed for North America with
arms and supplies, we shall be made prisoners, and lose our ship, our
cargo, and perhaps our lives. I intend to follow my sailing-papers and
steer for the West Indies.”
No one could be more determined than Lafayette, however. “You may
be master of the _Victory_, Captain Leboucier,” said he, “but I am
her owner and my decision is final. You will sail at once and by the
directest course for the port of Charlestown in the Carolinas or I shall
deprive you instantly of your command and place the mate in charge of
the ship. I have enough men here to meet any resistance on your part. So
make your decision immediately.”
The captain in his turn was surprised. The young owner was very positive
and evidently not to be cajoled or threatened. So Leboucier complained
and blustered and argued a little, and finally admitted that it was
not so much the ship’s papers as her cargo that he was troubled about.
He owned that he had considerable interest in that cargo, for he had
smuggled eight or nine thousand dollars’ worth of goods on board the
_Victory_ and wanted to sell them in the West Indies and so make an
extra profit on the side for himself. The real reason why he didn’t want
to be caught by an English cruiser was the danger of losing his smuggled
merchandise.
“Then why didn’t you say so at first?” Lafayette demanded. “I would
have been willing to help you out, of course. Sail for the port of
Charlestown in the Carolinas; and if we are captured, searched, robbed,
or destroyed by any English cruisers or privateers I will see that you
don’t lose a sou. I will promise to make any loss good.”
That satisfied Captain Leboucier. As long as his goods were safe he had
no hesitation on the score of danger to the ship, and so he immediately
laid his course for the coast of the Carolinas. Lafayette, however,
realizing that the _Victory_ might be overtaken by enemy warships,
arranged with one of his men, Captain de Bedaulx, that in case of attack
and capture the latter should blow up the ship rather than surrender.
With this matter arranged the Marquis went to his cabin and stayed there
for two weeks, as seasick as one could be.
The voyage across the Atlantic in those days was a long and tedious
affair. It took seven weeks, and after Lafayette had recovered from his
seasickness he had plenty of time to think of the hazards of his new
venture and of the family he had left at home. He was devoted to his
family, and as the _Victory_ kept on her westward course he wrote long
letters to his wife, planning to send them back to France by different
ships, so that if one was captured another might carry his message to
Adrienne safely to her. In one letter he wrote, “Oh, if you knew what I
have suffered, what weary days I have passed thus flying from everything
that I love best in the world!” And then, in order to make his wife less
fearful of possible dangers that might beset him, he said, “The post of
major-general has always been a warrant of long life. It is so different
from the service I should have had in France, as colonel, for instance.
With my present rank I shall only have to attend councils of war.... As
soon as I land I shall be in perfect safety.”
But this boy, nineteen years old, though he called himself a
major-general, was not to be content with attending councils of war
and keeping out of danger, as later events were to show. He was far
too eager and impetuous for that, too truly a son of the wild Auvergne
Mountains.
And he showed that he knew that himself, for later in the same letter
to Adrienne he compared his present journey with what his father-in-law
would have tried to make him do had Lafayette met the Duke d’Ayen at
Marseilles. “Consider the difference between my occupation and my
present life,” he wrote, “and what they would have been if I had gone
upon that useless journey. As the defender of that liberty which I
adore; free, myself, more than any one; coming, as a friend, to offer
my services to this most interesting republic, I bring with me nothing
but my own free heart and my own good-will,--no ambition to fulfil and
no selfish interest to serve. If I am striving for my own glory, I am at
the same time laboring for the welfare of the American republic. I trust
that, for my sake, you will become a good American. It is a sentiment
made for virtuous hearts. The happiness of America is intimately
connected with the happiness of all mankind; she is destined to become
the safe and worthy asylum of virtue, integrity, tolerance, equality,
and peaceful liberty.”
This, from a boy not yet twenty years old, showed the prophetic instinct
that burned like a clear flame in the soul of Lafayette.
He knew very little of the English tongue, but that was the language of
the people he was going to help, and so on shipboard he set himself to
study it. “I am making progress with that language,” he wrote to his
wife. “It will soon become most necessary to me.”
The North Atlantic was stormy, the _Victory_ met with head winds, and
through April and May she floundered on, her passengers eagerly scanning
the horizon for a sight of land. On the seventh of June the Marquis
wrote in a letter to Adrienne, “I am still out on this dreary plain,
which is beyond comparison the most dismal place that one can be in....
We have had small alarms from time to time, but with a little care, and
reasonably good fortune, I hope to get through without serious accident,
and I shall be all the more pleased, because I am learning every day to
be extremely prudent.”
Then, on a June day, the _Victory_ suddenly became all excitement. The
lookout reported to Captain Leboucier that a strange vessel was bearing
down in their direction.
Leboucier instantly crowded on sail and tried to run from the strange
ship. But the _Victory_ was not built for fast sailing, and it was soon
clear that the stranger would quickly overhaul her.
“It’s an English man-of-war!” was the message that ran from lip to
lip. In that case the only choice would be between resistance and
surrender. Leboucier looked doubtful as to the wisest course to pursue,
but Lafayette and his companions made ready to fight. The two old cannon
were loaded, the muskets distributed, and the crew ordered to their
stations.
The stranger drew nearer and nearer, sailing fast, and the _Victory_
floundered along in desperation. Lafayette and De Bedaulx stood at the
bow of the sloop, their eyes fixed on the rapidly-gaining pursuer. Then,
just as escape appeared utterly out of the question, the oncoming ship
went about, and as she turned she broke out from her peak a flag of
red, white and blue, the stars and stripes of the new United States of
America. A wild cheer greeted that flag, and the colors of France were
run up to the peak of the _Victory_ in joyful greeting to the flag of
Lafayette’s ally.
The _Victory_ headed about and tried to keep up with the fleet American
privateer, but in a very short time two other sails appeared on the
horizon. The American ship ran up a danger signal, declaring these new
vessels to be English cruisers, scouting along the coast on the watch
for privateers and blockade runners. Having given that information the
American ship signaled “good-bye,” and drew away from the enemy on a
favoring tack.
The _Victory_ could not draw away so easily, however, and it was clear
that her two cannon would be little use against two well-armed English
cruisers. In this new predicament luck came to the aid of the little
sloop. The wind shifted and blew strongly from the north. This would
send the _Victory_ nearer to the port of Charlestown, the outlines of
which now began to appear on the horizon, and would also be a head wind
for the pursuing cruisers. Captain Leboucier decided to take advantage
of the shift in the wind, and instead of heading for Charlestown run
into Georgetown Bay, which opened into the coast of the Carolinas almost
straight in front of him.
Fortune again favored him, for, although he knew very little of that
coast, and nothing of these particular shoals and channels, he found
the opening of the South Inlet of Georgetown Bay and sailed his ship
into that sheltered roadstead. The English vessels, working against the
north wind, soon were lost to sight. On the afternoon of June 13, 1777,
Lafayette’s little sloop ran past the inlet and up to North Island, one
of the low sand-pits that are a fringe along the indented shore of South
Carolina.
The long sea-voyage was over, and Lafayette looked at last at the coast
of the country he had come to help.
IV
THE YOUNG FRENCHMAN REACHES AMERICA
The _Victory_ had anchored off North Island, a stretch of sand on the
South Carolina coast, but neither the captain nor the owner nor the
crew of the sloop knew much more about their location than that it was
somewhere in North America. Charlestown they believed was the nearest
port of any size, but it might be difficult to navigate through these
shoal waters without a pilot who knew the channels. So Lafayette
suggested to Baron de Kalb that they should land in one of the sloop’s
boats and see if they could get information or assistance.
Early in the afternoon Lafayette, De Kalb, and a few of the other
officers were rowed ashore in the _Victory’s_ yawl. But the shore was
merely a sand-flat, with no sign of human habitation. They put out again
and rowed farther up the bay, keeping a sharp lookout for any house or
farm. They found plenty of little creeks and islands, but the shores
were simply waste stretches of sand and scrub-bushes and woods. The
mainland appeared as deserted as though it had been a desert island far
out in the sea.
All afternoon they rowed about, poking the yawl’s nose first into one
creek and then into another, and nightfall found them still exploring
the North Inlet. Then, when they had about decided that it was too
dark to row further and that they had better return to the sloop, they
suddenly saw a lighted torch on the shore. Heading for this they found
some negroes dragging for oysters. Baron de Kalb, who knew more English
than the others, called out and asked if there was good anchorage for
a ship thereabouts and whether he could find a pilot to take them to
Charlestown.
The negroes, very much surprised at the sudden appearance of the yawl,
thought the men on board might be Englishmen or Hessians, and instantly
grew suspicious. One of them answered, “We belong to Major Huger, all of
us belongs to him. He’s our master.”
“Is he an officer in the American army?” De Kalb called back.
The negro said that he was, and added that there was a pilot on the
upper end of North Island, and then volunteered to show the men in the
yawl where the pilot lived and also to take them to the house of the
Major.
Lafayette thought it would be best to find Major Huger at once; but the
tide was falling fast, and when the rowers, unused to these shoals,
tried to follow the negroes in the oyster-boat, they discovered that
they were in danger of beaching their yawl. The only alternative was for
some of them to go in the oyster-boat, and so Lafayette and De Kalb and
one other joined the negroes, while the crew of the yawl rowed back to
the _Victory_.
Over more shallows, up more inlets the negroes steered their craft, and
about midnight they pointed out a light shining from a house on the
shore. “That’s Major Huger’s,” said the guide, and he ran his boat up to
a landing-stage. The three officers stepped out, putting their feet on
American soil for the first time on this almost deserted coast and under
the guidance of stray negro oystermen.
But this desolate shore had already been the landing-place of English
privateersmen, and the people who lived in the neighborhood were always
in fear of attack. As Lafayette and his two friends went up toward the
house the loud barking of dogs suddenly broke the silence. And as they
came up to the dwelling a window was thrown open and a man called out,
“Who goes there? Stop where you are or I’ll fire!”
“We are friends, sir; friends only,” De Kalb hurriedly answered. “We are
French officers who have just landed from our ship, which has come into
your waters. We have come to fight for America and we are looking for a
pilot to steer our ship to a safe anchorage and are also hunting shelter
for ourselves.”
No sooner had the master of the house heard this than he turned and gave
some orders. Lights shone out from the windows, and almost immediately
the front door was unbarred and thrown open. The owner stood in the
doorway, his hands stretched out in greeting, and back of him were a
number of negro servants with candles.
“Indeed, sirs, I am very proud to welcome you!” he said; and then
stopped an instant to call to the dogs to stop their barking. “I am
Major Huger of the American army, Major Benjamin Huger, and this is my
house on the shore where we camp out in the summer. Please come in,
gentlemen. My house and everything in it is at the service of the brave
and generous Frenchmen who come to fight for our liberties.”
There was no doubt of the warmth of the strangers’ welcome. The Major
caught De Kalb’s hand and shook it strenuously, while his small son, who
had slipped into his clothes and hurried down-stairs to see what all the
noise was about, seized Lafayette by the arm and tried to pull him into
the lighted hall.
“You are most kind, Major Huger,” said De Kalb. “Let me introduce my
friends. This gentleman is the leader of our expedition, the Seigneur
Gilbert du Motier, Marquis de Lafayette; this is Monsieur Price of
Sauveterre, and I am Johann Kalb.”
“He is the Baron de Kalb, monsieur,” put in Lafayette. “A brigadier
in the army of the King of France and aid to the Marshal the Count de
Broglie.”
Major Huger had heard of the Marquis de Lafayette, for already news
of the Frenchman’s determination to fight for the young republic had
crossed the Atlantic. He caught Lafayette by both hands. “The Marquis
de Lafayette!” he cried. “My house is indeed honored by your presence!
We have all heard of you. You have only to command me, sir, and I
will do your bidding. I will look after your ship and your pilot. But
to-night you must stay here as my guests, and to-morrow I will see to
everything. This is my son, Francis Kinloch Huger. Now please come into
my dining-room, gentlemen, and let me offer you some refreshment.”
Small Francis, still holding Lafayette’s hand, drew the Marquis in at
the door. The three guests, delighted at their welcome, went to the
dining-room, and there toasts were drunk to the success of the cause of
liberty. America was not so inhospitable to the weary travelers after
all, and with the glow of the Major’s welcome warming them, Lafayette
and his two friends went to their rooms and slept in real beds for the
first time in many weeks.
Lafayette naturally was delighted at safely reaching his haven, and, as
he put it in his own words, “retired to rest rejoiced that he had at
last attained the haven of his wishes and was safely landed in America
beyond the reach of his pursuers.” Weary from his long voyage on the
_Victory_, he slept soundly, and woke full of enthusiasm for this
new country, which was to be like a foster-mother to him. “The next
morning,” he wrote, “was beautiful. The novelty of everything around me,
the room, the bed with its mosquito curtains, the black servants who
came to ask my wishes, the beauty and strange appearance of the country
as I could see it from my window clothed in luxuriant verdure,--all
conspired to produce upon me an effect like magic and to impress me with
indescribable sensations.”
Major Huger had already sent a pilot to the _Victory_ and had done
everything he could to assist Lafayette’s companions. All the Major’s
family were so kind and hospitable that they instantly won Lafayette’s
heart. He judged that all Americans would be like them, and wrote to his
wife, “the manners of this people are simple, honest, and dignified.
The wish to oblige, the love of country, and freedom reign here together
in sweet equality. All citizens are brothers. They belong to a country
where every cranny resounds with the lovely name of Liberty. My sympathy
with them makes me feel as if I had been here for twenty years.” It was
well for him that his first reception in America was so pleasant and
that he remembered it with such delight, for he was later to find that
some Americans were not so cordial toward him.
If he was delighted with the Hugers, the Major and his son Francis were
equally delighted with the young Frenchman. And, strangely enough, the
little boy Francis, who had seized Lafayette’s hand on that June night
in 1777, was later to try to rescue his hero from a prison in Europe.
The Marquis and his friends thought they had had quite enough of life
on shipboard for the present, and so decided to go to Charlestown over
the country roads. The pilot that had been furnished by Major Huger came
back with word that there was not sufficient water for the _Victory_ to
stay in Georgetown Bay, and Lafayette ordered the ship, in charge of
the pilot, to sail to Charlestown. Meantime he and his companions, with
horses of the Major’s, rode to that seaport. As soon as he arrived there
he heard that there were a number of English cruisers on that part of
the coast, and so he at once sent word to Captain Leboucier to beach the
_Victory_ and burn her, rather than let her be captured by the cruisers.
The _Victory_, however, sailed safely into Charlestown without sighting
a hostile sail, and the captain unloaded Lafayette’s supplies and his
own private cargo. Later the sloop was loaded with rice and set sail
again, but was wrecked on a bar and became a total loss.
No welcome could have been warmer than that Lafayette received in
Charlestown. A dinner was given him, where the French officers met the
American generals Gulden, Howe, and Moultrie. All houses were thrown
open to him, and he was taken to inspect the fortifications and driven
through the beautiful country in the neighborhood. How pleased he was he
showed in a letter to Adrienne. “The city of Charlestown,” he wrote,
“is one of the prettiest and the best built that I have ever seen, and
its inhabitants are most agreeable. The American women are very pretty,
very unaffected, and exhibit a charming neatness,--a quality which is
most studiously cultivated here, much more even than in England. What
enchants me here is that all the citizens are brethren. There are no
poor people in America, nor even what we call peasants. All the citizens
have a moderate property, and all have the same rights as the most
powerful proprietor. The inns are very different from those of Europe:
the innkeeper and his wife sit at table with you, do the honors of a
good repast, and on leaving, you pay without haggling. When you do not
choose to go to an inn, you can find country houses where it is enough
to be a good American to be received with such attentions as in Europe
would be paid to friends.”
That certainly speaks well for the hospitality of South Carolina!
He did not mean to tell his plans, however, until he should reach
Philadelphia, where the Congress of the United States was sitting.
“I have every reason to feel highly gratified at my reception in
Charlestown,” he wrote, “but I have not yet explained my plans to any
one. I judge it best to wait until I have presented myself to the
Congress before making a statement as to the projects I have in view.”
He had only one difficulty in the seaport town. When he started to sell
the _Victory_ and her cargo he found that the men who had sold him the
ship and Captain Leboucier had so entangled him with agreements and
commissions, all of which he had signed without properly reading in his
haste to sail from Bordeaux, that, instead of receiving any money, he
was actually in debt. To pay this off and get the needed funds to take
his companions and himself to Philadelphia he had to borrow money, but
fortunately there were plenty of people in Charlestown who were ready to
help him out of that difficulty.
With the money borrowed from these well-disposed people Lafayette bought
horses and carriages to take his party over the nine hundred miles
that lay between Charlestown and Philadelphia. On June twenty-fifth
the expedition started. In front rode a French officer dressed in
the uniform of a hussar. Next came a heavy open carriage, in which
sat Lafayette and De Kalb, and close behind it rode Lafayette’s
body-servant. Then there followed a chaise with two colonels, the
counselors of the Marquis, another chaise with more French officers,
still another with the baggage, and finally, as rear-guard, a negro on
horseback.
The country roads were frightful for travel; indeed for much of the
way they could scarcely be called roads at all, being simply primitive
clearings through the woods. The guide kept losing his way, and the
carriages bumped along over roots and logs in a hot, blistering sun. As
far as this particular journey went, the Frenchmen must have thought
that travel was very much easier in their own country. One accident
followed another; within four days the chaises had been jolted into
splinters and the horses had gone lame. The travelers had to buy other
wagons and horses, and to lighten their outfit kept leaving part of
their baggage on the way. Sometimes they had to walk, often they
went hungry, and many a night they slept in the woods. They began to
appreciate that this new country, land of liberty though it was, had
many disadvantages when it came to the matter of travel.
From Petersburg in Virginia Lafayette wrote to Adrienne. “You have
heard,” said he, “how brilliantly I started out in a carriage. I have to
inform you that we are now on horseback after having broken the wagons
in my usual praiseworthy fashion, and I expect to write you before long
that we have reached our destination on foot.”
Yet, in spite of all these discomforts, the Marquis was able to enjoy
much of the journey. He studied the language of the people he met, he
admired the beautiful rivers and the great forests, and he kept pointing
out to his companions how much better the farmers here lived than the
peasants of his own country. At least there was plenty of land for every
one and no grasping overlords to take all the profits.
The journey lasted a month. The party paid a visit to Governor Caswell
in North Carolina and stopped at Petersburg and Annapolis, where
Lafayette met Major Brice, who later became his aide-de-camp. On July
twenty-seventh the travel-worn party reached Philadelphia, which was
then the capital of the United States.
The outlook for the Americans was gloomy enough then. New York was in
the hands of the enemy, Burgoyne’s army had captured Ticonderoga and was
threatening to separate New England from the rest of the country, and
Howe was preparing to attack Philadelphia with a much larger army than
Washington could bring against him. It would have seemed just the time
when any help from abroad should have been doubly welcome, and yet as a
matter of fact the Congress was not so very enthusiastic about it.
The reason for this was that already a great number of adventurers
had come to America from the different countries of Europe and asked
for high commands in the American army. Many of them were soldiers of
considerable experience, and they all thought that they would make much
better officers than the ill-trained men of the new republic. Some of
them also quickly showed that they were eager for money, and one and all
insisted on trying to tell Congress exactly what it ought to do. Quite
naturally the Americans preferred to manage affairs in their own way.
George Washington had already sent a protest to Congress. “Their
ignorance of our language and their inability to recruit men,” he
said, “are insurmountable obstacles to their being ingrafted into our
continental battalions; for our officers, who have raised their men,
and have served through the war upon pay that has hitherto not borne
their expenses, would be disgusted if foreigners were put over their
heads; and I assure you, few or none of these gentlemen look lower than
field-officers’ commissions. To give them all brevets, by which they
have rank, and draw pay without doing any service, is saddling the
continent with vast expense; and to form them into corps would be only
establishing corps of officers; for, as I have said before, they cannot
possibly raise any men.”
It was true that Silas Deane had been instructed to offer commissions
to a few French officers, whose experience might help the Americans,
but he had scattered commissions broadcast, and some of these men had
proved of little use. One of them, Du Coudray, had arrived and insisted
on commanding the artillery with the rank of major-general, and had
aroused so much opposition that Generals Greene, Sullivan, and Knox had
threatened to resign if his demands were granted. Congress was therefore
beginning to look askance at many of the men who bore Silas Deane’s
commissions.
That was the state of affairs when Lafayette, confident of a warm
welcome, reached Philadelphia and presented himself and his friends
to John Hancock, the president of Congress. Hancock may have received
letters concerning the young Frenchman from Deane and Benjamin Franklin
in Paris, but, if he had, he had paid little attention to them, and
was inclined to regard this young man of nineteen as simply another
adventurer from Europe. With a scant word of welcome Hancock referred
Lafayette to Gouverneur Morris, who, he said, “had such matters in
charge.”
The Frenchmen went to see Morris, but to him also they appeared only a
new addition to the many adventurers already hanging about, looking for
high commands. He put off dealing with Lafayette and De Kalb. “Meet me
to-morrow at the door of Congress, gentlemen,” said he. “I will look
over your papers in the meantime and will see what I can do for you.”
The two new arrivals kept the appointment promptly, but Morris was not
on hand. After they had cooled their heels for some time he appeared,
bringing with him Mr. Lovell, the chairman of the Committee on Foreign
Affairs. “Matters that concern France are in Mr. Lovell’s charge,” said
Morris. “Please deal with him after this.”
Lovell bowed to the strangers. “I understand, gentlemen,” said he, “that
you have authority from Mr. Deane?”
“Certainly, sir,” De Kalb answered. “Our papers and agreements show
that.”
Lovell frowned. “This is very annoying,” said he. “We authorized Mr.
Deane to send us four French engineers, but instead he has sent us a
number of engineers who are no engineers and some artillerists who
have never seen service. Mr. Franklin, however, has sent us the four
engineers we wanted. There is nothing for you to do here, gentlemen. We
needed a few experienced officers last year, but now we have plenty, and
can promise no more positions. I must bid you good-morning.”
Here was a dashing blow to all their eager wishes. Surprise and
disappointment showed in their faces.
“But, sir,” began De Kalb, “Mr. Deane promised----”
“Well, Mr. Deane has exceeded his authority,” declared Lovell. “He has
promised too much and we cannot recognize his authority. We haven’t
even a colonel’s commission to give to any foreign officers, to say
nothing of a major-general’s. The Congress is very much annoyed by
these constant demands, and General Washington says he won’t be
disturbed by any more requests. I am sorry to disappoint you, but under
the circumstances I can promise you nothing. Again I must bid you
good-morning.”
Lovell returned to Congress, leaving the Frenchmen much discomfited.
De Kalb began to storm, and finally spoke angrily of the way they had
been treated by Deane. “It is not to be borne!” he cried. “I will take
action against Deane! I will have damages for this indignity he has put
upon us!”
Fortunately Lafayette was more even-tempered. In spite of this rebuff
at the outset he meant to achieve his goal. He turned to the angry De
Kalb and laid his hand restrainingly on the latter’s arm. “Let us not
talk of damages, my friend,” he said. “It is more important for us to
talk of doing. It is true that Congress didn’t ask us to leave our
homes and cross the sea to lead its army. But I will not go back now.
If the Congress will not accept me as a major-general, I will fight for
American liberty as a volunteer!”
V
“I WILL FIGHT FOR AMERICAN LIBERTY AS A VOLUNTEER!”
Lafayette, standing outside the door of the American Congress in
Philadelphia, refused the commission in the American army that had been
promised him by Silas Deane, spoke these words of encouragement to his
disappointed and indignant friends who had crossed with him from France.
“If the Congress will not accept me as a major-general, I will fight
for American liberty as a volunteer!” he said; and, having come to this
decision, he immediately proceeded to put it into effect. He went to his
lodgings and wrote a letter to John Hancock, president of Congress.
Lafayette’s letter explained the reasons why he had come to the United
States and recounted the many difficulties he had had to overcome. He
stated that he thought that the promise he had received from Silas
Deane, the approval of Benjamin Franklin, and the sacrifices he had
himself made ought to lead Congress to give a friendly hearing to his
request. He said that he understood how Congress had been besieged by
foreign officers seeking high rank in the army, but added that he only
asked two favors. These were, in his own words, “First, that I serve
without pay and at my own expense; and, the other, that I be allowed to
serve at first as a volunteer.”
This letter was a great surprise to John Hancock and the other leaders
of Congress. Here was a young French officer of family and wealth who
was so deeply interested in their cause that he was eager to serve as
an unpaid volunteer! He was a different type from the others who had
come begging for favors. Hancock looked up the letter that Franklin
had written about the Marquis, and read, “Those who censure him as
imprudent do nevertheless applaud his spirit, and we are satisfied that
the civilities and respect that may be shown him will be serviceable to
our affairs here, as pleasing not only to his powerful relations and to
the court, but to the whole French nation.”
Hancock was impressed; perhaps they had made a mistake in treating
this Marquis de Lafayette in such cavalier fashion. So he sent another
member of Congress to see the young Frenchman and instructed him
to treat Lafayette with the greatest courtesy. And the result of
this interview was that Hancock’s emissary was quickly convinced of
Lafayette’s absolute honesty of purpose and intense desire to help the
United States.
Having reached this conclusion Hancock decided to make amends and do the
honorable thing, and so, on July 31, 1777, Congress passed the following
resolution: “Whereas, the Marquis de Lafayette, out of his great zeal
to the cause of liberty, in which the United States are engaged, has
left his family and connections, and, at his own expense, come over to
offer his services to the United States, without pension or particular
allowance, and is anxious to risk his life in our cause, therefore,
Resolved, that his services be accepted, and that, in consideration of
his zeal, illustrious family, and connections, he have the rank and
commission of major-general in the army of the United States.”
How fortunate it was that Lafayette had not been daunted at the outset,
or discouraged as De Kalb and his companions had been! His great dream
had come true as a result of perseverance; he had been welcomed by
Congress, and was, at nineteen, a major-general in the army of liberty!
But he did not forget those companions who had crossed the sea with the
same desires as his own. In the letter he wrote to Congress, penned
in his own quaint English,--a letter now in the State Department at
Washington,--after thanking “the Honorable mr. Hancok,” as he spelled
it, and expressing his gratitude to Congress, he said, “it is now
as an american that I’l mention every day to congress the officers
who came over with me, whose interests are for me as my own, and the
consideration which they deserve by their merit, their ranks, their
state and reputation in france.”
He was unable, however, to do much for these friends, though one of them
said, “He did everything that was possible for our appointment, but in
vain, for he had no influence. But if he had his way, De Kalb would have
been major-general and we should all have had places.”
Congress felt that it could not give them all commissions. Captain de
Bedaulx, who was a veteran officer, was made a captain in the American
army, one other was engaged as a draughtsman and engineer, and Lafayette
kept two as his own aides-de-camp. Most of the others were sent back
to France, their expenses being paid by Congress. As for De Kalb, he
had given up his plans for high rank and preferment and was on his way
to take passage on a ship for Europe when a messenger reached him with
word that Congress, voting for one more major-general in the army, had
elected him.
Lafayette, in his letter to Hancock, had said that he wished to serve
“near the person of General Washington till such time as he may think
proper to entrust me with a division of the army.” Events soon gave him
the chance to meet the commander-in-chief. The arrival of Howe’s fleet
at the mouth of the Delaware River seemed to threaten Philadelphia,
and Washington left his camp in New Jersey to consult with Congress.
Lafayette was invited to a dinner in Philadelphia to meet the
commander-in-chief, and accepted eagerly. The Frenchman was greatly
impressed. “Although General Washington was surrounded by officers and
private citizens,” he wrote, “the majesty of his countenance and of
his figure made it impossible not to recognize him; he was especially
distinguished also by the affability of his manners and the dignity with
which he addressed those about him.”
Washington had already heard of Lafayette and found a chance for a long
talk with him. On his part he was at once strongly attracted by the
young Marquis. “You have made the greatest sacrifices for our cause,
sir,” Washington said, “and your evident zeal and generosity interest
me deeply. I shall do my part toward making you one of us. I shall be
greatly pleased to have you join my staff as a volunteer aid, and beg
you to make my headquarters your home, until events place you elsewhere.
I beg you to consider yourself at all times as one of my military
family, and I shall be glad to welcome you at the camp as speedily
as you think proper. Of course I cannot promise you the luxuries of
a court, but, as you have now become an American soldier, you will
doubtless accommodate yourself to the fare of an American army, and
submit with a good grace to its customs, manners, and privations.”
The next day Washington invited Lafayette to accompany him on a tour of
inspection of the fortifications about Philadelphia.
The General liked the Marquis, but was not quite certain how the latter
could best be employed. He wrote to Benjamin Harrison, who was a member
of Congress, “As I understand the Marquis de Lafayette, it is certain
that he does not conceive that his commission is merely honorary, but
is given with a view to command a division of this army. It is true he
has said that he is young and inexperienced; but at the same time he
has always accompanied it with a hint that, so soon as I shall think
him fit for the command of a division, he shall be ready to enter upon
his duties, and in the meantime has offered his services for a smaller
command. What the designs of Congress respecting this gentleman were,
and what line of conduct I am to pursue to comply with their design and
his expectations--I know not and beg to be instructed.... Let me beseech
you, my good sir, to give me the sentiments of Congress on this matter,
that I may endeavor, as far as it is in my power, to comply with them.”
Mr. Harrison answered that Congress intended Lafayette’s appointment to
be regarded merely as an honorary one, and that the commander-in-chief
was to use his own judgment concerning him.
In the meantime Lafayette set out from Philadelphia to join
Washington’s army. That army, early in August, had begun its march
eastward, hoping to cut off any British move about New York; but the
appearance of the British fleet off the Delaware had brought them to a
halt, and Washington ordered them into camp near the present village of
Hartsville, on the old York Road leading out of Philadelphia. Here, on
August twenty-first, Lafayette joined the army, just as the commander,
with Generals Stirling, Greene, and Knox, was about to review the
troops.
It was indeed a sorry-looking army, according to the standards of
Europe. There were about eleven thousand men, poorly armed and
wretchedly clad. Their clothes were old and ragged, hardly any two suits
alike, and the men knew little enough about military tactics. Courage
and resolution had to take the place of science; but there was no lack
of either bravery or determination. Yet some of the foreign officers
who had seen the American army had spoken very slightingly of it, and
Washington said to Lafayette, “It is somewhat embarrassing to us to show
ourselves to an officer who has just come from the army of France.”
Lafayette, always tactful, always sympathetic, smiled. “I am here to
learn and not to teach, Your Excellency,” he answered.
A council of war followed the review, and the commander asked the
Marquis to attend it. The council decided that if the British were
planning to invade the Carolinas it was unwise to attempt to follow them
south, and that the army had better try to recapture New York. But at
that very moment a messenger brought word that the British fleet had
sailed into Chesapeake Bay, and, hearing this, Washington concluded to
march his army to the south of Philadelphia and prepare to defend that
city.
Ragged and out-at-elbows as the small American army was, it marched
proudly through the streets of Philadelphia. With sprigs of green
branches in their hats the soldiers stepped along to the tune of fife
and drum, presenting, at least in the eyes of the townspeople, a very
gallant appearance. Lafayette rode by the side of Washington, glad that
the opportunity had come for him to be of service.
Very soon he had a chance to share danger with his commander. When the
troops arrived on the heights of Wilmington, Washington, with Lafayette
and Greene, made a reconnaissance, and, being caught by a storm and
darkness, was obliged to spend the night so near to the British lines
that he might easily have been discovered by a scout or betrayed into
the hands of the enemy.
Meantime General Howe and Lord Cornwallis had landed eighteen thousand
veteran troops near what is now Elkton in Maryland, and was advancing
toward Philadelphia. To defend the city Washington drew up his forces on
September ninth at Chadd’s Ford on the Brandywine. One column of Howe’s
army marched to this place and on September eleventh succeeded in
driving across the river to the American camp. The other column, under
command of Cornwallis, made a long détour through the thickly wooded
country, and bore down on the right and rear of Washington’s army,
threatening its total destruction.
The American commander at once sent General Sullivan, with five thousand
men, to meet this force on the right. Realizing that most of the
fighting would be done there, Lafayette asked and was given permission
to join General Sullivan. Riding up as a volunteer aid, he found the
half-formed wings of the American army attacked by the full force under
Cornwallis. The Americans had to fall back, two of General Sullivan’s
aids were killed, and a disorderly retreat began. Lafayette leaped from
his horse, and, sword in hand, called on the soldiers to make a stand.
He checked the retreat for a few moments; other troops came up, and the
Americans offered gallant resistance. Lafayette was shot through the
calf of the leg, but, apparently unconscious of the wound, continued
to encourage his men. Then Cornwallis’s brigades swept forward again,
and Sullivan’s troops had to give ground before the greater numbers. The
battle became a general rout. Gimat, Lafayette’s aid, saw that the young
man was wounded, and helped him to mount his horse. The wounded man then
tried to rejoin Washington, but soon after he had to stop to have his
leg bandaged.
The first British column had driven the American troops from Chadd’s
Ford, and the latter, together with Sullivan’s men, fell back along
the road to Chester. Washington attempted to cover the retreat with
rear-guard fighting, but night found him pursued by both divisions of
the enemy. In the retreat Lafayette came to a bridge, and made a stand
until Washington and his aids reached him. Then together they rode on
to Chester, and there the Frenchman’s wound was properly dressed by a
surgeon.
The battle had been in one sense a defeat for the Americans, but it had
shown General Howe the fine fighting quality of Washington’s men, and
the American commander had been able to save the bulk of his army, when
Howe had expected to capture it entire. Today a little monument stands
on a ridge near the Quaker meeting-house outside Chadd’s Ford, erected,
so the inscription says, “by the citizens and school children of Chester
County,” because, “on the rising ground a short distance south of this
spot, Lafayette was wounded at the Battle of Brandywine, September 11,
1777.” And the monument also bears these words of Lafayette: “The honor
to have mingled my blood with that of many other American soldiers on
the heights of the Brandywine has been to me a source of pride and
delight.”
The battle-field of the Brandywine was only about twenty-six miles from
Philadelphia, and the cannonade had been clearly heard in the city. The
word the couriers brought filled the people with alarm; many citizens
began to fly from the city and Congress took its departure, to meet at
the town of York, one hundred miles to the west. The Americans wounded
at the Brandywine were sent to Philadelphia, and Lafayette was conveyed
there by water. From that city he was sent up the Delaware River to
Bristol. There he met Henry Laurens, who had succeeded John Hancock as
the president of Congress, and Laurens, being on his way to York, took
Lafayette with him in his own carriage to the Old Sun Inn at Bethlehem,
the quiet home of a people called the Moravians, fifty miles to the
north of Philadelphia. In later times Henry Laurens, by one of those
strange turns of the wheel of fate, became a prisoner in the Tower of
London, and Madame de Lafayette repaid his kindness to her husband by
seeking the aid of the French government to secure his release.
There could have been no better place for a wounded man to recover his
strength than in the peaceful little Moravian community at Bethlehem.
For six weeks he stayed there, and the people tended him like one of
themselves. He could not use his leg, but he spent part of his enforced
idleness drawing up plans for the invasion of the British colonies in
the West Indies. He also wrote long letters to his wife in France. “Be
entirely free from anxiety as to my wound,” he said in one of these,
“for all the doctors in America are aroused in my behalf. I have a
friend who has spoken for me in a way to ensure my being well taken care
of; and that is General Washington. That estimable man, whose talents
and whose virtues I admired before, whom I venerate the more now as I
learn to know him, has been kind enough to me to become my intimate
friend. His tender interest in me quickly won my heart.... When he sent
his surgeon-in-chief to me, he directed him to care for me as I were his
son, because he loved me so much; and having learned that I wanted to
join the army too soon again, he wrote me a letter full of tenderness in
which he admonished me to wait until I should be entirely well.”
Wonderful it was that Washington, beset and harassed with all the
burdens of a commander-in-chief, could yet find the time to pay so much
attention to his wounded French aid!
Lafayette knew well that matters looked dark then for the American
republic. In another letter to Adrienne he said, “Now that you are
the wife of an American general officer, I must give you a lesson.
People will say, ‘They have been beaten.’ You must answer, ‘It is
true, but with two armies equal in number, and on level ground, old
soldiers always have an advantage over new ones; besides, the Americans
inflicted a greater loss than they sustained.’ Then, people will add,
‘That’s all very well; but Philadelphia, the capital of America, the
highroad of liberty, is taken.’ You will reply politely, ‘You are fools!
Philadelphia is a poor city, open on every side, of which the port was
already closed. The presence of Congress made it famous, I know not why;
that’s what this famous city amounts to, which, by the way, we shall
retake sooner or later.’ If they continue to ply you with questions,
send them about their business in terms that the Vicomte de Noailles
will supply you with.”
It was true that General Howe had taken Philadelphia while Lafayette
had to nurse his wounded leg at Bethlehem. It was not until the latter
part of October that the Marquis was able to rejoin the army, and then
his wound had not sufficiently healed to allow him to wear a boot. The
battle of Germantown, by which Washington hoped to dislodge the British
from Philadelphia, had been fought, and the year’s campaign was about to
close. Two battles had been lost by the Americans in the south, but in
the north the British general Burgoyne had been obliged to surrender.
Washington’s headquarters were now at Methacton Hill, near the
Schuylkill River, and there Lafayette went, hoping for active service.
His chance for service came soon. Cornwallis had entered New Jersey
with five thousand men, and General Greene was sent to oppose him
with an equal number. Lafayette joined Greene as a volunteer, and at
Mount Holly he was ordered to reconnoitre. On November twenty-fifth he
found the enemy at Gloucester. Their forage wagons were crossing the
river to Philadelphia, and Lafayette, in order to make a more thorough
examination of their position, went dangerously far out on a tongue of
land. Here he might easily have been captured, but he was quick enough
to escape without injury. Later, at four o’clock in the afternoon, he
found himself before a post of Hessians, four hundred men with cannon.
Lafayette had one hundred and fifty sharpshooters under Colonel Butler,
and about two hundred militiamen and light-horse. He did not know the
strength of the enemy, but he attacked, and drove them back so boldly
that Cornwallis, thinking he must be dealing with all of Greene’s
forces, allowed his troops to retreat to Gloucester with a loss of sixty
men.
This was the first real opportunity Lafayette had had to show his
skill in leading men, and he had done so well that General Greene was
delighted. In the report he sent to Washington he said, “The Marquis
is charmed with the spirited behavior of the militia and rifle corps.
They drove the enemy about a mile and kept the ground until dark.... The
Marquis is determined to be in the way of danger.”
Lafayette had shown himself to be a daring and skilful officer; more
than that, he had endeared himself to the men under his command. And
this was more than could be said for most of the foreign officers in the
American army; many of them devoted the larger part of their time to
criticizing everything about them. Baron de Kalb expressed his opinion
of these adventurers from across the Atlantic in forceful terms. “These
people,” said he, “think of nothing but their incessant intrigues
and backbitings. They hate each other like the bitterest enemies, and
endeavor to injure each other whenever an opportunity offers. Lafayette
is the sole exception.... Lafayette is much liked and is on the best of
terms with Washington.”
It was natural, therefore, that Washington, having had such a good
account of the young Frenchman at the skirmish at Gloucester, should
be willing to gratify his desire for a regular command in the army. So
the commander-in-chief wrote to Congress concerning the Marquis. “There
are now some vacant positions in the army,” said Washington, “to one of
which he may be appointed, if it should be the pleasure of Congress.
I am convinced he possesses a large share of that military ardor that
characterizes the nobility of his country.”
And Congress agreed with Washington, and voted that “the Marquis de
Lafayette be appointed to the command of a division in the Continental
Army.” On December 4, 1777, the Frenchman was given the command of
the Virginia division. He was twenty years old, and it was only a
little more than a year since he had first heard from the Duke of
Gloucester about the fight of the American farmers for liberty. He had
accomplished a great deal in that year, and had won his spurs by pluck,
by perseverance, and by ability.
Naturally he was delighted at this evidence of the confidence that
Washington and the American Congress placed in him. He wrote to his
father-in-law, the Duke d’Ayen, the man who had tried his best to keep
him from coming to America, “At last I have what I have always wished
for,--the command of a division. It is weak in point of numbers; it is
almost naked, and I must make both clothes and recruits; but I read, I
study, I examine, I listen, I reflect, and upon the result of all this
I make an effort to form my opinion and to put into it as much common
sense as I can ... for I do not want to disappoint the confidence that
the Americans have so kindly placed in me.”
Events were soon to test both his ability and his mettle.
VI
LAFAYETTE WINS THE FRIENDSHIP OF WASHINGTON
In December, 1777, Washington’s army went into winter quarters at
Valley Forge. That winter was to test the courage and endurance
of the soldiers, for they were ill-clad, ill-provisioned, and the
road to victory appeared a long and weary one. Fortunately the
commander-in-chief was a man of intrepid soul, one who could instill
confidence into the men about him.
Lafayette quickly found that all the people of the young republic were
not in agreement about the war. Men called Tories joined the British
army, and in countless other ways hampered the work of Congress.
Business was at such a standstill that it was almost impossible to
obtain clothing, shoes, and the other supplies that were so urgently
needed, and as Congress had no power to impose and collect taxes
it was hard to raise any money. The different states had each its
jealousies of the others and each its own ends to serve, and indeed in
1777 the union was so loosely knitted that it was a wonder that it held
together at all.
Washington had chosen Valley Forge as his winter quarters because from
there he could watch the enemy, keep the British to their own picket
lines, and cut off supplies going into Philadelphia. Otherwise, however,
the place had little to recommend it. The farmhouses in the neighborhood
could hold only a few of the two thousand men who were on the sick-list,
whose shoeless feet were torn and frozen from marching and who were ill
from hunger and exposure. For the rest the soldiers had to build their
own shelters, and they cut logs in the woods, covered them with mud,
and made them into huts, each of which had to house fourteen men. There
the American troops, lacking necessary food and blankets, shivered and
almost starved during the long winter.
There were times when Washington would have liked to make a sortie or
an attack on the enemy, but his men were not in condition for it.
Constantly he wrote to Congress, urging relief for his army. Once a
number of members of Congress paid a visit to Valley Forge, and later
sent a remonstrance to the commander-in-chief, urging him not to keep
his army in idleness but to march on Philadelphia. To this Washington
answered, “I can assure those gentlemen that it is a much easier and
less distressing thing to draw remonstrances in a comfortable room, by
a good fireside, than to occupy a cold, bleak hill, and sleep under
frost and snow, without clothes or blankets. However, although they seem
to have little feeling for the naked and distressed soldiers, I feel
superabundantly for them; and from my soul I pity those miseries, which
it is neither in my power to relieve nor prevent.”
All those hardships Lafayette also shared, setting his men an example of
patience and fortitude that did much to help them through the rigorous
winter, and winning again and again the praise of his commander for his
devotion.
In the meantime some men of influence, known as the “Conway Cabal,”
from the name of one of the leaders, plotted to force Washington from
the chief command, and put General Greene in his place. They wanted
to use Lafayette as a catspaw, and decided that the first step was to
separate him from Washington’s influence. With this object in view they
planned an invasion of Canada, the command of the expedition to be given
to Lafayette. But Lafayette saw through the plotting, and refused to
lead the expedition except under Washington’s orders and with De Kalb
as his second in command. He also showed where he stood when he was
invited to York to meet some of the members of Congress and generals who
were opposing his leader. At a dinner given in his honor he rose, and,
lifting his glass, proposed a toast to “The health of George Washington,
our noble commander-in-chief!” The party had to drink the toast, and
they saw that the Frenchman was not to be swerved from his loyalty to
his chief.
Congress had decided on the expedition to Canada, though the
conspirators now saw that their plot had failed, and so Lafayette
set out for Albany in February, 1778, to take command of the army
of invasion. But when he got there he found that nothing had been
done by way of preparation, and that none of those in authority were
able to help him. Twelve hundred ill-provided men were all he could
raise, altogether too few and too poorly armed for such an ambitious
enterprise. Very much disappointed, he had to give up the idea of
leading such an army. More and more he grew convinced that all the hopes
of America rested on Washington.
That Washington might know his feelings, Lafayette wrote to him. “Take
away for an instant,” he said, “that modest diffidence of yourself
(which, pardon my freedom, my dear general, is sometimes too great,
and I wish you could know, as well as myself, what difference there is
between you and any other man), and you would see very plainly that, if
you were lost for America, there is no one who could keep the army and
the revolution for six months.... I am now fixed to your fate, and I
shall follow it and sustain it as well by my sword as by all means in my
power. You will pardon my importunity in favor of the sentiment which
dictated it.”
Washington was no less devoted to Lafayette. When the latter returned
disappointed from Albany the commander said to him, “However sensibly
your ardor for glory may make you feel this disappointment you may be
assured that your character stands as fair as it ever did, and that no
new enterprise is necessary to wipe off an imaginary stain.”
And Washington’s view was now so strongly held by Congress that it
immediately voted that it had “a high sense of the prudence, activity,
and zeal of the Marquis de Lafayette,” and that it was “fully persuaded
nothing has, or would have been, wanting on his part or on the part
of the officers who accompanied him to give the expedition the utmost
possible effect.”
Lafayette went back to Valley Forge to cheer his soldiers, and there,
early in May, 1778, news came that Benjamin Franklin had succeeded in
his efforts in France and that the government of Louis XVI. had decided
on “armed interference” in the affairs of America, and that a treaty of
alliance had been signed between the United States and the French king.
The army at Valley Forge was wild with delight at this news. How it must
have cheered Lafayette to know that his own country now stood with the
young republic of the west! Washington proclaimed a holiday and held a
review of his troops. Then the commander planned a new and more vigorous
campaign.
The British, now foreseeing possible French as well as American attack,
decided to give up Philadelphia and fall back on New York. Washington
learned of this, and in order to keep a check on the movements of his
opponents, he sent Lafayette with a strong force of two thousand picked
men to keep as close to the British lines as possible.
Lafayette joyfully led his command to a ridge called Barren Hill that
overlooked the Schuylkill. From here he could watch the road from
Philadelphia, and he at once fortified his camp. British scouts brought
reports of this to their generals, and the latter decided it would
be a capital plan to defeat the Frenchman’s forces and capture the
Marquis. This they considered so easy to accomplish that Generals Howe
and Clinton sent out invitations to their friends to a dinner at their
headquarters “to meet Monsieur the Marquis de Lafayette.”
On the morning of May twentieth eight thousand British and Hessian
soldiers with fifteen pieces of artillery marched out of Philadelphia
by one road to take Lafayette in the rear, while by another road a
force of grenadiers and cavalry marched to attack his right wing, and
a third column, commanded by Generals Howe and Clinton in person, with
the admiral, Lord Howe, accompanying them as a volunteer, took a third
road to attack the Marquis in front. In this way the enemy forces were
completely surrounding the American position, except on the side of the
river, by which they considered escape impossible.
Lafayette was talking with a young woman who had agreed to go into
Philadelphia and try to obtain information on the pretext of visiting
her relations there, when word was brought him that redcoats had been
seen in the rear. He was expecting a small force of dragoons, and his
first idea was that it was these who were approaching. But, being
a prudent commander, he at once sent out scouts, and these quickly
reported the advance of a large force. Immediately he made a change of
front under cover of the stone houses and the woods. Then messengers
dashed up with news of the real state of affairs. His little command was
about to be attacked in a three-cornered fight by an overwhelming number
of the enemy.
It was a ticklish position, and Lafayette came within a hair’s breadth
of being trapped and captured. His men called out to him that he was
completely surrounded. In the confusion of the moment he had to keep on
smiling, as he afterward said. It was a test fit to try the skill of a
much more experienced general than the young Frenchman. But this one had
studied his ground thoroughly, and lost not a moment in deciding on his
course. Back of his men was a road, hidden from the British by trees,
which led to a little-used crossing known as Matson’s Ford, a place
unknown to the enemy, though they were, as a matter of fact, much nearer
to it than Lafayette was.
The Marquis quickly threw out “false heads of columns,” that is, a few
men here and there, who were to march through the woods at different
points, and give the impression that his whole army was advancing to
battle. The British general saw these “false heads” and, taking them
to be the advance guards of the Americans, halted to form his lines.
Meantime Lafayette sent all his other troops at the double-quick down
the hidden road and across the ford, bringing up the rear himself and
waiting until he was joined by the men who had formed the false columns.
The small American army was almost all across the ford before the
enemy realized his mistake and began to attack. Then, as the three
British columns climbed the hill to crush the Americans according to
their plans, they met only each other. They tried to make an attack on
Lafayette’s rear, but by that time he was out of their reach. He crossed
the Schuylkill and reached the camp at Valley Forge without the loss of
a single man, to the great delight and relief of Washington, who had
heard of the danger in which Lafayette stood and had ordered signal guns
fired to warn him of it.
Lafayette had a good story to tell the commander-in-chief on his return.
A small body of Indian warriors had been stationed in ambush to attack
any stray parties of the enemy. As the Indians lay in the bushes they
saw a company of grenadiers in tall bearskin hats and scarlet coats
coming up the road. Never having seen such men as these before the
Indians were seized with terror, threw down their arms, and yelling as
loud as they could, made a dash for the river. The grenadiers, on their
part, seeing the painted faces and hearing the yells, thought they had
come on a crowd of devils, and hurried away as fast as they could in the
opposite direction.
Washington complimented Lafayette on what had really amounted to a
victory, the bringing his men in safety from an attack by overwhelming
forces, and advised Congress of the Frenchman’s “timely and handsome
retreat in great order.”
And so Generals Howe and Clinton were unable to present to their guests
at the dinner at their headquarters that evening “Monsieur the Marquis
de Lafayette,” as they had intended.
If the British generals meant to use their armies in the field it was
clear that they could not stay in Philadelphia indefinitely. As Franklin
said, instead of their having taken Philadelphia, Philadelphia had
taken them. They had spent the winter there in idleness, and unless
they purposed to spend the summer there in the same fashion they must
be on the move. Washington foresaw this, and called a council of war
to decide on plans for his forces, and at this council General Charles
Lee, who was then second in command, insisted that the Americans were
not strong enough to offer effective opposition to the enemy, although
Generals Greene, Wayne, Cadwalader, and Lafayette expressed contrary
opinions. Then, early in the morning of June 18, 1778, General Howe’s
army evacuated Philadelphia, and crossed the Delaware on their way to
New York.
Washington instantly prepared to follow. General Maxwell was sent out
in advance with a division of militia to impede the enemy’s progress
by burning bridges and throwing trees across the roads. The bulk of
the American army followed, and when they arrived near Princeton, in
New Jersey, Washington called another council. Here Lafayette made a
stirring plea for immediate action. But Lee again opposed this, and the
council decided, against Washington’s own judgment, not to bring on a
general engagement with the enemy.
Almost immediately, however, the advance of General Clinton threatened
one of the American detachments, and Lee was ordered to check this.
He declined to do so, saying it was contrary to the decision of the
council of war. At once the command was given to Lafayette, who took the
appointment with the greatest eagerness.
But the Marquis had hardly more than planned his advance when General
Lee interfered again. The latter saw that if the movement was successful
all the honor of it would go to Lafayette, and this was not at all
according to his wishes. So he appealed to Washington to replace him in
his command, and also went to Lafayette and asked the latter to retire
in his favor. “I place my fortune and my honor in your hands,” he said;
“you are too generous to destroy both the one and the other.”
He was right; Lafayette was too chivalrous to refuse such a request.
Lee had placed Washington in an awkward situation, but the Frenchman’s
tact and good-feeling, qualities which had already greatly endeared him
to all the Americans he had met, relieved the commander-in-chief of
the need of offending Lee. Lafayette immediately wrote to Washington,
“I want to repeat to you in writing what I have told to you; which is,
that if you believe it, or if it is believed, necessary or useful to
the good of the service and the honor of General Lee to send him down
with a couple of thousand men or any greater force, I will cheerfully
obey and serve him, not only out of duty, but out of what I owe to that
gentleman’s character.”
No wonder Washington liked a man who could be so unselfish as that! He
gave the command back to Lee, and arranged that Lafayette should lead
the advance.
Early the following morning Washington ordered an attack on the British
at Monmouth Court House, and on June 28, 1778, the battle of Monmouth
was fought. The result might have been very different if Lafayette, and
not Lee, had been in command. For Lee delayed, and when he did finally
move forward he assaulted what he thought was a division of the enemy,
but what turned out to be the main body. He was driven back, tried
another attack, got his officers confused by his contradictory orders,
and at last gave the word for a retreat, which threatened to become a
rout. At this point Washington rode up, questioned the officers, got no
satisfactory answer as to what had happened, and was so indignant that
when he reached General Lee he took the latter to task in the strongest
terms. Then he gave instant orders to make a stand, and by his superb
control of the situation succeeded in having his men repulse all further
attacks.
Lafayette meantime had led his cavalry in a charge, had done his best
to stem the retreat, and when Washington arrived reformed his line upon
a hill, and with the aid of a battery drove back the British. By his
efforts and those of the commander-in-chief the day was finally partly
saved and the American army manœuvred out of disaster.
Night came on and the troops camped where they were. Washington, wrapped
in his cloak, slept at the foot of a tree, with Lafayette beside him.
And when they woke in the morning they found that the enemy had stolen
away, leaving their wounded behind them.
So the honors of war at Monmouth, in spite of General Lee, lay with
Washington. The enemy, however, escaped across New Jersey and reached
New York without any further attacks by the Americans.
When Sir Henry Clinton arrived near Sandy Hook he found the English
fleet riding at anchor in the lower bay, having just come from the
Delaware. Heavy storms had broken through the narrow strip of sand that
connects Sandy Hook with the mainland, and it was now divided by a deep
channel. A bridge was made of the ships’ boats, and Clinton’s army
crossed over to the Hook, and was distributed on Long Island, Staten
Island, and in New York. In the meantime Washington moved his troops
from Monmouth to Paramus, where the Americans rested.
Now a French fleet of fourteen frigates and twelve battle-ships, under
the command of Count d’Estaing, reached the mouth of the Delaware at
about that time. Monsieur Gérard, the minister sent to the United
States by the court of France, and Silas Deane, were on board, and when
D’Estaing heard that Lord Howe’s squadron had left the Delaware he sent
Gérard and Deane up to Philadelphia in a frigate, and sailed along the
coast to Sandy Hook, where he saw the English fleet at anchor inside.
He had considerable advantage over Lord Howe in point of strength,
and at once prepared to attack the enemy squadron. Anticipating this,
Washington crossed the Hudson River at King’s Ferry, and on July
twentieth took up a position at White Plains.
The French fleet, however, could not make the attack. They could find no
pilots who were willing to take the large ships into New York harbor,
for all the pilots agreed that there was not enough water there, and the
French admiral’s own soundings confirmed their opinion.
Washington and D’Estaing therefore agreed on a joint expedition against
Newport, in Rhode Island. Washington sent orders to General Sullivan at
Providence to ask the states of Massachusetts, Connecticut, and Rhode
Island to supply enough militia to make up an army of five thousand men.
At the same time he sent Lafayette with two thousand men from the Hudson
to Providence to support the French naval attack.
On July twenty-ninth the French fleet reached Point Judith and anchored
about five miles from Newport. General Sullivan and Lafayette and some
other officers went on board to make plans for the joint attack. The
British troops numbered about six thousand men, and they were strongly
intrenched. The allies had some four thousand men on the French ships
and between nine and ten thousand Americans at Providence.
Disputes arose as to the best plan of campaign; it was argued whether
the men of the two nations would fight better separately or together.
Then the English fleet appeared in the distance, and D’Estaing,
considering that it was his chief business to destroy the enemy
squadron, at once stood out to sea. A violent storm came up, driving the
two fleets apart, and doing great damage to ships on both sides. When
the storm subsided D’Estaing insisted on sailing his fleet to Boston to
make needed repairs, and so the joint expedition came to an end, without
having struck a blow. General Sullivan’s plans were in confusion.
Lafayette rode to Boston and begged the French admiral to come back as
soon as he could. At last D’Estaing promised to land his sailors and
march them overland to Newport; but before he could do this the British
were strongly reinforced, and Lafayette had to gallop back to protect
his own rear-guard forces. The Americans were in peril, but again, as at
Monmouth, he was able to save them from defeat.
There was great disappointment over the failure of the attack on
Newport, and this was increased by the feeling that there had been
disputes between the American and French commanders. Lafayette had
all he could do to make each side appreciate the other. In this he
was greatly helped by Washington, who wrote to both the French and
the American generals, soothing their discontent, patching up their
differences, and urging future union for the sake of the common cause.
It was now autumn, and there was little prospect of a further campaign
that year. Wearied by the many misunderstandings, distressed by the
failure of the joint attack, homesick and sad over the news of the death
of his little daughter in France, Lafayette decided to ask for a leave
of absence and go back to France on furlough. In October he reached
Philadelphia and presented his request. Washington, much as he disliked
to lose Lafayette’s services even for a short time, seconded his
wishes. And Congress, which only sixteen months before had hesitated
to accept his services, now did all it could to pay him the greatest
honor. It thanked him for his high assistance and zeal, it directed
the American minister in Paris to present him with a sword of honor,
and it ordered its best war-ship, the frigate _Alliance_, to convey
him to France. Henry Laurens, the president of Congress, wrote to King
Louis XVI. that Congress could not allow Lafayette to depart without
testifying its appreciation of his courage, devotion, patience, and the
uniform excellence of conduct which had won the confidence of the United
States and the affection of its citizens.
And finally Monsieur Gérard, the French minister at Philadelphia, wrote
to his government in Paris, “You know how little inclined I am to
flattery, but I cannot resist saying that the prudent, courageous, and
amiable conduct of the Marquis de Lafayette has made him the idol of the
Congress, the army, and the people of America.”
With words like these ringing in his ears, Lafayette said good-bye to
George Washington in October, 1778, and rode away from camp, bound for
Boston, where he was to board the frigate _Alliance_.
VII
THE FRENCHMAN IN THE FIELD AGAIN
Lafayette, on his way to board the _Alliance_, rode into the town
of Fishkill-on-the-Hudson, and there fell ill of fever. He had been
entertained by people all the way from Philadelphia to the camp on the
Hudson, and these constant receptions, combined with chilly and wet
weather, brought on malaria. The Marquis was very sick; Washington
rode daily from his camp eight miles away to inquire about Lafayette’s
condition, and insisted on his own physician taking charge of the
patient. And when the young Frenchman recovered the commander-in-chief
sent his physician on to Boston with him, and wrote him, “I am
persuaded, my dear marquis, that there is no need of fresh proofs to
convince you either of my affection for you personally or of the high
opinion I entertain of your military talents and merit.”
The strongest affection bound these two men, so different in many
respects, so alike in their love of liberty and honor. On board his ship
in Boston Harbor Lafayette added a postscript to a letter to Washington.
“The sails are just going to be hoisted, my dear general,” he said,
“and I have but time to take my last leave of you.... Farewell. I hope
your French friend will ever be dear to you; I hope I shall soon see
you again, and tell you myself with what emotion I now leave the coast
you inhabit and with what affection and respect I am forever, my dear
general, your respectful and sincere friend, Lafayette.”
On January 11, 1779, the _Alliance_ sailed for France, having had so
much difficulty in making up its crew that a number of English prisoners
and deserters had been pressed into service as sailors. This makeshift
crew came very near to proving disastrous for the Marquis. An English
law offered to pay the full value of any American ship to the crew that
would bring it into an English port, and there were considerably more
English prisoners and deserters in the crew of the _Alliance_ than there
were American and French sailors. The _Alliance_ was approaching the
French coast, having just weathered a storm, when a sailor ran into
the cabin where the officers were sitting. He said that the prisoners
and deserters who had been pressed into service had planned a mutiny,
and that, taking him for an Irishman, they had offered him the command
in case of success. A lookout was to give the signal “Sail ho!” and as
the officers came on deck in a group they were to be shot down by cannon
loaded with grape-shot and the ship sailed into an English port, where
the mutineers would divide the profits. The loyal American sailor said
that the signal would be given in about an hour.
Immediately the officers seized their swords, and, rushing on deck,
called the Americans and Frenchmen together. The thirty-three mutineers,
taken by surprise, were captured and clapped into irons, and the rest of
the crew sailed the _Alliance_ into the French harbor of Brest a week
later.
Here Lafayette was welcomed with delight. The young fellow who had run
away to sea in the _Victory_ was returning like a hero in a war-ship
of the new American republic. In triumph he landed at Brest, and as he
hurried to Paris to see his family he was greeted by joyful crowds
all along his route. He stopped at the royal palace of Versailles, and
his old friend Marie Antoinette came out into the gardens to hear him
tell his adventures. King Louis sent for him, and ordered him under
arrest as a deserter, but with a twinkling eye declared that his prison
should be his father-in-law’s great house in Paris, and his jailer his
wife Adrienne. Then the King forgave him for running away to America,
congratulated him, and, with his ministers, consulted the Marquis about
affairs in the United States. Lafayette said, “I had the honor of being
consulted by all the ministers and, what was a great deal better, of
being kissed by all the women.”
The welcome he cared for the most was that from his wife, who had
followed him in her thoughts all the time he had been in America, and
had always sympathized with him and wished success for his plans. The
Duke d’Ayen was delighted to see him and welcomed him to his house with
open arms. Whenever the Marquis appeared on the street he was cheered by
admiring throngs. The actors in the theatres put special words in their
parts to honor Lafayette; poems were written about him; and the young
man of twenty-one became the lion of Paris.
In a sense he represented the connecting link in the alliance that now
united the two countries, and that alliance was in great favor with the
people. He also stood for that ideal of “liberty” which was rapidly
becoming the ruling thought of France. It would have been easy for him
to rest on his laurels now, and feel that he had accomplished all that
was needed of him.
But instead he used all this hero-worship to further his one aim--more
help for the young republic across the sea. “In the midst of the whirl
of excitement by which I was carried along,” he said, “I never lost
sight of the revolution, the success of which still seemed to me to
be extremely uncertain; accustomed as I was to seeing great purposes
accomplished with slender means, I used to say to myself that the cost
of a single fête would have equipped the army of the United States, and
in order to provide clothes for them I would gladly have stripped the
palace at Versailles.”
With this desire to help the United States ever in his thoughts he went
to see Benjamin Franklin, and with Franklin and the American sea-captain
John Paul Jones he planned an expedition against England in which he
should lead the land forces and Paul Jones command the fleet. While they
were arranging this the French government suggested a greater plan.
Spain was to unite with France in defense of America. Details were being
worked out when John Paul Jones embarked in his ship, the _Bon Homme
Richard_, and had his famous sea-fight with the _Serapis_. But the
Spanish government delayed and at last the French gave up the idea of a
joint attack on England.
Meantime Lafayette joined the French army again and was commissioned a
colonel of the King’s Dragoons. While he was waiting at Havre he was
presented by Franklin’s grandson with the sword that the Congress of the
United States had ordered should be given to him. It was a beautiful
sword; the handle was of gold, exquisitely wrought, and decorated, as
well as the blade, with figures emblematical of Lafayette’s career in
America, with his coat of arms and his motto, “_Cur non?_”
And while he waited he was always impatient to be of help to his friends
across the Atlantic. To Washington he wrote, “However happy I find
myself in France, however well treated by my country and my king, I am
so accustomed to being near to you, I am bound to you, to America, to my
companions in arms by such an affection, that the moment when I sail for
your country will be among the happiest and most wished for of my life.”
His great work during that year he spent in France was the winning of
a French army, under the Count de Rochambeau, to fight by the side
of the Americans. There was opposition to this at first, for neither
Louis XVI. nor Marie Antoinette nor the royal princes who surrounded
them cared to encourage the spirit of liberty too far. But the people,
backed by their hero, Lafayette, demanded it, and at last their
persistency won the day. The government of France decided to send an
army, commanded by Rochambeau, lieutenant-general of the royal forces,
with a fleet of warships and transports and six thousand soldiers, to
the aid of America.
Lafayette was sent ahead to carry the welcome news to Washington and
Congress, and to let them know that there would be no more of the
jealousies and disputes that had hindered the success of the French
and Americans in the field before. For Lafayette had arranged that the
French troops should be under Washington’s orders, that they should
accept the leadership of the American officers on the latter’s own
ground, and that officers of the United States should be recognized as
having equal rank with those of France. This harmony that Lafayette
secured had a great deal to do with the final successful outcome of the
American Revolution.
He sailed on the French frigate _Hermione_, and reached Boston on April
28, 1780. The people of Boston escorted him with cheers to the house of
Governor John Hancock on Beacon Hill. This was the same John Hancock
who had once turned Lafayette over to Gouverneur Morris with scarcely a
word of welcome, but he greeted him differently now. Instead of being
an adventurous foreign recruit the Marquis was a major-general in the
American army and the official representative of the court of France.
From Boston he went to Morristown, where Washington had his
headquarters, and there the two friends discussed the situation.
Lafayette told of the coming of the French fleet and army, which brought
the greatest joy to the commander-in-chief, because he could only
speak of the hardships his soldiers had borne during the winter, the
difficulty of securing recruits, and the general discouragement of the
country. Greatly cheered himself, he sent Lafayette to Philadelphia to
make his report to Congress, and set himself to the work of rousing his
army and the people to welcome the men from France.
In Philadelphia Lafayette received the thanks of Congress for his
services in Europe, and then busied himself with the equipment of the
army. Washington’s troops certainly needed some attention. Half-fed and
half-clothed, with only four thousand out of six thousand soldiers fit
for duty, they presented so sorry an appearance that Lafayette said to
the president of Congress, “though I have been directed to furnish the
French court and the French generals with early and minute intelligence,
I confess that pride has stopped my pen and, notwithstanding past
promises, I have avoided entering into any details till our army is put
in a better and more decent situation.”
But Washington roused Congress and the country, and by the time the
French fleet arrived the American army was in much better condition.
On July 10, 1780, the Count de Rochambeau, with the French army, reached
Newport, and the French commander, informing Washington of his arrival,
declared, as his government had instructed him, “We are now, sir, under
your command.”
Plans had to be laid, arrangements made for the union of the French and
American armies, and much time was taken up in military discussions. One
of Lafayette’s pet schemes was broached again, the invasion of Canada
by the joint forces, and the details of this invasion were entrusted
to General Benedict Arnold, who was to be in command. On September
twentieth Washington, with Lafayette and General Knox, met the Count
de Rochambeau and Admiral de Terney, who commanded the French fleet,
and final arrangements were made. But at this very moment events were
taking place which were to frustrate the scheme.
For at the very moment when Washington and Rochambeau were in conference
at Hartford Benedict Arnold and Major John André, of the British
army, were holding a secret meeting, the object of which was to give
Washington’s plans to the enemy. It so happened that Washington, when
he left Hartford with Knox and Lafayette, took a roundabout road in
order to show the Marquis the fortifications which had been built at
West Point in his absence. On the morning of September twenty-fourth the
party of American officers arrived within a mile of the Robinson house,
where Mrs. Benedict Arnold was expecting them at breakfast.
Washington, absorbed in his work, was about to ride on when Lafayette
reminded him of Mrs. Arnold’s invitation. The commander-in-chief
laughed. “Ah, Marquis,” he said, “you young men are all in love with
Mrs. Arnold. I see you are eager to be with her as soon as possible. Go
and breakfast with her, and tell her not to wait for me. I must ride
down and examine the redoubts on this side of the river, but will be
with her shortly.”
Lafayette and Knox, however, preferred to ride on with the General, and
the message was sent to the Robinson house by Colonel Hamilton and Major
McHenry. Mrs. Arnold, who had lately joined her husband there with her
baby, welcomed her guests and entertained them at breakfast. It was a
trying situation for her husband, for it happened that that was the very
day on which he was to make his final arrangements with the British.
While they sat at the breakfast-table a messenger galloped up to the
door with a letter for Arnold. He opened it and read that André had
been captured, and the secret papers found upon him had been sent to
Washington. Arnold rose from the table and beckoned his wife to follow
him to her room. There he told her that he was a ruined man and must
fly for his life. Leaving her fainting on the floor, he left the house,
mounted the messenger’s horse, and dashed down to the river through a
ravine. There he boarded his boat, and was rowed rapidly down the river
to the English ship _The Vulture_.
Almost immediately after Arnold’s hurried departure Washington,
Lafayette, and Knox reached the Robinson house. The commander supposed
that Arnold had gone to West Point to prepare for his reception, and,
having eaten a hasty breakfast, Washington and his companions crossed
the river. No salute, however, was fired at their approach, and Colonel
Lamb, the officer in command, came and apologized, saying that he had
received no information of Washington’s visit.
“Is not General Arnold here?” Washington inquired.
“No, sir,” said Lamb. “He has not been here for two days, nor have I
heard from him in that time.”
Somewhat surprised, but still unsuspicious, Washington and the others
spent the morning examining the works.
As they rode back to the Robinson house about noon they were met by
Colonel Hamilton, who took Washington aside, and handed him the secret
papers that had been found on André. At once the whole plot was clear.
Washington sent Hamilton immediately to arrest Arnold, but the Colonel
found that the man had already flown. Then the commander-in-chief told
the news to Lafayette and Knox, and, saying how much he had always
trusted General Arnold, added, “Whom can we trust now?”
It was Lafayette who later tried to comfort Mrs. Arnold, when the full
realization of her husband’s disgrace almost drove her to despair.
And he sat with the other general officers at a court-martial in the
headquarters at Tappan on the Hudson when John André, adjutant-general
of the British army, after a fair trial, was convicted of being a spy
and was sentenced to be hung. But Lafayette was a very generous judge,
and wrote of André later, “He was a very interesting man; he conducted
himself in a manner so frank, so noble, and so delicate, that I cannot
help feeling for him an infinite pity.”
The treason of Benedict Arnold prevented the invasion of Canada, and
Lafayette saw no active service for some time. He spent the autumn
in camp on the Hudson and in New Jersey, and part of the winter in
Philadelphia. A number of French officers had gathered here, and they,
used to the gayeties of the most brilliant court in Europe, added much
to the amusements of the American capital. Every one liked the French
guests, and the foreign officers, on their part, liked and admired their
new allies. Sometimes the self-denying seriousness of the Americans,
which was an element of their national strength, amused and surprised
the gayer Frenchmen. One of the latter, the Marquis de Chastellux, told
a story about Philadelphia in his volume of “Travels.” He said that at
balls in Philadelphia it was the custom to have a Continental officer
as the master of ceremonies, and that at one party he attended that
position was held by a Colonel Mitchell, who showed the same devotion to
duty in the ballroom that he showed on the field of battle. This Colonel
saw a young girl so busily talking that she could pay little attention
to the figures of the quadrille, so he marched up to her and said to her
severely, “Take care what you are doing; do you suppose you are there
for your pleasure?”
Naturally the Marquis de Chastellux and his friends, fresh from the
world of Marie Antoinette, where pleasure was always the first aim, had
many a laugh at the people of this new world. But with the laugh there
always went respect and admiration.
So Lafayette passed the time until the campaign of 1781 opened. He wrote
often to his wife, and sent her a long letter by his friend Colonel
Laurens, when the latter went on a mission to the court of France.
Another child had been born to the Marquis and Adrienne, a son, who
was given the name of George Washington. “Embrace our children,” wrote
Lafayette, “thousands of times for me. Although a vagabond, their father
is none the less tender, less constantly thoughtful of them, less happy
to hear from them. My heart perceives, as in a delicious perspective,
the moment when my dear children will be presented to me by you, and
when we can kiss and caress them together. Do you think that Anastasie
will recognize me?” And, as he could never write without thinking of the
brave army he commanded, he added, “Only _citizens_ could support the
nakedness, the hunger, the labors, and the absolute lack of pay which
constitute the conditions of our soldiers, the most enduring and the
most patient, I believe, of any in the world.”
In January, 1781, word came to Washington’s headquarters that General
Benedict Arnold had landed in Virginia with a good-sized army, was
laying waste the country, and had already destroyed the valuable stores
collected at Richmond. If Arnold’s campaign should succeed the result
would be to place all the Southern States in the hands of the enemy.
Let him defeat the few American troops in Virginia and he could march
to join the English General Cornwallis, who was pressing General Greene
very hard in the Carolinas.
Indeed Cornwallis already appeared to hold the south in his grasp. He
had beaten the small contingents of American troops in that country,
and at the battle of Camden, in South Carolina, Lafayette’s old
companion, the Baron de Kalb, had fallen in battle. It was of the
utmost importance, therefore, to defeat or capture Arnold, who had been
rewarded for his treason by being made a general in the British army,
and Washington at once planned to send a detachment from his main army
against Arnold by land, and a naval force to Chesapeake Bay to cut off
his escape by sea. The French admiral ordered a ship-of-the-line and
two frigates to the Chesapeake, and Washington placed twelve hundred
light infantry under Lafayette with instructions to aid the fleet.
This command, of the greatest importance, showed the confidence and
trust that the commander-in-chief felt in the military ability of the
Frenchman.
Lafayette marched rapidly south and reached the Head of the Elk on March
second, three days earlier than had been expected. Here he embarked
his troops on small boats and descended to Annapolis. Seeing no signs
of the French squadron, he concluded that they had been delayed by
adverse winds, and, leaving his army at Annapolis, he went with a few
officers to consult with Baron Steuben and seek his aid. He secured some
companies of militia at Williamsburg, near the York River, and proceeded
to the camp of General Muhlenberg, near Suffolk, to have a look at
Benedict Arnold’s defenses at Portsmouth.
Meantime a large fleet appeared in Chesapeake Bay. Lafayette, and Arnold
also, thought that this must be the French squadron, but the American
commander soon received word that the ships were English. It turned
out that the first French squadron had found there was too little water
in the bay for them, and had sailed back to Newport, while a second
squadron had been driven off by the English. The result was that General
Arnold’s forces were relieved from danger, and the enemy reinforced by
two new regiments under General Phillips, who now took command of all
the English armies in Virginia.
Washington’s orders to Lafayette had been that he was to try to capture
Arnold, and that if the French fleet should be defeated he should march
his men back to headquarters without further risk. So he now sent his
militia to Williamsburg and forwarded orders to Annapolis to have the
troops prepared for immediate departure. When he reached Annapolis he
found there were great difficulties in the way of transporting his men
to Elk. There were very few horses or wagons or small boats for crossing
the ferries, and the port was blocked by English ships. He had resort
to a clever stratagem. He put two eighteen-pounders on a small sloop,
which, with another ship under Commodore Nicholson, sailed out toward
the enemy vessels, firing their guns as if about to attack. The two
English ships on guard withdrew a considerable distance down the bay,
and then Lafayette embarked his troops on his own boats and got them out
of the harbor and up the bay to Elk. They reached there safely during
the night, followed by Lafayette and Nicholson in the sloop.
When Washington heard of General Phillips’ arrival in Virginia his
anxiety was great. The situation in the south was extremely perilous.
General Greene was having all he could do to oppose Lord Cornwallis
in North Carolina. Unless strong opposition could be brought against
Phillips the latter could quickly overrun Virginia and unite with
Cornwallis. In this predicament the commander-in-chief determined to put
the defense of Virginia in the hands of Lafayette.
Lafayette heard of this new appointment as soon as he reached Elk. The
task was a great one. His men lacked proper equipment and even necessary
clothing, and they were much disheartened by the unsuccessful campaign
in the south. He borrowed ten thousand dollars from the merchants
of Baltimore on his personal security and bought his army food and
supplies. Then he told his men that his business was to fight an enemy
greatly superior in numbers, through difficulties of every sort, and
that any soldier who was unwilling to accompany him might avoid the
penalties of desertion by applying for a pass to the North. His men,
placed on their mettle, stood by him cheerfully. Immediately Lafayette
marched on Richmond, reaching that place a day ahead of General
Phillips. And General Phillips was so much impressed by Lafayette’s
show of strength that he gave up his intention of seizing Richmond and
retreated down the James River.
Cornwallis heard of this, and, vowing that he would defeat “that boy
Lafayette,” as he called the Marquis, stopped his campaign against
Greene in North Carolina and determined that he would himself take
command in Virginia. Cornwallis, a major-general and an officer of great
experience, expected an easy task when he sent word to Phillips to await
his arrival at the town of Petersburg.
When he heard that Cornwallis was moving north and that Phillips was
on the march Lafayette guessed that they intended to join forces, and
hurried toward Petersburg to prevent it. Phillips, however, was nearer
to that town and reached it before Lafayette, who was obliged to fall
back on Richmond, but who sent out Colonel Gimat, with artillery, to
keep the enemy busy.
On May thirteenth General Phillips died at Petersburg. It was before
this general’s guns that Lafayette’s father had fallen at the battle
of Hastenbeck. Benedict Arnold was second in command, and on taking
Phillips’ place he sent a letter to Lafayette under a flag of truce.
When the latter learned the name of the writer he at once informed the
men who brought Arnold’s communication that while he would be glad
to treat with any other English officer he could not read a message
from this one. This placed General Arnold in a difficult position
and was resented by a threat to send all American prisoners to the
West Indies. But when the people heard of it they were delighted, and
Washington wrote to the Marquis, “Your conduct upon every occasion
meets my approbation, but in none more than in your refusing to hold a
correspondence with Arnold.”
On May 24, 1781, Cornwallis, having joined his army to that of Arnold
at Petersburg and having rested his men, marched out with his whole
force to attack Lafayette at Richmond. At Byrd’s Plantation, where the
British commander had his quarters, he wrote of his opponent, “The boy
cannot escape me.”
Lafayette, on his part, knew that his enemy had a fine fighting
force, and that he must be wary to avoid him. The Marquis said, “Lord
Cornwallis marches with amazing celerity. But I have done everything
I could, without arms or men, at least to impede him by local
embarrassments.”
And he did embarrass the Earl. He led him a dance through the country
about Richmond, he retreated across the Chickahominy River to
Fredericksburg, time and again he just escaped the swiftly pursuing
British. He knew he could not venture on fighting without the aid of
more troops, and he kept up his retreat until he was joined by General
Wayne with Pennsylvania soldiers on June tenth. Then he planned to take
the offensive, and rapidly crossed the Rapidan River in the direction of
Cornwallis.
Cornwallis would have liked a direct battle with the Americans, but
again Lafayette proved wary. While the British army blocked the road to
Albemarle, Lafayette discovered an old unused road and under cover of
night marched his men along it and took up a strong position before the
town. There militia joined him from the neighboring mountains, and he
was able to show so strong a front that the British commander did not
dare to attack him. In his turn Cornwallis retreated, first to Richmond
and then to Williamsburg, near the coast, and left the greater part of
Virginia in the control of the Americans.
Lafayette now became the pursuer instead of the pursued, and harried
Cornwallis on the rear and flanks. The famous cavalry officer, Colonel
Tarleton, serving under Cornwallis, described the pursuit: “The Marquis
de Lafayette, who had previously practised defensive manœuvres with
skill and security, being now reinforced by General Wayne and about
eight hundred Continentals and some detachments of militia, followed
the British as they proceeded down the James River. This design,
being judiciously arranged and executed with extreme caution, allowed
opportunity for the junction of Baron Steuben, confined the small
detachments of the King’s troops, and both saved the property and
animated the drooping spirits of the Virginians.”
Lafayette was proving that Washington’s confidence in him was well
placed and showing himself an extraordinarily able commander in the
field.
At Williamsburg Cornwallis received word from General Clinton in New
York that a part of the British troops in Virginia were to be sent
north. In order to embark these troops he set out for Portsmouth on
July fourth. Knowing that the enemy would be obliged to cross the James
River at James Island, Lafayette decided to attack their rear as soon as
a considerable number should have passed the ford. Cornwallis foresaw
this, and sending his baggage-wagons across arranged his men to surprise
the Americans.
Toward sunset on July sixth Lafayette crossed the causeways that led to
the British position and opened an attack. General Wayne, whose popular
nickname was “Mad Anthony,” led the advance with a thousand riflemen,
dragoons, and two pieces of artillery. Lafayette, with twelve hundred
infantry, was ready to support him. But at Wayne’s first advance he
found that the whole British army was before him; he attacked with
the greatest vigor; Lafayette, however, realizing that Cornwallis had
prepared a surprise, ordered a retreat to General Muhlenberg’s station a
half mile in the rear. Had Cornwallis pursued he must have defeated the
American forces, which had to cross long log bridges over marshy land,
but in his turn he feared an ambush, and was content to bring his men
safely across the James and proceed to Portsmouth.
The British were now at Portsmouth and the rest of Virginia in the
Americans’ hands. Lafayette wrote a description of the situation to
Washington, and added, “Should a French fleet now come into Hampton
Roads, the British army would, I think, be ours.” Hardly had his letter
reached Washington when a French ship arrived at Newport with word that
the fleet of the French Count de Grasse had left the West Indies bound
for Chesapeake Bay. Instantly Washington saw that he ought not now to
direct his attack against Clinton in New York, but against Cornwallis
in Virginia.
Cornwallis, wanting to take up a strong position with easy access to
the sea, began to move his army to Yorktown on August first. At the
same time Lafayette arranged his forces so as to cut off any retreat
of the enemy. And while this was going on, and the fleet of the Count
de Grasse was nearing the coast, Washington and Rochambeau met in the
old Livingston manor-house at Dobb’s Ferry on the Hudson on August
fourteenth and planned their joint campaign against Yorktown.
Then the two armies marched south. The Continental troops, many ragged
and poorly armed, but with green sprigs in their caps, passed through
Philadelphia on September second, and the French, more sprucely and
gaily uniformed, followed them the next day. On September twelfth
Washington reached Mount Vernon, which he had not seen for six years,
and there entertained Rochambeau and other French officers. Two days
later he took command of the allied forces at Williamsburg, and on the
seventeenth visited De Grasse on his flag-ship, and completed plans for
the siege. The army held the mainland, the French fleet blocked the
path to the sea, and Cornwallis was trapped at Yorktown.
The end of the drama came swiftly. The American and French entrenchments
drew closer and closer to the British lines until they were only three
hundred yards apart. Then, on October fourteenth, Lafayette’s men, led
by Colonel Alexander Hamilton, charged the British works on the left,
while the French grenadiers stormed a redoubt on the right. The outer
works were won in this attack, which proved to be the last battle of the
Revolution.
The next night Cornwallis tried to cut his way out from Yorktown and
escape across the York River to Gloucester. Watchful outposts drove him
back. On October seventeenth a British drummer appeared on Yorktown’s
ramparts and beat a parley. An American and a French officer met two
British officers at a farmhouse, and articles of surrender were drawn
up and accepted. Two days later, on October 19, 1781, the army of
Cornwallis marched out of Yorktown and passed between the American and
French troops, commanded respectively by Washington and Rochambeau.
The French officer who had prepared the articles of surrender at the
farmhouse was Lafayette’s brother-in-law, the Vicomte de Noailles, one
of the two young men to whom Lafayette had taken the word that he meant
to go “to America to fight for liberty!” Now the Vicomte saw that the
ardent hopes of the young enthusiast had borne such glorious fruit!
There stands a monument on the heights above the York River, in
Virginia, and on one side of it are these words: “At York, on October
19, 1781, after a siege of nineteen days, by 5,500 American and 7,000
French Troops of the Line, 3,500 Virginia Militia under command of
General Thomas Nelson and 36 French ships of war, Earl Cornwallis,
Commander of the British Forces at York and Gloucester, surrendered his
army, 7,251 officers and men, 840 seamen, 244 cannons and 24 standards
to His Excellency George Washington, Commander in Chief of the Combined
Forces of America and France, to His Excellency the Comte de Rochambeau,
commanding the auxiliary Troops of His Most Christian Majesty in
America, and to His Excellency the Comte de Grasse, commanding in chief
the Naval Army of France in Chesapeake.”
It was largely due to Lafayette that the French fleet and the army of
Rochambeau had crossed the ocean and that the Americans in Virginia had
succeeded in bottling up Cornwallis at Yorktown and so bringing an end
to the Revolution. Close to Washington he must forever stand as one of
the great men who won liberty for the United States!
VIII
THE MARQUIS AIDS THE UNITED STATES IN FRANCE
Word of the surrender at Yorktown was received all through the thirteen
States with the greatest joy. Watchmen calling the hours of the night
in the cities cried, “Twelve o’clock! All’s well, and Cornwallis has
surrendered!” Everywhere the people hailed this event as heralding the
close of the long and distressing war. When one thinks of what they had
endured since 1775 there is no wonder at the hymns of thanksgiving.
And a ship at once sailed across the Atlantic to France with the glad
tidings.
The surrender at Yorktown did mark the beginning of the end of the
Revolution, though the conflict went on in a desultory fashion for two
years more, and it was not until November 25, 1783, that the British
evacuated New York City. But after Yorktown many of the French officers
went home, and among them Lafayette. He wrote to the French minister,
“The play is over, Monsieur le comte; the fifth act has just come to
an end. I was somewhat disturbed during the former acts, but my heart
rejoices exceedingly at this last, and I have no less pleasure in
congratulating you upon the happy ending of our campaign.”
Both Lafayette and Congress felt that the Marquis could now help the
country greatly by his presence in France in case more men and money
should be needed for further campaigns. So, with Washington’s approval,
Congress agreed that “Major-General the Marquis de Lafayette have
permission to go to France and that he return at such time as shall be
most convenient to him.” And Congress also voted that Lafayette “be
informed that, on a review of his conduct throughout the past campaign
and particularly during the period in which he had the chief command in
Virginia, the many new proofs which present themselves of his zealous
attachment to the cause he has espoused, and of his judgment, vigilance,
gallantry, and address in its defense, have greatly added to the high
opinion entertained by Congress of his merits and military talents.”
He took his leave of Washington, the man he admired more than any other
in the world, and the commander-in-chief, who looked on the young
Frenchman as if the latter was his own son, said in his dignified
fashion, “I owe it to your friendship and to my affectionate regard for
you, my dear marquis, not to let you leave this country without carrying
with you fresh marks of my attachment to you and new expressions of the
high sense I entertain of your military conduct and other important
services in the course of the last campaign, although the latter are too
well known to need the testimony of my approbation, and the former, I
persuade myself, you believe is too well riveted to undergo diminution
or change.”
The Frenchman was not so reserved as the American. His ardent spirit
shows in the letter he wrote his commander. “Adieu, my dear general,” he
said. “I know your heart so well that I am sure that no distance can
alter your attachment to me. With the same candor I assure you that my
love, my respect, my gratitude for you are above expression; that, at
the moment of leaving you, I feel more than ever the struggle of those
friendly ties that forever bind me to you, and that I anticipate the
pleasure, the most wished-for pleasure, to be again with you, and, by my
zeal and services, to gratify the feelings of my respect and affection.”
On December 23, 1781, Lafayette sailed from Boston on the same frigate
_Alliance_ that had carried him back to France the first time. He was
to be received in his native land like a conquering hero. Already
Vergennes, the Secretary of State of France, had written to him. “Our
joy is very great here and throughout the nation,” said Vergennes, “and
you may be assured that your name is held in veneration.... I have been
following you, M. le Marquis, step by step, throughout your campaign in
Virginia; and I should frequently have been anxious for your welfare if
I had not been confident of your wisdom. It required a great deal of
skill to maintain yourself, as you did, for so long a time, in spite of
the disparity of your forces, before Lord Cornwallis, whose military
talents are well known. It was you who brought him to the fatal ending,
where, instead of his making you a prisoner of war, as he probably
expected to do, you forced him to surrender.”
He landed in France on January 17, 1782. If his former arrival had been
a succession of triumphs, this one was doubly so. When he reached the
house of the Duke de Noailles in Paris his wife was attending a fête
at the Hôtel de Ville in honor of the birth of the Dauphin. As soon as
his arrival became known the Queen took Madame de Lafayette in her own
carriage and went with her to welcome the Marquis. Louis XVI. announced
that he had promoted Lafayette to the high rank of “Maréchal de camp,”
and wrote to him, through his minister of war, “The King, having been
informed, sir, of the military skill of which you have given repeated
proof in the command of the various army corps entrusted to you in
America, of the wisdom and prudence which have marked the services that
you have performed in the interest of the United States, and of the
confidence which you have won from General Washington, his Majesty has
charged me to announce to you that the commendations which you most
fully deserve have attracted his notice, and that your conduct and your
success have given him, sir, the most favorable opinion of you, such as
you might wish him to have, and upon which you may rely for his future
good-will.”
Every one delighted to entertain and praise him; the Marshal de
Richelieu invited him to dine with all the marshals of France, and at
the dinner the health of Washington was drunk with every honor. And if
the King and the nobles were loud in their acclaim, the people were
no less so; they called Lafayette by such extravagant titles as the
“Conqueror of Cornwallis” and “the Saviour of America with Washington.”
Had it not been that Lafayette had a remarkably level head the things
that people said and wrote about him might almost have made him believe
that he had won the Revolution in America single-handed.
Naturally he enjoyed being with his dear wife and children again, but
he was not a man who could contentedly lead the idle life of a nobleman
in Paris. Soon he was busy doing what he could to help the cause of
the young American republic in France. He saw a great deal of John
Adams and Benjamin Franklin, the commissioners of the United States to
the French court, and Franklin wrote home concerning him, “The Marquis
de Lafayette was, at his return hither, received by all ranks with
all possible distinction. He daily gains in the general esteem and
affection, and promises to be a great man here. He is extremely attached
to our cause; we are on the most friendly and confidential footing with
each other, and he is really very serviceable to me in my applications
for additional assistance.”
He planned to return to America to rejoin the army. “In spite of all
my happiness here,” he wrote to Washington, “I cannot help wishing,
ten times a day, to be on the other side of the Atlantic.” But the
Continental army was merely marking time, no active campaign was in
progress, and neither Lafayette nor French troops were again needed to
fight across the ocean.
The negotiations for peace were long drawn out, and in the autumn of
1782 France and Spain again planned a joint expedition against the
English in America. A strong fleet of sixty battle-ships and an army
of twenty-four thousand men were gathered with the purpose of sailing
from the Spanish port of Cadiz to capture the English island of Jamaica
and attack New York and Canada. Lafayette was made chief of staff of the
combined expedition, and, wearing the uniform of an American general, he
set sail from Brest early in December for Cadiz. But the grand fleet was
still in port when a courier arrived with news that a treaty of peace
had just been signed in Paris. So the fleet did not sail. A protocol, or
provisional treaty, was drawn up, and on September 3, 1783, the final
treaty was signed, by which Great Britain acknowledged the independence
of the United States.
As soon as he heard the good news, Lafayette borrowed a ship,
appropriately named the _Triumph_, and sent it off to Philadelphia with
the earliest word of peace. And by the same ship he despatched a letter
to Washington. “As for you, my dear general,” he wrote, “who can truly
say that all this is your work, what must be the feelings of your good
and virtuous heart in this happy moment! The eternal honor in which
my descendants will glory, will be to have had an ancestor among your
soldiers, to know that he had the good fortune of being a friend of
your heart. To the eldest of them I bequeath, as long as my posterity
shall endure, the favor that you have conferred upon my son George, by
allowing him to bear your name.”
To Vergennes Lafayette wrote, “My great affair is settled; America is
sure of her independence; humanity has gained its cause, and liberty
will never be without a refuge.”
From Cadiz the Marquis went to Madrid, where he straightened out affairs
between the United States and the court of Spain. Then he went back to
Paris, made several visits to his old castle and estates in Auvergne,
and helped Franklin and Adams and John Jay in putting the affairs of the
new republic on a satisfactory footing.
He wanted greatly to see that young republic, now that war was over
and peace had come, and at last his wish was gratified. Washington
had written him frequently, urging the Marquis to visit him, and had
begged Madame de Lafayette to come with her husband. “Come then, let
me entreat you,” Washington wrote to Adrienne. “Call my cottage your
own; for your own doors do not open to you with more readiness than
would mine. You will see the plain manner in which we live, and meet
with rustic civility; and you will taste the simplicity of rural life.
It will diversify the scene, and may give you a higher relish for the
gayeties of the court when you return to Versailles.”
Adrienne de Lafayette, however, was as much of a home-lover as George
Washington. Versailles had never attracted her, and she liked to spend
most of her time at the castle of Chavaniac. The voyage across the
Atlantic was a long and trying experience in those days and so she
answered that she preferred to stay in France. She also sent Washington
a letter from her little daughter, born while her husband was in camp in
America.
Lafayette sailed from Havre on July 1, 1784, and reached New York,
which he had never yet seen, on August fourth. Throngs, eager to sing
his praises, met him at the harbor, and followed him everywhere on his
travels. From New York he went to Philadelphia, and then to Richmond,
where Washington met him. He visited the scenes of his great Virginia
campaign at Williamsburg and Yorktown, and spent two happy weeks with
his beloved friend George Washington at the latter’s home at Mount
Vernon. From there he went north again, to Baltimore, Philadelphia, and
New York. Up the broad Hudson he traveled to Albany, where he went with
American commissioners to a council with dissatisfied Mohawk chiefs.
And to the sons of primitive America the young Frenchman, lover of
liberty everywhere, spoke so appealingly that he quickly won them away
from their enmity for their white neighbors. “Father,” said the Mohawk
chief, “we have heard thy voice and we rejoice that thou hast visited
thy children to give to them good and necessary advice. Thou hast said
that we have done wrong in opening our ears to wicked men, and closing
our hearts to thy counsels. Father, it is all true; we have left the
good path; we have wandered away from it and have been enveloped in
a black cloud. We have now returned that thou mayest find in us good
and faithful children. We rejoice to hear thy voice among us. It seems
that the Great Spirit had directed thy footsteps to this council of
friendship to smoke the calumet of peace and fellowship with thy
long-lost children.”
Indeed it did seem that the Great Spirit directed the steps of this man
to the places where he was the most needed.
From Albany Lafayette went across country to Boston, where he was
given a great reception and banquet in Faneuil Hall. A portrait of
Washington was unveiled behind the Marquis at the table, and he sprang
to his feet and led in the burst of cheers that followed. Through New
England he went as far as Portsmouth in New Hampshire, and then turned
south to make a second visit to Mount Vernon. Everywhere he went he
was received as the man whom the United States especially desired to
honor. Unquestionably he deserved all the praise and gratitude that was
showered upon him, for he had left his wife, his home, his friends, his
fortune, and had come to America in one of the darkest hours of her
fight for independence, and by his confidence in her cause had done much
to help her win her victory. He had brought French troops and money,
but most of all he had brought that unselfish devotion which had so
heartened the people. The United States did not forget what it owed
to Lafayette in 1784, it has never forgotten it; the republic of the
Western World has shown that it has a long and faithful memory.
At Trenton Lafayette stopped to resign his commission in the American
army, and Congress sent a committee made up of one representative from
each State to express the thanks of the nation. Then he returned to
Washington’s estate on the banks of the Potomac, and there walked over
the beautiful grounds of Mount Vernon, discussing agriculture with the
owner, and sat with the latter in his library, listening to Washington’s
hopes concerning the young nation for which both men had done so much.
History shows no more ideal friendship than that between the great
American and the great Frenchman, a friendship of inestimable value for
the two lands from which they sprang.
When the time came for parting Washington drove his guest as far as
Annapolis in his carriage. There the two friends separated, not to meet
again. Washington went back to Mount Vernon, and there wrote a farewell
letter to Lafayette. “In the moment of our separation,” he said, “upon
the road as I traveled and every hour since, I have felt all that love,
respect, and attachment for you, with which length of years, close
connection, and your merits have inspired me.... It is unnecessary,
I persuade myself, to repeat to you, my dear marquis, the sincerity
of my regards and friendship, nor have I words which could express my
affection for you, were I to attempt it. My fervent prayers are offered
for your safe and pleasant passage, a happy meeting with Madame de
Lafayette and family, and the completion of every wish of your heart.”
Lafayette answered after he had gone on board the _Nymphe_ at New York.
“Adieu, adieu, my dear general,” said he. “It is with inexpressible
pain that I feel I am going to be severed from you by the Atlantic.
Everything that admiration, respect, gratitude, friendship, and filial
love can inspire is combined in my affectionate heart to devote me most
tenderly to you. In your friendship I find a delight which words cannot
express. Adieu, my dear general. It is not without emotion that I write
this word. Be attentive to your health. Let me hear from you every
month. Adieu, adieu.”
On Christmas Day, 1784, Lafayette sailed for France, expecting to return
to his adopted country in a few years. He was not to return, however,
for a long time, and in the interval much was to happen to himself and
his own land.
In the following summer the Marquis made a journey through Germany and
Austria, where he was received not only as a French field-marshal, but
as an informal representative of America and a friend of Washington, who
could answer the questions about the new republic which every one was
eager to ask. At Brunswick he visited the duke who was later to lead the
German troops against the army of revolutionary France. At Potsdam he
was entertained by Frederick the Great, who happened on one occasion to
place Lafayette between the English Duke of York and Lord Cornwallis at
table. Lafayette was, as always, delightful company, and the general he
had defeated at Yorktown wrote home to a friend in England, “Lafayette
and I were the best friends possible in Silesia.”
The Frenchman saw reviews of the Prussian armies, and was much impressed
by the discipline of Frederick the Great. But he did not like that
ruler, and spoke of his “despotic, selfish, and harsh character,” and
he liked his military system still less. He wrote to General Knox, “The
mode of recruiting is despotic; there is hardly any provision for old
soldiers, and although I found much to admire, I had rather be the last
farmer in America than the first general in Berlin.”
From Prussia he went to Austria, where he met the emperor, and there, as
in all his travels, he told every one of his admiration for the United
States and for Washington, and tried to make them see how much the young
republic had already accomplished for the happiness of men.
The love of liberty was the dominant motive of Lafayette’s life. He
had told Washington of his desire to find some means of securing the
freedom of slaves, and he wrote to John Adams in 1786, “Whatever be
the complexion of the enslaved, it does not in my opinion alter the
complexion of the crime the enslaver commits,--a crime much blacker than
any African face. It is to me a matter of great anxiety and concern
to find that this trade is sometimes perpetrated under the flag of
liberty, our dear and noble stripes to which virtue and glory have been
constant standard-bearers.” So, on his return to France, he bought a
plantation in Cayenne, and brought many negroes there, who, after being
educated in self-government according to his directions, were to receive
their freedom. He also tried to improve the condition of the French
Protestants, who were very much persecuted, and ardently pleaded their
cause before the King at Versailles.
In the meantime he constantly gave his help to furthering the affairs
of America. Thomas Jefferson, the author of the Declaration of
Independence, who had been Governor of Virginia when Lafayette had
fought his campaign there, was now the United States Minister to France.
Jefferson wrote to Washington, “The Marquis de Lafayette is a most
valuable auxiliary to me. His zeal is unbounded and his weight with
those in power is great.... He has a great deal of sound genius, is well
remarked by the King, and rising in popularity. He has nothing against
him but the suspicion of republican principles. I think he will one day
be of the ministry.”
The United States at that time especially needed aid in establishing
trade relations with France, and it was here that Lafayette proved
himself very valuable. He obtained concessions in regard to the
importing and sale of oil and tobacco, and his efforts on behalf of
the American whale fishery were so successful that the citizens of
Nantucket voted at a town-meeting that every man on the island who owned
a cow should give all of one day’s milk toward making a cheese to weigh
five hundred pounds, and that the cheese should be “transmitted to the
Marquis de Lafayette, as a feeble, but not less sincere, testimonial of
their affection and gratitude.”
The cheese was greatly appreciated, as was also the action of the State
of Virginia, which ordered two busts of the Marquis to be made by the
sculptor Houdon, one to be placed in the State Capitol at Richmond and
the other in the Hôtel de Ville in Paris.
The United States had won its independence, though its statesmen
were now perplexed with the problem of making one united nation out
of thirteen separate states. But France had yet to deal with its own
problem of liberty. There were many men who dreamed of equality in that
nation and who hoped for it, but the King and the court were despotic,
the peasants yoked to the soil, bowed down by unjust taxes, crushed by
unfair laws. There was a spirit abroad that was destined to bring a
temporary whirlwind. So the thinking men of France, and Lafayette one of
the chief among them, turned their attention to affairs at home.
IX
HOW LAFAYETTE SOUGHT TO GIVE LIBERTY TO FRANCE
The people of the thirteen American colonies that became the United
States had always had more liberty than the people of France. Most of
the colonies had been settled by men who had left Europe and gone to
America in order that they might enjoy civil or religious independence.
They largely made their own laws, and by the time of the Revolution had
become so well educated in self-government that they were able to draw
up a Constitution and live by its terms with extremely little friction
or unrest. The success that followed the forming of the republic of
the West was a marvel to Europe; that success was mainly due to the
lessons of self-restraint and the real appreciation of what liberty
meant that had come to the colonists before the Revolution. Progress
that is to be real progress must begin right, and Washington and
Jefferson and Franklin were far-sighted and clear-headed builders. The
people of France had been putting up with wrongs a thousandfold worse
than those the Americans had borne, but they had never been educated
in self-government, and so when they tried to win liberty they plunged
headlong into turmoil.
France was still governed very much as it had been in the Middle Ages.
The peasants were reduced to the very lowest form of living, starvation
and ignorance were common through the country. The business classes were
hampered by unjust laws. The nobility were idle, corrupt, and grossly
extravagant. Almost all power lay in the King, and Louis XVI., amiable
though he was, followed the lines of his Bourbon ancestors, Louis XIV.
and Louis XV., the former of whom had said, “The State, it is I,” and
had ruled by that principle.
Unhappily for Louis XVI., however, the world had progressed from the
view-point of the Middle Ages, and men were beginning to talk of
constitutions and of the duties that sovereigns owed their people. He
shut his ears to such talk as well as he could, and his courtiers
helped him to ignore the protests. The court continued to spend money
on entertainments as if it was water, while the peasants starved. Then
it was found that the expense of aiding the United States in the war
had added enough to the nation’s debt to make it impossible to pay
the interest and to find means to carry on the government. Either the
court’s expenses must be lessened or new taxes must be levied. The
nobles furiously resisted the first alternative, and the people resisted
the second. Toward the end of 1786 Calonne, the Minister of Finance,
had to admit that the treasury was bankrupt and advise the King to
call a meeting of the Assembly of Notables to find some way out of the
difficulty.
The Assembly was made up almost entirely of men of the highest rank,
who failed to appreciate the distresses of the country. Lafayette was
known to hold very liberal views, he was constantly talking of the
American Declaration of Independence and Constitution, and at first a
part of the court opposed his membership in the Assembly. He was given
his seat there, however, and with one or two others tried to convince
the council of the need of reforming the laws. But the nobles would not
listen. They were immovably arrogant and autocratic; they would hear
nothing of reforms or constitutions or the rights of the people.
The Assembly of Notables reached no satisfactory conclusion. When
it adjourned conditions grew steadily worse. The affairs of the
country were in a terrible muddle, each class in the land thought
only of itself, and each was divided, envious and hostile to the
others. Lafayette fought heroically to bring them to the point of
view of Washington’s countrymen. The Marquis, however, was too much
of an enthusiast and too little of a statesman to see that the long
downtrodden peasants of France were a different type from the educated
American farmers. Americans in France, John Adams and Gouverneur
Morris, realized better than he did that the people of France were
not yet fitted to govern themselves; but he would not listen to these
statesmen’s opinions. His rôle was that of a popular leader, not that
of a far-seeing statesman in very difficult times. But the sufferings
of the people were always present to him, and he took the most direct
course he could to relieve and satisfy them.
When he saw that the Assembly of Notables would accomplish nothing to
help the situation Lafayette startled the meeting by asking that they
beg the King to summon a National Assembly of the States-General, a
council that had not met for one hundred and seventy-three years and the
existence of which had almost been forgotten.
The Notables were amazed. “What, sir!” exclaimed the Count d’Artois,
who was presiding at the meeting. “You ask the convocation of the
States-General?”
“Yes, monseigneur,” said Lafayette, “and even more than that.”
“You wish that I write,” said the Count, “and that I carry to the King,
‘Monsieur de Lafayette moves to convoke the States-General’?”
“Yes, monseigneur,” was Lafayette’s answer.
The proposal was sent to the King, with Lafayette’s name the only one
attached to the request. But as soon as the news of his petition became
known the people hailed the idea with delight.
The States-General was a much more representative body than the Assembly
of Notables, and Louis XVI. was loath to summon it. The situation of
the country was so unsatisfactory, however, that he finally yielded and
ordered the States-General to meet in May, 1789.
Lafayette had great hopes of this new parliament. He wrote to
Washington, describing the situation. “The King is all-powerful,” he
said. “He possesses all the means of compulsion, of punishment, and
of corruption. The ministers naturally incline and believe themselves
bound to preserve despotism. The court is filled with swarms of vile
and effeminate courtiers; men’s minds are enervated by the influence
of women and the love of pleasure; the lower classes are plunged in
ignorance. On the other hand, French character is lively, enterprising,
and inclined to despise those who govern. The public mind begins to
be enlightened by the works of philosophers and the example of other
nations.” And when the state of affairs grew even more disturbed he
wrote again to the same friend, “In the midst of these troubles and
this anarchy, the friends of liberty strengthen themselves daily, shut
their ears to every compromise, and say that they shall have a national
assembly or nothing. Such is, my dear general, the improvement in our
situation. For my part, I am satisfied with the thought that before long
I shall be in an assembly of representatives of the French nation or at
Mount Vernon.”
Elections were held throughout the country to choose the members of
the States-General, which was composed of representatives of the three
orders, the nobles, the clergy, and what was known as the third estate,
or the middle class. Lafayette went to Auvergne to make his campaign for
election, and was chosen as deputy to represent the nobility of Riom.
On May 2, 1789, the States-General paid their respects to the King, and
on May fourth they marched in procession to hear Mass at the Church of
St. Louis. The third estate marched last, dressed in black, and in their
ranks were men destined before long to upset the old order, Mirabeau,
Danton, Marat, Guillotin, Desmoulins, Robespierre.
On May fifth the States-General formally met for business. Then began
continual struggles between the orders of nobles and clergy on the one
hand and the third estate on the other, finally ending by a declaration
of the latter that if the first two orders would not act in agreement
with them they would organize themselves, without the other two, as the
States-General of France.
On June twelfth the third estate met and called the roll of all the
deputies, but none of the nobles or clergy answered to their names. Next
day, however, three clerical members appeared, and the meeting felt
itself sufficiently bold, under the leadership of Mirabeau, to declare
itself positively the National Assembly of France. The indignant nobles
answered this by inducing the King to suspend all meetings until a
“royal session” could be held on June twentieth. But the third estate,
having had a taste of power, would not bow to command so easily, and
when they found that the hall where they had been meeting was closed
they withdrew to the tennis-court, where they took the famous oath not
to separate until they had given a constitution to France.
At their next meeting the third estate were joined by a large number of
the clerical members of the States-General and by two of the nobles.
This gave them greater assurance. At the “royal session” on June
twentieth, however, the King tried to ignore the power that the third
estate had claimed, and the latter had to decide between submitting to
the royal orders or rebelling. They decided to take the second course
and stand firmly on their rights as representatives of the people. When
the master of ceremonies tried to clear the hall where they had gathered
Mirabeau said defiantly, “The commons of France will never retire except
at the point of the bayonet.”
The King, although surrounded by weak and selfish advisers, at last
yielded to the demands of the third estate, and the nobles and clergy
joined the meetings of the National Assembly.
Lafayette, who had been elected as a deputy of the nobility, had found
his position extremely difficult. He had thought of resigning and trying
to be elected a second time as a deputy of the people, although Thomas
Jefferson, the American minister, had urged him to take his stand
outright with the third estate, arguing that his well-known liberal
views would prevent his gaining any influence with his fellow-nobles
and that if he delayed in taking up the cause of the people the latter
might regard him with suspicion. This difficulty was solved when, at the
King’s command, the deputies of the nobles finally joined with the third
estate.
The States-General, or the National Assembly, as it was now generally
called, went on with its meetings which took on more and more a
revolutionary color. There was rioting in Paris and Versailles, and the
King ordered troops to guard both places. The Assembly considered that
the soldiers were meant to intimidate their sessions and requested that
they be sent away. The King refused this request, and as a result the
breach between the crown and the parliament was still further widened.
Soon afterward Lafayette presented to the Assembly what he called his
“Declaration of Rights,” which was based on Jefferson’s Declaration of
Independence of the United States. This occasioned long discussion,
for the nobles thought its terms were revolutionary in the extreme
while many of the third estate considered that it did not go nearly
far enough. And all the time the King continued his policy of trying
to overawe the Assembly, and finally appointed the Marshal de Broglie
commander of the troops that were gathering in Paris and Versailles,
planning to bring the third estate to its senses and show the mob in
Paris who was the real ruler of France.
Events followed rapidly. July eleventh the King dismissed Necker and
the ministers who had been trying to bring order out of confusion. The
Assembly, fearing that the King would next dissolve their meetings,
declared itself in permanent session, and elected Lafayette its
vice-president. The royal court, blind as usual, paid no attention to
the storm the King’s course was rousing, and a grand ball was held at
the palace on the evening of July thirteenth. Next day, as if in answer
to rulers who could dance while the people starved, the mob in Paris
stormed the prison of the Bastille and captured that stronghold of royal
tyranny.
The storm had broken at last. The Duke de la Rochefoucauld-Liancourt
hurried to Versailles, entered the King’s chamber, and told him the
news. “Why,” exclaimed Louis XVI., “this is a revolt!”
“No, sire,” answered the Duke, “it is a revolution!”
Next morning the Marshal de Broglie, who found that instead of a
competent army, he had only a few disorganized troops at his command,
resigned. The King, seeing his army melting away, decided that his only
chance of restoring order lay in making friends with the Assembly, and
appeared before it, begging it to aid him, and promising to recall the
dismissed ministers.
The Assembly, delighted at this evidence of its power, agreed to aid the
King, and sent Lafayette, with fifty other deputies, to see what could
be done to quiet the people in Paris. They found the city in the wildest
confusion. Shops were closed, barricades blocked the streets, and gangs
of ruffians were fighting everywhere. The deputies brought some order,
Lafayette made a speech to the people at the Hôtel de Ville, and told
them that the Assembly was glad that they had won liberty. Then it
was decided that a mayor must be chosen to govern Paris and a National
Guard formed to preserve order. Moreau de Saint Méry, who was presiding,
pointed to the bust of Lafayette that the State of Virginia had sent
to the city of Paris. His gesture was understood and Lafayette was
immediately chosen to command the National Guard. Bailly was by a like
unanimous vote elected mayor.
So, at thirty-two, Lafayette gave up his seat in the National Assembly
and became Commander of the National Guard.
The deputies, on their return to Versailles, told their fellow-members
that the only way in which confidence could be restored in the crown was
for the King personally to visit Paris. This Louis XVI. agreed to do on
July seventeenth. In the meantime Lafayette had collected the nucleus
of a guard, had restored some sort of order, and made arrangements to
receive the King. When Louis arrived at the city gates he was met by
the mayor, Bailly, who handed him the keys of Paris, saying, “They are
the same keys that were presented to Henry IV. He had reconquered his
people; now it is the people who have reconquered their king.”
The King was escorted to the Hôtel de Ville through a double line of
National Guards. There he was given the new national cockade, which
he fixed in his hat. Afterward speeches were made and then King Louis
rode back to Versailles. He was still the sovereign in name, but his
real power was gone, shorn from him by the obstinacy of his nobles and
himself.
Lafayette had no easy task in keeping order in Paris. His Guards obeyed
his commands, but many of the mob, having tasted revolt, continued on a
wild course, and they were now joined by many of the worst element from
the provinces. Two innocent men were murdered in spite, and Lafayette
could do nothing to prevent it. Disgusted at the trend of events he soon
resigned his office of Commander, but since no one else appeared able to
fill it he finally consented to resume it.
Meantime the Assembly was uprooting the old feudal laws and doing away
with almost all forms of taxation. Their object was to tear down, not
to build up; and the result was that in a very short time people
throughout France were making their own laws in every city and village
and paying no attention to the needs of the nation.
As autumn approached the population of Paris became restless. The
Assembly at Versailles was not sufficiently under the people’s thumb,
the lower classes especially were eager to get both Assembly and King
and Queen in their power. A reception given by Louis to the National
Guards at Versailles roused great indignation. The court, so the people
said, was as frivolous and extravagant as ever, and was trying to win
the Guards over to its side. The excitement reached its climax when, on
October fifth, Maillard, a leader of the mob, called on the people of
Paris to march to Versailles. At once the cry “To Versailles!” echoed
through the city, and men and women flocked to answer the cry.
Lafayette heard of the plan and sent couriers to Versailles to warn the
King and the Assembly of what was in the air. All day he tried his best
to quiet the people and induce them to give up the march. He forbade the
National Guards to leave their posts, and at first they obeyed him. But
presently deputation after deputation came to him. “General,” said one
of his men, “we do not think you a traitor; but we think the government
betrays you. It is time that this end. We cannot turn our bayonets
against women crying to us for bread. The people are miserable; the
source of the mischief is at Versailles; we must go seek the King and
bring him to Paris.”
That was the view of the Guards, and it grew more and more positive.
Armed crowds were leaving the city, dragging cannon, and at last the
Guards surrounded their commander and declared their intention to march
and to take him with them. So finally Lafayette set out for Versailles,
preceded and followed by an immense rabble of men and women.
Meantime the couriers sent by Lafayette to Versailles had reported the
news of the march of the mob. The Assembly could think of nothing that
would pacify the people, and contented itself with sending messengers to
the King, who happened to be hunting in the Versailles forests. Louis
returned to his palace to find his body-guards, the Swiss and the
Flanders Regiment, drawn up in the courtyards as though to withstand a
siege.
In the middle of the afternoon the first crowd of women, led by Maillard
beating his drum, arrived at Versailles. Some marched to the Assembly
and shouted to the deputies to pass laws at once that should lower the
price of bread. Others paraded through the streets, and still others
went to the palace to see the King, who received them very kindly and
tried to assure them that he entirely agreed with all their wishes.
But the royal family had taken alarm and wanted to fly from the
palace. Their carriages were ordered out, and the body-guards placed
in readiness to serve as escort. This plan became known, however, and
when the carriages drove out from the great stables some of the National
Guards themselves seized the horses’ heads and turned them back.
The National Assembly itself was in an uproar. The President, Mounier,
left the chamber to see the King, and when he came back he found a fat
fishwoman making a speech to the crowd from his own chair. The Assembly
had taken power and authority away from the King; now the mob was bent
on doing the same thing to the Assembly.
At eleven o’clock that evening Lafayette reached Versailles with his
National Guards and the rest of the rabble from Paris. On the way he
had tried to curb the rougher part of the crowd and had made his troops
stop and renew their oaths of allegiance “to the nation, the law, and
the King.” He went at once to the palace to receive King Louis’ orders,
but the Swiss guards would not let him enter until he agreed to go
in without any of the people from Paris. When he did enter he found
the halls and rooms filled with courtiers. One of them, seeing him,
exclaimed, “Here is Cromwell!” Lafayette answered instantly, “Cromwell
would not have entered alone.”
The King received him cordially, and told him to guard the outside
of the palace, leaving the inside to the protection of the royal
body-guards. Lafayette then saw that his men were bivouacked for the
night, quieted noisy marchers, and felt that, at least for the time,
Versailles was at rest. Worn out with the day’s exertions the Marquis
finally got a chance to sleep.
Early next day, however, the mob burst forth again. A crowd fell to
disputing with the royal body-guards at one of the gates to the palace,
rushed the soldiers, and broke into the inner court. Up the stairs they
streamed, killing the guards that tried to oppose them. Marie Antoinette
had barely time to fly from her room to that of the
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