Chapter D: Retreat of Barren-Hill (1)

As the English army was preparing to evacuate Philadelphia, Lafayette was sent, with a detachment of two thousand chosen men, and five pieces of cannon, to a station half-way betwixt that city and Valley-Forge; this was Barren-hill. A corps of militia under General Porter had been placed on Lafayette's left wing; but he retired farther back, and the English took advantage of that movement to surround Lafayette's detachment. General Grant, with seven thousand men and fourteen pieces of cannon, was behind him, and nearer than himself to the only ford by which it was possible for him to pass the Schuylkill. General Grey, with two thousand men, arrived on his left at Barren-hill church; whilst the remainder of the English army, under the command of Generals Clinton and Howe, prepared to attack him in front. It is said that Admiral Lord Howe joined the army as a volunteer. The English generals felt so certain of the capture of Lafayette, that they sent to Philadelphia several invitations to a _féte_, at which they said Lafayette would be present. If he had not, in truth, manoeuvred rather better than they did, the whole corps must inevitably have been lost. Alarm-guns were fired by the army; General Washington felt additional anxiety from the fact that, those troops being the flower of his army, their defeat would, he knew, have discouraged the rest. Lafayette instantly formed his plan of operation: he threw some troops into the churchyard, to check those of General Grey. He made a false attack upon General Grant, 'shewing him the heads of columns; and whilst the latter halted, and formed his troops to receive him, he caused his detachment to file off. By these manoeuvres he gained the ford, and passed it in presence of the enemy, without losing a single man. Two English lines met, and were on the point of attacking each other, for there was no longer anything between them; the Americans had been for some time in safety at the other side of the Schuylkill. The English then returned to Philadelphia, much fatigued and ashamed, and were laughed at for their ill success. (Manuscript No. 1.)

E.

ARRIVAL OF THE FRENCH FLEET.

The treaty with France became known a short time before the opening of the campaign. The national enthusiasm for the Americans had much increased, but the ministry was afraid of war. Necker, in particular, did all he could to prevent the court of France from espousing the American cause, which may serve as an answer to the accusations of revolutionary ardour that were made against him by the aristocrats in France. Maurepas was very timid, but the news of the taking of Burgoyne inspired him with some courage. The Count de Vergennes flattered himself that he should succeed in avoiding war. The court of France shewed little sincerity in its proceedings with England. The treaty was at length concluded. Dr. Franklin, Silas Deane, and John Adams, accompanied by many other Americans then in Paris, were presented to the King and royal family. They repaired afterwards to the young Madame de Lafayette, who was at Versailles, wishing to testify by that public act how much they thought themselves indebted to Lafayette for the happy direction which their affairs had taken. The news of the treaty excited a great sensation in America, and, above all, in the army. Lafayette had long since returned from his command in the north to the head-quarters of General Washington. The manifesto of the French government to the British cabinet contained this expression: "The Americans having become independent by their declaration of such a day." "That," said Lafayette, smiling, "is a principle of national sovereignty which shall one day be recalled to them." The French revolution, and the part which he took in it, have doubly verified this prediction. (Manuscript No. 1.)

Mr. Marshall's work contains a curious dissertation upon the declaration of war between France and England, and gives also the extract of a memorial of M. Turgot, which it would be interesting to verify. It would then be seen what opinions were supported at that time, concerning the colonies in general, and the quarrel with the English colonies in particular, by one of the most liberal and enlightened men in regard to political and commercial questions. The idea that the queen supported the war party is not correct; her social tastes were rather of the Anglomania kind; her politics were completely Austrian, and the court of Vienna did not wish that France should have any pretext for refusing to fulfil the conditions of the treaty made with it, which were soon afterwards exacted; but the queen, like a true woman of the world, followed the impulse given by Paris, the commercial towns, and the public.

Dr. Ramsay alludes to the happiness which Lafayette must have experienced when, upon learning the happy news of the French alliance, he, with tears of joy, embraced his illustrious general. Several persons present have since recollected that when the message of the court of Versailles to that of London was read aloud, with all the justifications which dwelt upon the right of the American nation to give themselves a government, Lafayette exclaimed,--"That is a great truth which we will recall to them at home." (Manuscript No. 2.)

F.

DISSENSIONS BETWEEN THE FRENCH FLEET AND THE AMERICAN ARMY.

The history of Dr. Gordon, that of Ramsay, and of Mr. Marshall, give a detailed account of the arrival of Count d'Estaing at the entrance of the Delaware, his arrival at Sandyhook, and the expedition against Rhode Island. Lafayette conducted thither, from White Plains, two thousand men of the continental troops. He made that journey (two hundred and forty miles) very rapidly, and arrived before the remainder of the troops under Sullivan were in readiness. It is to be lamented that the latter general persuaded Count d'Estaing to await the cooperation of the Americans, whilst, had he encouraged him to force the passage between, Rhode Island and Cannanicut Island, he would have had time, at the first moment of his arrival, to have captured fifteen hundred Hessians who were upon the last-mentioned island. On the other hand, M. d'Estaing was wrong in being displeased with General Sullivan for effecting his passage and taking possession of the forts on the north of the island, as soon as he learnt that they had been abandoned by the enemy, and without having concerted any plan of operations with the admiral. Everything, however, went on extremely well. The Americans had twelve thousand men upon the island; their right was composed of the half of the continentalists brought by Lafayette from White Plains, and of five thousand militia, and was under the command of General Greene; the left consisted also of five thousand militia, with the other half of the continentalists, and was commanded by M. de Lafayette. On the 8th of August the American army proceeded to Howland's ferry, whilst the squadron forced the passage. The English set fire to three of their own frigates; they had six frigates, and several other vessels, burnt during this expedition. In the afternoon of the day that Sullivan's army landed, they were expecting the battalions of Foix and Hainaut, and the marines, which were to have joined Lafayette's corps, when Admiral Howe suddenly hove in sight, and took possession of the anchorage that Count d'Estaing had quitted, in order to force his passage between the islands. The French sailors feared that the enemy, would take advantage of their situation, enclosed as they were between the islands, or that some reinforcements would at least be thrown upon the southern part of the island; but the wind having changed during the night, Count d'Estaing sailed out gallantly through the fire of the English batteries, and Lord Howe, cutting his cables, fled before him. This skilful admiral would have paid dearly for his bold manoeuvre, if the storm had not come most opportunely to his aid.

Mr. Marshall, who had the letters of Washington and Lafayette before him, states the manner in which Lafayette, on the one side, exposed himself, without reserve, to the loss of his popularity, and on the other, zealously exerted himself in defending the honour of the French from the accusations that the dissatisfaction of the Americans had universally excited, especially at Rhode Island and Boston, against the officers of the squadron; and also to prevent that dissatisfaction from breaking into open disputes. Sullivan, the senior of the three majors-general, was commander-in-chief. It was after an explanation with Lafayette, his friend and comrade, that he softened, by a subsequent order of the day, the expressions which he had imprudently used in the one preceding. General Greene, a man of superior merit, contributed much to the reconciliation. The ex-president, Hancock, who had at first loudly expressed his displeasure, consented to repair to Boston to endeavour to calm the public mind, and to obtain provisions for the squadron. The popularity of Lafayette was usefully employed during his short visit to that town. The congress, and General Washington also, thought that this quarrel could not he too speedily appeased; but they were at a distance, and a proper mixture of firmness and persuasion was required from the first moment. Such a perfect understanding, however, was now established, that it was not even disturbed by the unfortunate event which, some time afterwards, cost M. de Saint Sauveur his life. Much was also due to Dr. Cooper, a distinguished minister of the Presbyterian church. (Manuscript No. 2.)

CORRESPONDENCE.

1777--1778.

TO THE DUKE D'AYEN.~[1]

London, March 9,1777.

You will be astonished, my dear father, at the news I am on the point of giving you: it has cost me far more than I can express not to consult you. My respect and affection for you, as well as my great confidence in you, must convince you of the truth of this assertion; but my word was given, and you would not have esteemed me had I broken it; the step I am now taking will at least prove to you, I hope, the goodness of my intentions. I have found a peculiar opportunity of distinguishing myself, and of learning a soldier's trade: I am a general officer in the army of the United States of America. The frankness of my conduct, and my zeal in their service, have completely won their confidence. I have done, on my side, all I could do for them, and their interest will ever be dearer to me than my own. In short, my dear father, I am at this moment in London, anxiously awaiting letters from my friends; upon receiving them, I shall set off from hence, and, without stopping at Paris, I shall embark in a vessel that I have myself purchased and chartered. My travelling companions are the Baron de Kalb, a very distinguished officer, brigadier in the King's service, and major-general, as well as myself, in the United States' army; and some other excellent officers, who have kindly consented to share the chances of my fate. I rejoice at having found such a glorious opportunity of occupying myself, and of acquiring knowledge. I am conscious that I am making an immense sacrifice, and that to quit my family, my friends, and you, my dearest father, costs me more than it could do any other person,--because I love you all far more tenderly than any other person ever loved his friends. But this voyage will not be a very long one; we see every day far longer journeys taken for amusement only; and I hope also to return more worthy of all those who are kind enough to regret my absence. Adieu, my dear father, I hope I shall soon see you again. Retain your affection for me; I ardently desire to merit it--nay, I do merit it already, from my warm affection towards you, and from the respect that, during the remainder of his life, will be felt for you by,

Your affectionate son,

LAFAYETTE.

I have arrived, for one moment, at Paris, my dear father, and have only time to bid you again farewell. I intended writing to my uncle~[2] and to Madame de Lusignem, but I am in such haste that I must request you to present to them my respectful regards.

Footnotes:

1. Jean Paul Francois de Noailles, Duke d'Ayen, afterwards Duke de Noailles, died a member of the House of Peers, in 1824, and was, as is well known, father-in-law to M. de Lafayette, who had been, we may say, brought up in the hotel de Noailles, and who looked upon all his wife's family as his own. It was at that time divided into two branches. The Marshal de Noailles, governor of Roussillon, and captain of the guards of the Scotch company, was the head of the eldest branch. He bad four children: the Duke d'Ayen, the Marquis de Noailles, and Mesdames de Tesse and de Lesparre. The Duke d'Ayen, a general officer, captain of the guards in reversion, married Henriette Anne Louise Daguesseau, by whom he had daughters only. The eldest, who died in 1794, on the same scaffold as her mother, had married her cousin, the Viscount de Noailles. The second, Marie Adrienne Françoise,--born the 2nd November, 1759, died the 24th December, 1807,--was Madame de Lafayette. The three others, unmarried at the time this letter was written, married afterwards MM. de Thésan, de Montagu, and de Grammont.

The head of the younger branch of the familv of Noailles was the Marshal de Mouchy, brother of the Marshal de Noailles, whose children were, the Prince de Poix, who died peer of France, and captain of the guards under the restoration; the Duchess de Duras; and the same Viscount de Noailles, member of the constituent assembly, who died of his wounds in the expedition to St. Domingo, in 1802.

2. M. de Lusignem, an uncle by marriage of M. de Lafayette.

TO MADAME DE LAFAYETTE.

On board the _Victory_, May 30th, 1777.

I am writing to you from a great distance, my dearest love, and, in addition to this painful circumstance, I feel also the still more dreadful uncertainty of the time in which I may receive any news of you. I hope, however, soon to have a letter from you; and, amongst the various reasons which render me so desirous of a speedy arrival, this is the one which excites in me the greatest degree of impatience. How many fears and anxieties enhance the keen anguish I feel at being separated from all that I love most fondly in the world! How have you borne my second departure? have you loved me less? have you pardoned me? have you reflected that, at all events, I must equally have been parted from you,--wandering about in Italy,~[1] dragging on an inglorious life, surrounded by the persons most opposed to my projects, and to my manner of thinking? All these reflections did not prevent my experiencing the most bitter grief when the moment arrived for quitting my native shore. Your sorrow, that of my friends, Henrietta,~[2] all rushed upon my thoughts, and my heart was torn by a thousand painful feelings. I could not at that instant find any excuse for my own conduct. If you could know all that I have suffered, and the melancholy days that I have passed, whilst thus flying from all that I love best in the World! Must I join to this affliction the grief of hearing that you do not pardon me? I should, in truth, my love, be too unhappy. But I am not speaking to you of myself and of my health, and I well know that these details will deeply interest you.

Since writing my last letter, I have been confined to the most dreary of all regions: the sea is so melancholy, that we mutually, I believe, sadden each other. I ought to have landed by this time, but the winds have been most provokingly contrary; I shall not arrive at Charlestown for eight or ten days. It will be a great pleasure to me to land, as I am expecting to do, in that city. When I am once on shore, I shall hope each day to receive news from France; I shall learn so many interesting, things, both concerning the new country I am seeking, and, above all, that home which I have quitted with so much regret! Provided I only learn that you are in good health, that you still love me, and that a certain number of my friends entertain the same feelings towards me, I can become a perfect philosopher with respect to all the rest,--whatever it may be, or whatever land it may concern. But if my heart be attacked in its most vulnerable part, if you were to love me less, I should feel, in truth, too miserable. But I need not fear this--need I, my dearest love? I was very ill during the first part of my voyage, and I might have enjoyed the pleasure of an ill-natured person, that of knowing that I had many fellow sufferers. I treated myself according to my own judgment, and recovered sooner than the other passengers; I am now nearly the same as if I were on shore. I am certain that, on my arrival, I shall be in a perfect state of health, and continue so for a long time. Do not fancy that I shall incur any real dangers by the occupations I am undertaking. The post of general officer has always been considered like a commission for immortality. The service will be very different from the one I must have performed if I had been, for example, a colonel in the French army. My attendance will only be required in the council. Ask the opinion of all general officers,--and these are very numerous, because, having once attained that height, they are no longer exposed to any hazards, and do not therefore yield their places to inferior officers, as is the case in other situations. To prove that I do not wish to deceive you, I will acknowledge that we are at this moment exposed to some danger, from the risk of being attacked by English vessels, and that my ship is not of sufficient force for defence. But when I have once landed, I shall be in perfect safety. You see that I tell you everything, my dearest love; confide therefore in me, and do not, I conjure you, give way to idle fears. I will not write you a journal of my voyage: days succeed each other, and, what is worse, resemble each other. Always sky, always water, and the next day a repetition of the same thing. In truth, those who write volumes upon a sea voyage must be incessant babblers; for my part, I have had contrary winds, as well as other people; I have made a long voyage, like other people; I have encountered storms; I have seen vessels, and they were far more interesting for me than for any other person: well! I have not observed one single event worth the trouble of relating, or that has not been described by many other persons.

Let us speak of more important things: of yourself, of dear Henriette, and of her brother or sister. Henriette is so delightful, that she has made me in love with little girls. To whichever sex our new infant may belong, I shall receive it with unbounded joy. Lose not a moment in hastening my happiness by apprising me of its birth. I know not if it be because I am twice a father, but my parental feelings are stronger than they ever were. Mr. Deane, and my friend Carmichael, will forward your letters, and will, I am sure, neglect nothing to promote my happiness as soon as possible. Write, and even send me a confidential person, it would give me such pleasure to question any one who has seen you: Landrin, for example; in short, whom you please. You do not know the warmth and extent of my affection, if you fancy that you may neglect anything relating to yourself. You will be, at first, a long time without hearing from me; but when I am once established you will receive letters constantly, and of a very recent date. There is no great difference of time between letters from America and letters from Sicily. I own that Sicily weighs heavily on my heart. I fancied myself near seeing you again! But let me break off at the word Sicily. Adieu, my dearest love; I shall write to you from Charlestown, and write to you also before I arrive there. Good night, for the present.

7th June.

I am still floating on this dreary plain, the most wearisome of all human habitations. To console myself a little, I think of you and of my friends: I think of the pleasure of seeing you again. How delightful will be the moment of my arrival! I shall hasten to surprise and embrace you. I shall perhaps find you with your children. To think, only, of that happy moment, is an inexpressible pleasure to me; do not fancy that it is distant; although the time of my absence will appear, I own, very long to me, yet we shall meet sooner than you can expect. Without being able myself to fix the day or the month of our reunion, without being aware even of the cause of our absence, the exile prescribed by the Duke d'Ayen, until the month of January, appeared to me so immeasurably long, that I certainly shall not inflict upon myself one of equal length. You must acknowledge, my love, that the occupation and situation I shall have are very different from those that were intended for me during that useless journey. Whilst defending the liberty I adore, I shall enjoy perfect freedom myself: I but offer my service to that interesting republic from motives of the purest kind, unmixed with ambition or private views; her happiness and my glory are my only incentives to the task. I hope that, for my sake, you will become a good American, for that feeling is worthy of every noble heart. The happiness of America is intimately connected with the happiness of all mankind; she will become the safe and respected asylum of virtue, integrity, toleration, equality, and tranquil happiness.

We have occasionally some slight alarms, but, with a little skill and good luck, I am certain of reaching the port in safety. I am more pleased with this prospect, because I feel that I am becoming, every day, extremely reasonable. You know that the viscount~[3] has the habit of repeating, that "_travelling forms young men_;" if he said this but once every morning and once every evening, in truth it would not be too much, for I am constantly more strongly impressed with the justice of the observation. I know not where the poor viscount is at this present moment, nor the prince,~[4] nor all my other friends. This state of uncertainty is a very painful one. Whenever you chance to meet any one whom I love, tell him a thousand and ten thousand things from me. Embrace tenderly my three sisters, and tell them that they must remember me, and love me; present my compliments to Mademoiselle Marin;~[5] I recommend, also, poor Abbé Fayon to your care. As to the Marshal de Noailles, tell him that I do not write to him, for fear of tiring him, and because I should have nothing to announce to him but my arrival; that I am expecting his commissions for trees or plants, or whatever else he may desire, and that I should wish my exactness in fulfilling his wishes to be a proof of my affection for him. Present, also, my respects to the Duchess de la Trémoïlle,~[6] and tell her that I make the same offer to her as to the Marshal de Noailles, either for herself or her daughter-in-law, who has such a beautiful garden. Tell my old friend Desplaus,~[7] also, that I am well. As to my aunts, Madame d'Ayen and the viscountess, I am myself writing to them.

These are my little commissions, my love; I have also written to Sicily. We have seen, to-day, several kinds of birds, which announce that we are not far from shore. The hope of arriving is very sweet, for a ship life is a most wearisome one. My health, fortunately, allows me to occupy myself a little; I divide my time between military books and English books. I have made some progress in this language, which will become very necessary to me. Adieu; night obliges me to discontinue my letter, as I forbade some days ago, any candles being used in my vessel: see how prudent I have become! Once more, adieu; if my fingers be at all guided by my heart, it is not necessary to see clearly to tell you that I love you, and that I shall love you all my life.

15th June--At Major Hughes's.~[8]

I have arrived, my dearest love, in perfect health, at the house of an American officer; and, by the most fortunate chance in the world, a French vessel is on the point of sailing; conceive how happy I am. I am going this evening to Charlestown, from whence I will write to you. There is no important news. The campaign is opened, but there is no fighting, or at least, very little. The manners in this part of the world are simple, polite, and worthy in every respect of the country in which the noble name of liberty is constantly repeated. I intended writing to Madame d'Ayen, but I find it is impossible. Adieu, adieu, my love. From Charlestown I shall repair, by land, to Philadelphia, to rejoin the army. Is it not true that you will always love me?

Footnotes:

1. At the moment when M. de Lafayette's project of departure was taking place, he had been desired to join the Duke d'Ayen, and Madame de Tessé, his sister, who were setting out for Italy and Sicily.

2. The first-born of M. de Lafayette, which died during his voyage. (See letter 16th June, 1778.)

3. The Viscount de Noailles, brother-in-law to M. de Lafayette.

4. The Prince de Poix, son of the Marshal de Mouchy, and consequently uncle, according to the mode of Bretagne, to Madame de Lafayette.

5. Mademoiselle Marin was governess to Mesdemoiselles de Noailles; and the Abbé Fayon was tutor to M. de Lafayette.

6. Madame de Lafayette, author of the _Princess de Clever_, had only one daughter, who became Madame de la Tremoille, and heiress to the property of the Lafayette family; and who cheerfully consented to restore to her cousins, who inhabited the province, those estates which a love of their family might make them wish to conserve to the heritors of the name of Lafayette. Since that period, the members of that branch, of which M. de Lafayette was the last scion, have constantly kept up feelings, not only of relationship, but of friendship, with the family of la Tremoille.

7. An old valet de chambre.

8. The father of him who so generously devoted himself to save Lafayette from the prisons of Olmutz--(Note of M. de Lafayette.)

TO MADAME DE LAFAYETTE.

June 19th, 1777, Charlestown.

If my last letter, my dearest love, written five or six days ago, was closed hastily, I hope at least that the American captain, whom I then believed to be a French one, will remit it to you as soon as possible. That letter announced to you that I had landed safely in this country, after having suffered a little from sea-sickness during the first weeks of my voyage; that I was staying with a very kind officer, in whose house I was received upon my arrival; that I had been nearly two months at sea, and was anxious to continue my journey immediately; that letter spoke of everything which interests my heart most deeply, of my regret at having quitted you, of your pregnancy, and of our dear children; it told you, also, that I was in perfect health. I repeat this extract from it, because the English may very possibly amuse themselves by seizing it on its way. I place, however, so much confidence in my lucky star, that I hope it will reach you safely. That same star has protected me to the astonishment of every person; you may, therefore, trust a little to it in future, my love, and let this conviction tranquillize your fears. I landed after having sailed for several days along a coast swarming with hostile vessels. On my arrival here every one told me that my ship must undoubtedly be taken, because two English frigates had blockaded the harbour. I even sent, both by land and sea, orders to the captain to put the men on shore, and burn the vessel, if he had still the power of doing so. Well! by a most extraordinary piece of good fortune, a sudden gale of wind having blown away the frigates for a short time, my vessel arrived at noon-day, without having encountered friend or foe. At Charlestown I have met with General Howe, a general officer, now engaged in service. The governor of the state is expected this evening from the country. All the persons with whom I wished to be acquainted have shewn me the greatest attention and politeness (not European politeness merely); I can only feel gratitude for the reception I have met with, although I have not yet thought proper to enter into any detail respecting my future prospects and arrangements. I wish to see the congress first. I hope to set out in two days for Philadelphia, which is a land journey of more than two hundred and fifty leagues. We shall divide into small parties; I have already purchased horses and light carriages for this purpose. There are some French and American vessels at present here, who are to sail out of the harbour in company to-morrow morning, taking advantage of a moment when the frigates are out of sight: they are numerous and armed, and have promised me to defend themselves stoutly against the small privateers they will undoubtedly meet with. I shall distribute my letters amongst the different ships, in case any accident should happen to either one of them.

I shall now speak to you, my love, about the country and its inhabitants, who are as agreeable as my enthusiasm had led me to imagine. Simplicity of manner, kindness of heart, love of country and of liberty, and a delightful state of equality, are met with universally. The richest and the poorest man are completely on a level; and although there are some immense fortunes in this country, I may challenge any one to point out the slightest difference in their respective manner towards each other. I first saw and judged of a country life at Major Hughes's house: I am at present in the city, where everything somewhat resembles the English customs, except that you find more simplicity here than you would do in England. Charlestown is one of the best built, handsomest, and most agreeable cities that I have ever seen. The American women are very pretty, and have great simplicity of character; and the extreme neatness of their appearance is truly delightful: cleanliness is everywhere even more studiously attended to here than in England. What gives me most pleasure is to see how completely the citizens are all brethren of one family. In America there are none poor, and none even that can be called peasants. Each citizen has some property, and all citizens have the same rights as the richest individual, or landed proprietor, in the country. The inns are very different from those of Europe; the host and hostess sit at table with you, and do the honours of a comfortable meal; and when you depart, you pay your bill without being obliged to tax it. If you should dislike going to inns, you may always find country houses in which you will be received, as a good American, with the same attention that you might expect in a friend's house in Europe.

My own reception has been most peculiarly agreeable. To have been merely my travelling companion, suffices to secure the kindest welcome. I have just passed five hours at a large dinner given in compliment to me by an individual of this town. Generals Howe and Moultrie, and several officers of my suite, were present. We drank each other's health, and endeavoured to talk English, which I am beginning to speak a little. I shall pay a visit to-morrow, with these gentlemen, to the governor of the state, and make the last arrangements for my departure. The next day, the commanding officers here will take me to see the town and its environs, and I shall then set out to join the army. I must close and send my letter immediately, because the vessel goes to-night to the entrance of the harbour, and sails to-morrow at five o'clock. As all the ships are exposed to some risk, I shall divide my letters amongst them. I write to M M. de Coigny, de Poix, de Noailles, de Ségur, and to Madame d'Ayen.~[1] If either of these should not receive my letter, be so kind as to mention this circumstance.

From the agreeable life I lead in this country, from the sympathy which makes me feel as much at ease with the inhabitants as if I had known them for twenty years, the similarity between their manner of thinking and of my own, my love of glory and of liberty, you might imagine that I am very happy: but you are not with me, my dearest love; my friends are not with me; and there is no happiness for me when far from you and them. I often ask you if you still love, but I put that question still more often to myself and my heart ever answers, yes: I trust that heart does not deceive me. I am inexpressibly anxious to hear from you; I hope to find some letters at Philadelphia. My only fear is that the privateer which was to bring them to me should have been captured on her way. Although I can easily imagine that I have excited the especial displeasure of the English, by taking the liberty of coming hither in spite of them, and landing before their very face, yet I must confess that we shall be even more than on a par if they succeed in catching that vessel, the object of my fondest hopes, by which I am expecting to receive your letters. I entreat you to send me both long and frequent letters. You are not sufficiently conscious of the joy with which I shall receive them. Embrace, most tenderly, my Henriette: may I add, embrace our children? The father of those poor children is a wanderer, but he is, nevertheless, a good honest man,--a good father, warmly attached to his family, and a good husband also, for he loves his wife most tenderly. Present my compliments to your friends and to mine; may I not say _our_ friends? with the permission of the Countess Auguste and Madame de Fronsac.~[2] By _my friends_, you know that I mean my own dear circle, formerly of the court, and which afterwards became the society of _the wooden sword_;~[3] we republicans like it the better for the change. This letter will be given you by a French captain, who, I think, will deliver it into your own hands; but I must confide to you that I have an agreeable anticipation for to-morrow, which is to write to you by an American, who will sail on the same day, but at a later hour. Adieu, then, my dearest love; I must leave off for want of time and paper; and if I do not repeat ten thousand times that I love you, it is not from want of affection, but from my having the vanity to hope that I have already convinced you of it. The night is far advanced, the heat intense, and I am devoured by gnats; but the best countries, as you perceive, have their inconveniences. Adieu, my love, adieu.

Footnotes:

1. The Viscount de Coigny, son of the last marshal of that name, was the intimate friend of M. de Lafayette in his youth. He died young, perhaps even during this voyage.--(See the letters of January the 6th, and February 13th, 1778.) The Count de Ségur, who had married the sister of the Duchess d'Ayen, and who was, therefore, the uncle of M. de Lafayette, continued, to the last, his friend--(See the memoirs published before his death, which occurred in 1830.)

2. The Countess Auguste d'Aremberg, the wife of Count de Lamark, the friend of Mirabeau, and the Duchess de Fronsac, daughter-in-law to the Marshal de Richelieu.

3. A society of young men, who first assembled at Versailles, and afterwards at an inn at Paris.--(Note by M. de Lafayette.)

TO MADAME DE LAFAYETTE.

Petersburg, July 17th, 1777.

I am very happy, my dearest love, if the word happiness can truly be applied to me, whilst I am separated from all I love; there is a vessel on the point of sailing for France, and I am enabled to tell you, before setting out for Philadelphia, that I love you, my dearest life, and that you may be perfectly tranquil respecting my health. I bore the fatigue of the journey without suffering from it; although the land expedition was long and wearisome, yet the confinement of my melancholy ship was far more so. I am now eight days' journey from Philadelphia, in the beautiful state of Virginia. All fatigue is over, and I fear that my martial labours will be very light, if it be true that General Howe has left New York, to go I know not whither. But all the accounts I receive are so uncertain, that I cannot form any fixed opinion until I reach my destination; from thence, my love, I shall write you a long letter. You must already have received four letters from me, if they have not fallen into the hands of the English. I have received no news of you, and my impatience to arrive at Philadelphia to hear, from you cannot be compared to any other earthly feeling. Conceive the state of my mind, after having passed such an immense length of time without, having received a line from any friend! I hope all this will soon end, for I cannot live in such a state of uncertainty. I have undertaken a task which is, in truth, beyond my power, for my heart was not formed for so much suffering.

You must have learnt the particulars of the commencement of my journey: you know that I set out in a brilliant manner in a carriage, and I must now tell you that we are all on horseback,--having broken the carriage, according to my usual praiseworthy custom,--and I hope soon to write to you that we have arrived on foot. The journey is somewhat fatiguing; but although several of my comrades have suffered a great deal, I have scarcely myself been conscious of fatigue. The captain who takes charge of this letter will, perhaps, pay you a visit; I beg you in that case to receive him with great kindness.

I scarcely dare think of the time of your confinement, and yet I think of it every moment of the day. I cannot dwell upon it without the most dreadful anxiety. I am, indeed, unfortunate, at being so distant from you; even if you did not love me, you ought to pity me; but you do love me, and we shall mutually render each other happy. This little note will be short in comparison to the volumes I have already sent you, but you shall receive another letter in a few days from me.

The farther I advance to the north, the better pleased am I with the country and inhabitants. There is no attention or kindness that I do not receive, although many scarcely know who I am. But I will write all this to you more in detail from Philadelphia. I have only time to intreat you, my dearest love, not to forget an unhappy man, who pays most dearly for the error he committed in parting from you, and who never felt before how tenderly he loved you.

My respectful compliments to Madame d'Ayen, and my affectionate regards to my sisters. Tell M. de Coigny and M. de Poix that I am in good health, in case some letters should miscarry which I shall send by another opportunity, by which I shall also send a line to you, although I do not consider it so secure as this one.

TO MADAME DE LAFAYETTE.

July 23rd, 1777.

I am always meeting, my dearest love, with opportunities of sending letters; I have this time only a quarter of an hour to give you. The vessel is on the point of sailing, and I can only announce to you my safe arrival at Annapolis, forty leagues from Philadelphia. I can tell you nothing of the town, for, as I alighted from my horse, I armed myself with a little weapon dipt in invisible ink. You must already have received five letters from me, unless King George should have received some of them. The last one was despatched three days since; in it I announced to you that my health was perfectly good, and had not been even impaired by my anxiety to arrive at Philadelphia. I have received bad news here; Ticonderoga, the strongest American post, has been forced by the enemy; this is very unfortunate, and we must endeavour to repair the evil. Our troops have taken, in retaliation, an English general officer, near New York. I am each day more miserable from having quitted you, my dearest love; I hope to receive news of you at Philadelphia, and this hope adds much to the impatience I feel to arrive in that city. Adieu, my life; I am in such haste that I know not what I write, but I do know that I love you more tenderly than ever; that the pain of this separation were necessary to convince me how very dear you are to me, and that I would give at this moment half my existence for the pleasure of embracing you again, and telling you with my own lips how well I love you. My respects to Madame d'Ayen, my compliments to the viscountess, my sisters, and all my friends: to you only have I time to write. O! if you knew how much I sigh to see you, how much I suffer at being separated from you, and all that my heart has been called on to endure, you would think me somewhat worthy of your love! I have left no space for Henriette; may I say for my children? Give them a hundred thousand embraces; I shall most heartily share them with you.

TO MADAME DE LAFAYETTE.

Philadelphia, September 12th, 1777.

I write you a line, my dearest love, by some French officers, my friends, who embarked with me, but, not having received any appointment in the American army, are returning to France. I must begin by telling you that I am perfectly well, because I must end by telling you that we fought seriously last night, and that we were not the strongest on the field of battle. Our Americans, after having stood their ground for some time, ended at length by being routed: whilst endeavouring to rally them, the English honoured me with a musket ball, which slightly wounded me in the leg,--but it is a trifle, my dearest love; the ball touched neither bone nor nerve, and I have escaped with the obligation of lying on my back for some time, which puts me much out of humour. I hope that you will feel no anxiety; this event ought, on the contrary, rather to reassure you, since I am incapacitated from appearing on the field for some time: I have resolved to take great care of myself; be convinced of this, my love. This affair, will, I fear, be attended with bad consequences for America. We will endeavour, if possible, to repair the evil. You must have received many letters from me, unless the English be equally ill-disposed towards my epistles as towards my legs. I have not yet received one letter, and I am most impatient to hear from you. Adieu; I am forbidden to write longer. For several days I have not had time to sleep. Our retreat, and my journey hither, took up the whole of last night; I am perfectly well taken care of in this place. Tell all my friends that I am in good health. My tender respects to Madame d'Ayen. A thousand compliments to the viscountess and my sisters. The officers will soon set out. They will see you; what pleasure! Good night, my dearest life! I love you better than ever.

TO MADAME DE LAFAYETTE.

October 1st, 1777.

I wrote to you, my dearest love, the 12th of September; the twelfth was the day after the eleventh, and I have a little tale to relate to you concerning that eleventh day. To render my action more meritorious, I might tell you that prudent reflections induced me to remain for some weeks in my bed, safe sheltered from all danger; but I must acknowledge that I was encouraged to take this measure by a slight wound, which I met with I know not how, for I did not, in truth, expose myself to peril. It was the first conflict at which I had been present; so you see how very rare engagements are. It will be the last of this campaign, or, in all probability, at least, the last great battle; and if anything should occur, you see that I could not myself be present.

You may, therefore, my love, feel perfectly secure. I have much pleasure in thus reassuring you. While I am desiring you not to be alarmed on my account, I repeat to myself that you love me; and this little conversation with my own heart is inexpressibly delightful to me, for I love you more tenderly than I have ever done before.

My first occupation was to write to you the day after that affair: I told you that it was a mere trifle, and I was right; all I fear is that you should not have received my letter. As General Howe is giving, in the meantime, rather pompous details of his American exploits to the king his master, if he should write word that I am wounded, he may also write word that I am killed, which would not cost him anything; but I hope that my friends, and you especially, will not give faith to the reports of those persons who last year dared to publish that General Washington, and all the general officers of his army, being in a boat together, had been upset, and every individual drowned. But let us speak about the wound: it is only a flesh-wound, and has neither touched bone nor nerve. The surgeons are astonished at the rapidity with which it heals; they are in an ecstasy of joy each time they dress it, and pretend it is the finest thing in the world: for my part, I think it most disagreeable, painful, and wearisome; but tastes often differ: if a man, however, wished to be wounded for his amusement only, he should come and examine how I have been struck, that he might be struck precisely in the same manner. This, my dearest love, is what I pompously style my wound, to give myself airs, and render myself interesting.

I must now give you your lesson, as wife of an American general officer. They will say to you, "They have been beaten:" you must answer,--"That is true; but when two armies of _equal number_ meet in the field, old soldiers have naturally the advantage over new ones; they have, besides, had the pleasure of killing a great many of the enemy, many more than they have lost." They will afterwards add: "All that is very well; but Philadelphia is taken, the capital of America, the rampart of liberty!" You must politely answer, "You are all great fools! Philadelphia is a poor forlorn town, exposed on every side, whose harbour was already closed; though the residence of congress lent it, I know not why, some degree of celebrity. This is the famous city which, be it added, we will, sooner or later, make them yield back to us." If they continue to persecute you with questions, you may send them about their business in terms which the Viscount de Noailles will teach you, for I cannot lose time by talking to you of politics.

I have delayed writing your letter till the last, in the hope of receiving one from you, answering it, and giving you the latest intelligence of my health; but I am told, if I do not send immediately to congress, twenty-five leagues from hence, my captain will have set out, and I shall lose the opportunity of writing to you. This is the cause of my scrawl being more unintelligible than usual; however, if I were to send you anything but a hurried scrawl, I ought, in that case, to beg your pardon, from the singularity of the case. Recollect, my dearest love, that I have only once heard of you, from Count Pulaski. I am much provoked, and am very miserable. Imagine how dreadful it is to be far from all I love, in this state of suspense and almost despair; it is impossible to support it; and I feel, at the same time, that I do not deserve to be pitied. Why was I so obstinately bent on coming hither ? I have been well punished for my error; my affections are too strongly rooted for me to be able to perform such deeds. I hope you pity me; if you knew all I suffer, especially at this moment, when everything concerning you is so deeply interesting! I cannot, without shuddering, think of this. I am told that a parcel has arrived from France; I have despatched expresses on every road and in every corner; I have sent an officer to congress; I am expecting him every day, and you may conceive with what feelings of intense anxiety. My surgeon is also very anxious for his arrival, for this suspense keeps my blood in a state of effervescence, and he would fain require that it should flow calmly. O, my dearest life, if I receive good news from you, and all I love,--if those delightful letters arrive to-day, how happy I shall be!--but with what agitation, also, I shall open them!

Be perfectly at ease about my wound; all the faculty in America are engaged in my service. I have a friend, who has spoken to them in such a manner that I am certain of being well attended to; that friend is General Washington. This excellent man, whose talents and virtues I admired, and whom I have learnt to revere as I know him better, has now become my intimate friend: his affectionate interest in me instantly won my heart. I am established in his house, and we live together like two attached brothers, with mutual confidence and cordiality. This friendship renders me as happy as I can possibly be in this country. When he sent his best surgeon to me, he told him to take charge of me as if I were his son, because he loved me with the same affection. Having heard that I wished to rejoin the army too soon, he wrote me a letter full of tenderness, in which he requested me to attend to the perfect restoration of my health. I give you these details, my dearest love, that you may feel quite certain of the care that is taken of me. Amongst the French officers, who have all expressed the warmest interest for me, M. de Gimat, my aide-de-camp, has followed me about like my shadow, both before and since the battle, and has given me every possible proof of attachment. You may thus feel quite secure on this account, both for the present and for the future.