Chapter XV: America’s Message to France--“lafayette, (2)

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