Everybody knows how Washington rode up, and when he saw the retreat, how he indignantly reproved General Lee and commanded the battalions to turn back and form in position for battle. Lafayette was in command of a division stationed at the second line under Lord Stirling who sustained the left wing; they were now placed on an eminence behind a morass and there played the batteries to such good effect that they were able to check the advance of the British. This halt gave Washington time to place his army to advantage. The British were driven from a strong position they had taken, and before dark the American troops had turned the British back. That night they lay upon the field in bright moonlight, and while Washington and Lafayette discussed the possible outcome of the next day, the British were silently withdrawing from the Monmouth plains. The next morning all had disappeared except some forty of their wounded. At Sandy Hook, where the British army crossed to New York, it was learned that they had lost about two thousand men by desertions and by losses at Monmouth. Many of the soldiers on both sides had died from the extreme heat on that 28th of June.

During the battle Lafayette was master of himself. Almost fifty years later, Colonel Willett related that in the hottest of the fight he saw Lafayette ride up to one of the officers and, in a voice cool, steady, and slow, and with as much deliberation as if nothing exciting prevailed, say,

"General, the enemy is making an attempt to cut off our right wing; march to his assistance with all your force."

So saying he galloped off. Colonel Willett remembered that he was exceedingly well mounted, though plainly dressed, and "very sedate in his air for a Frenchman."

A number of situations arose soon after this in which Lafayette found himself of great use. The French fleet under Count d'Estaing appeared near Delaware Bay and sailed up the coast. Washington was at White Plains. The British held New York. It was thought that the French fleet could accomplish much by going to Newport and there cooperating with the land forces. Lafayette was given a detachment and commanded to proceed to Providence where he was to stand ready to give all possible aid.

But he was doomed to still another disappointment. The French fleet arrived off Point Judith near Newport; visits of ceremony were exchanged by the French and American generals; preparations were made; but through misunderstandings, the plans never worked out to an actual engagement. Before anything was accomplished, a severe storm overtook the fleet, and it withdrew to Boston for necessary repairs.

During this trying time, Lafayette was a trusted resource to Washington, who devoutly wished to reconcile all differences and to bring peace out of dissension. For this Lafayette had peculiar qualities, as he understood the character of both the French and the Americans, and believed absolutely in the good intentions of the officers on both sides. Twice he rode to Boston and back again to help in settling some difficulty, making on one of those occasions a journey of seventy miles, at night, in six and a half hours—a feat paralleled only by Sheridan's famous ride to Winchester.

But the fleet sailed away, bearing many disappointments with it, though much good had been done by its coming; it meant that the American cause had received definite encouragement from France.

It was now October of 1778 and autumn weather was closing the campaign of the year. The sending of the French fleet to our shores had been virtually a declaration that a state of war existed between France and England, and the thought that this might develop into an actual war in which Lafayette, after his practical experience and training in the Continental army, could take part and win glory, inclined him strongly at this point to return to his native land. Permission was given to him to do this. The proper farewells, official and private, were made, and Lafayette started on his way to Boston where he was to embark.

But the strain of the summer's excitement and overwork had been too much for Lafayette, and at Fishkill he was taken ill with a violent fever which prostrated him for some weeks. The greatest concern was felt for his life; the soldiers' love for him was shown by their great solicitude, and General Washington called upon him every day.

Lafayette slowly recovered and finally resumed his journey to Boston, where he went on board the Alliance which the government had given him to take him to France. At the moment of sailing he sent a letter to General Washington, in which he said:

"Farewell, my dear General. I hope your French friends will ever be dear to you. I hope I shall soon see you again and tell you myself with what emotions I now leave the land you inhabit, and with what affection and respect I shall ever be your sincere friend."

They set sail for Havre on the 11th of January, 1779. The voyage was not to be without adventure. They sailed into the teeth of a terrible three days' storm. Lafayette, as usual, was very seasick, and, as usual, was much discouraged thereby. For a time glory and fame had no charms for him! He declared he was surely going where he had wished to send all the English—namely, to the bottom of the sea!

Still worse was to follow. No sooner was the storm over than another danger loomed up. The ship's crew included a number of renegade English sailors who conspired to mutiny, to overwhelm the officers, and to kill the crew and passengers. By including in their confidence an American sailor, whom they mistook for an Irishman, their plot came to naught. Lafayette summoned the whole crew, put thirty-three mutineers in chains, and thus saved himself from capture and the ship from being towed into a British port as a prize. Shortly after this Lafayette brought the frigate into the harbor of Brest, where he had the pleasure of seeing, for the first time, the American flag receive the national salute as the symbol of an acknowledged sister nation in alliance with his native country.



CHAPTER IX

THE RETURN TO FRANCE

When Lafayette learned of the birth of his little daughter Anastasie, whom he now ardently desired to see, he wrote to his wife:

"What expressions can my tenderness find sufficiently strong for our dear Anastasie? You will find them in your own heart, and in mine, which is equally open to you.... That poor little child must supply all that we have lost."

Letters like this would give great consolation to Madame de Lafayette, but alas, they came at long intervals, since many of her husband's long epistles never reached her. Therefore Adrienne felt his absence the more keenly, while rumors and exaggerated reports from America made her days an agony. When, however, he returned to France in February, 1779, her happiness was beyond all expression.

Adrienne's joy was increased by the fact that while her rash young husband had left his native land under a cloud, because it was understood that he did so against the command of the king, his return was that of a conqueror, triumphant and in favor.

He was not allowed, however, wholly to forget his formal error. His appeal to Adrienne for forgiveness for his absence was one that he had to make to others. His father-in-law testified in a letter that, so far as he was concerned, the recreant might be freely forgiven. Adrienne was only too willing to receive the one who had left her to go on a mission to the other side of the world; but what about the king whose command not to leave the shores of France he had practically disobeyed? Many a man had been shut up in the Bastille because of a much smaller offense.

Lafayette was brought to the court at Versailles by his relative, the Prince de Poix. The king received him and graciously accorded a punishment. He was to suffer imprisonment for the space of one week—his prison to be the grand residence of his father-in-law, the Hotel de Noailles! After that his pardon was to be freely granted by his Majesty, with this warning—that he should avoid public places for a time lest the people should manifest their admiration for his disobedient conduct by their applause.

The king's warning was not indeed without reason. But there was no use in trying to keep the impressionable French people from worshiping a hero after their hearts had been captured by him. The gallantry and the human-heartedness of Lafayette, as well as the ideals he held—ideals that were becoming more and more captivating to the fancy and to the reason of the French nation—contributed to make him the favorite of the hour. A passage from a certain play never failed to receive enthusiastic applause from the audiences because it was held by all to be susceptible of direct application to Lafayette; and this passage the queen copied in her own hand because she thought of him when she read it. It dwelt upon the union of mature and youthful qualities in a character, and ran as follows:

"Why talk of youth When all the ripe experience of the old Dwells with him? In his schemes profound and cool He acts with wise precaution, and reserves For times of action, his impetuous fire. To guard the camp, to scale the 'leaguered wall, Or dare the hottest of the fight, are toils That suit the impetuous bearing of his youth; Yet like the gray-haired veteran he can shun The field of peril. Still before my eyes I place his bright example, for I love His lofty courage, and his prudent thought; Gifted like him, a warrior has no age."

The queen's copy of this passage was given to Madame de Campan, the revered teacher of the young ladies of the court, and it met the fate of being burned on the very day Marie Antoinette's sad life came to an end at the hands of the executioner during the height of the Terror.

The queen had shown her interest in Lafayette's arrival by arranging to have an interview with the young hero when he was making his first visit to Versailles. At her suggestion Lafayette was now advanced by the king to be commander of an important regiment in the army of France, the king's own Dragoons. He was stationed at Saintes and afterwards at St. Jean-d'Angely, near Rochefort, where the regiment was conveniently quartered to be ready in case a project for the invasion of England by way of the British Channel should be carried out. Such a plan was under consideration, and Lafayette looked forward with delight to the prospect of action against the country which he considered the ancient foe of France.

But, to Lafayette's great grief, the plot to invade England failed; and he was now free to return to Paris and Versailles. The failure of the British plan also made it rather easier for the minds of prominent officials to look toward taking some further part in the American struggle. To aid this Lafayette gladly applied himself; for while loyal always to his own nation, and standing ready at any point to leave all to serve France, he had not for a moment forgotten the needs of his adopted country across the Atlantic. In fact, when he reached home, he had not waited for his one week's punishment to be over before beginning to create interest in the cause for which he had risked his life. Benjamin Franklin, then ambassador to the court of France from the United States, was promptly allowed, under pretense of calling upon Lafayette's father-in-law, to visit Lafayette himself.

There was a constant stream of callers coming to see and congratulate him, and never was there one among them who was permitted to misunderstand the fact that Lafayette wished to move heaven and earth to secure help for the Continental army in its struggle for freedom. He found himself, in a more important sense than ever before, the tie between France and America, for he enjoyed the confidence of both countries.

To Washington he wrote: "If there is anything in France concerning which not only as a soldier but as a politician, or in any other capacity, I can employ my exertions to the advantage of the United States, I hope it is unnecessary to say that I shall seize the opportunity and bless the day which shall render me useful to those whom I love with all the ardor and frankness of my heart."

General Washington, on his part, wrote to Lafayette in this wise:

"It gives me infinite pleasure to hear from your sovereign of the joy that your safe arrival in France has diffused among your friends.... Your forward zeal in the cause of liberty, your singular attachment to this infant world, your ardent and persevering efforts not only in America, but since your return to France, to serve the United States, your polite attentions to Americans, and your strict and uniform friendship for me, have ripened the first impressions of esteem and attachment which I imbibed for you into such perfect love and gratitude, as neither time nor absence can impair. This will warrant my assuring you that whether in the character of an officer at the head of a corps of gallant Frenchmen if circumstances should require this, whether as major-general commanding a division of the American army, or whether, after our swords and spears have given place to the plowshare and pruning-hook, I see you as a private gentleman, a friend and companion, I shall welcome you with all the warmth of friendship to Columbia's shores; and in the latter case, to my rural cottage, where homely fare and a cordial reception shall be substituted for delicacies and costly living. This, from past experience, I know you can submit to; and if the lovely partner of your happiness will consent to participate with us in such rural entertainments and amusements, I can undertake on behalf of Mrs. Washington that she will do all in her power to make Virginia agreeable to the Marchioness. My inclination and endeavors to do this cannot be doubted, when I assure you that I love everybody that is dear to you."

Such a visit as this the Marchioness was never to pay. And we can not blame her if, during her husband's brief visits, she felt like complaining that he absorbed himself in the interests of the American cause or was always planning fresh enterprises. But though she was now only nineteen years old, she was proving herself the high-minded woman who could sympathize entirely with her husband's ideals, and who could consider him dedicated to a great cause; therefore she could cheerfully lay aside merely selfish wishes. No one ever heard a complaint from her absolutely loyal lips. In December, 1779, the family was made happy by the birth of a son, to whom, in honor of his illustrious friend, Lafayette gave the name of George Washington.

Lafayette had many testimonials from his friends in the United States showing their appreciation of his efforts for them; and among them was one of special import. It consisted of a sword richly ornamented, with a handle of solid gold, sent to him by the American Congress. To Franklin was intrusted the pleasant task of providing this rich gift. It was made in Paris and was engraved with representations of the actions in which Lafayette had taken part, together with his coat of arms, his chosen motto "Cur non?" and other emblematic designs selected by Franklin; and Franklin's grandson had the honor of conveying to Lafayette this testimonial of a nation's appreciation.

"By the help of the exquisite artists of France," graciously wrote Franklin in an accompanying letter, "I find it easy to express everything but the sense we have of your worth."

Lafayette may have been in a fair way to be spoiled, but if he was he had a happy way of concealing it. He answered, "In some of the devices I cannot help finding too honorable a reward for those slight services which, in concert with my fellow-soldiers, and under the god-like American hero's orders, I had the good fortune to render."

This beautiful sword was in the course of time to meet with ill luck. When Revolutionists rifled the Chateau de Chaviniac, it was buried for safe-keeping and remained thus hidden for many years. Long afterwards Lafayette's son, George Washington Lafayette, grown to young manhood, unearthed the treasure and found that the blade was totally rusted away. Lafayette then had the happy thought of adjusting to this handle of pure gold the blade of a sword that had been made out of bolts and bars taken from the Bastille. Thus the associations of both worlds and of two struggles for freedom were united in one historic sword.

There came a time when Lafayette felt himself warranted in presenting a Memoir to the Cabinet on the subject of giving direct relief to America. His plan, from a military standpoint, was masterly, and it produced so favorable an impression that it was accepted; and it soon became known to those worthy to be in the secret that France would send to America a reinforcement of six ships and six thousand men of the regular infantry. To this was added a loan of three million livres, and later still, through the appeals of Franklin, another loan of the same amount was supplied. The Count de Rochambeau, a trained soldier, was chosen to command the land forces and the Count de Ternay was to be admiral of the fleet. Lafayette was sent ahead to announce this happy news and to make preparations for the arrival of the expedition.

Wearing the uniform of an American officer, Lafayette took his leave of the king; and on the 4th of March, 1780, he sailed on the frigate Hermione. He reached Boston harbor on the 28th of April, 1780, after an absence of fifteen months. When word swept through the city that a ship was coming in with Lafayette on board, the people crowded to the wharf to welcome the returning French friend of America. This was the beginning of civic processions in Lafayette's honor. They cheered him from the ship's side to the residence of Governor Hancock where addresses were listened to and congratulations exchanged. He called upon the Legislature then in session, and in the evening viewed the illuminations in his honor. Lafayette gave a dinner on board the ship to which he invited a large number of officials—the president of the Massachusetts Council, members of the legislature, the consul of France, and other men of dignity. The frigate was gayly decorated with the flags of many nations. Thirteen toasts were drunk—the number thirteen cannot have been an unlucky number in those days!—and after the toast to Washington the great guns boomed seventeen times.

As rapidly as possible Lafayette rode to Washington's headquarters at Morristown, New Jersey, and made his happy announcement to the General himself. He then pressed on to Philadelphia to present to Congress the communication from the French government. He bore also a letter from Washington, in which the commander in chief introduced Lafayette as one who had "signally distinguished himself in the service of this country," and who, during the time that he had been in France, had "uniformly manifested the same zeal in our affairs which animated his conduct while he was among us"; who had been "on all occasions an essential friend to America."

The greatest possible effort was now made to equip the Continental army, but the resources of the country had already been grievously overtaxed. Washington had hardly been able to keep his army together at all. Half of his six thousand men were unfit for duty. They had sometimes had no bread for six days; sometimes for two or three days they would have neither meat nor bread. The commander clearly realized that an army reduced to nothing, without provisions or any of the necessary means to carry on a war, needed not a little help only—it needed a great deal.

When, on the 2d of May, the French fleet finally set sail, delays had reduced the number of soldiers and the amount of supplies. The English by this time had realized what was happening, and they carefully blockaded the second division of the squadron in the harbor of Brest; and when the first division reached Newport, the English cleverly surrounded the harbor with their ships, thus "bottling up" the French and rendering them inactive and useless. In this way the great good that was expected from the French expedition came to naught.

During all this trying time, Lafayette acted the part of a single-minded friend of both the French and the American armies. He was sent by Washington to Newport to confer with the French generals, and later he was present at a joint meeting of the great French and American generals which was held at Hartford, Connecticut. Lafayette rode from one army to the other, holding conferences and putting important decisions into writing, or dictating the results of conversations. Many of these documents have been preserved in French or American state archives.

Whatever time he could get apart from these labors he spent in training the battalion that had been assigned to him. This was a detachment of light infantry, selected from the best of the army. He took great pride in training these men, sent to France for black and white plumes for their caps, and tried to make them present as good an appearance as possible. The Marquis de Chastellux, who visited his camp on the Ramapo River, has left a delightful description of this visit in which he spoke of the fine appearance of the troops as their young commander had drawn them up on a height near his own station. Here, said Chastellux, Lafayette received his guest with more pride than if he had been entertaining at his estates in Auvergne. "Happy his country," said Chastellux, "if she employs his services; happier still if she has no use for them!"

It was during this autumn that Benedict Arnold made what Lafayette called that "horrid compact with the enemy"—an event that amazed and distressed him beyond any words. Lafayette was with Washington when the plot was discovered. He was also a member of the board to try the British spy, Andre. His attitude toward Andre was very different from that toward Benedict Arnold. Andre, he said, conducted himself in a manner so frank, so noble, and so delicate, that he could not help feeling infinite sorrow for him.

The winter of 1780-81 was the darkest period of the war. But it was to be followed by a happier season, one in which Lafayette was at last to have as large a share of action as his heart could wish.



CHAPTER X

LAFAYETTE IN VIRGINIA

The British still held the city of New York. General Washington's army sat in their impregnable camps on the Hudson and along the Delaware, where he could reach out a hand to New England on the east, and to Philadelphia on the south, at the same time threatening now and then the stronghold of the British. Meantime an active campaign was being carried on in the states south of Virginia. At the battle of Charleston the brave General Lincoln and his gallant army were compelled by the British to lay down their arms and give themselves up as prisoners of war without the usual courtesies. The ceremony of surrender was particularly galling. Forbidden by their conquerors to play a British or a Hessian air, they marched to the joyous melody of "Yankee Doodle," their colors cased, and their hearts rebellious. The battle of Camden was another defeat for the Americans. On that disastrous day fell the companion of Lafayette's first voyage, the Baron de Kalb, who died bravely after receiving no less than eleven wounds. Sir Henry Clinton, the British commander in the south, thought that defeats like these would finish the question for that part of the country, so he gave out proclamations of amnesty to the tractable and built scaffolds to hang the unsubmissive. But the south was not to be so easily subdued. The British met with defeat at King's Mountain, and in October, 1780, General Greene was sent to push the southern campaign more vigorously.

One result of these southern disasters was to make the importance of Virginia increasingly evident as a base for operations in the Carolinas. Cornwallis saw this and he determined to reduce that state, to cut off the southern army from its base, and thus to control the approaches to the heart of the country. Accordingly, in January, 1781, he sent Benedict Arnold, who had been made a brigadier general in the British army, with a strong force, and with two trusted British colonels, to conduct a campaign in that state.

If the British commander in chief had wished to fill the men of the Continental army with a fire that would make them unconquerable, this was the way to do it, and this was the man against whom they most desired to fight. On the other hand, General Washington chose a leader for the defense who was so well beloved by his men, and who was himself filled with so fiery an enthusiasm for the cause, that this alone would have been enough to bring into effect all the strength of those drained and exhausted men and to energize them for prodigies of valor. This leader was Lafayette. In February, 1781, he was commissioned to go against Arnold.

Lafayette was glad to be trusted with a command and overjoyed at the prospect of action. But he still believed that the great final blow was to be struck at New York and he was most reluctant to be separated from Washington with whom he intensely longed to be when the great climax came. However, he obeyed orders with perfect alacrity and planned for a swift march in order to intercept any efforts on the part of Arnold to obtain access to the various storehouses and river crossings in Virginia. Leaving under guard his tents, artillery, and everything that could be spared, with orders to follow as rapidly as possible, he marched his men through heavy rains and over bad roads.

The Virginia campaign, says a French historian, is to be ranked among the classic tales of all time; and in this campaign the young Lafayette was the most notable leader. It was on the 6th of April, 1781, that General Washington wrote to Lafayette, giving him full instructions, which led him into the midst of active service.

Lafayette's detachment included men from New Jersey, from New Hampshire, and from other New England states. Among them were some of the men who had been willing to take their lives in their hands and follow their young leader on the hazardous expedition into Canada. Although the men had no idea at this time what was before them, they were now going to follow Lafayette to the glory that he so ardently desired.

But in spite of the splendid spirit of the troops, Lafayette found that they were in sore need of encouragement. They saw that they were not going toward the grand final attack; they were not used to the blind obedience exacted from trained European troops; and they did not understand this discouraging southward move.

Fearing that the summer would be wasted, Lafayette thought of a device to strengthen the tie between himself and his detachment. He wrote it down in the order of the day that they were about to start out on an expedition that would tax all a soldier's powers, and in which there would be abundant dangers and difficulties. The enemy, he said, was far superior to them in numbers, thoroughly despised them, and was determined to conquer them. He added that no soldier should accompany him who was inclined to abandon him; nor was it necessary that any one should desert; for any man could, if he desired, have a pass and be sent to join his regiment in winter quarters.

This method of approach had more than the desired effect. Lafayette soon wrote to Washington: "Our men are in high spirits. Their honor was interested, and murmurs as well as desertions are entirely out of fashion."

Soon after the advent of Lafayette in the Virginia field, he came into contact with Benedict Arnold in a very curious way. The commander of the opposing British forces had died, and Arnold took his place. About that time Arnold sent a message under a flag of truce to Lafayette. When Lafayette learned that the letter which was brought in was from the traitor, he returned it unopened, sending a verbal message stating that with Benedict Arnold he would hold no communication whatever. Later he sent a formal letter to the officer that had brought the flag, in which he declined all correspondence with Arnold, but added with the utmost courtesy that "in case any other British officer should honour him with a letter, he would always be happy to give the officers every testimony of esteem."

The subject of the letter from Arnold was an exchange of prisoners, a matter that interested him extremely, as he well knew that Lafayette could hardly have pleased the American people better than by presenting Benedict Arnold to them a prisoner. We know that Arnold's mind dwelt on this aspect of his sad situation from the fact that he once quizzed a captured American to find out what the Americans would do with him if they took him prisoner. The soldier audaciously replied that they would "cut off the leg that had been wounded in the country's service and hang the rest of him!" Lafayette's action in regard to the letter from Arnold was very gratifying to Washington; he said that in nothing had Lafayette pleased him more than in refusing to hold communication with Benedict Arnold.

Soon after this Arnold was transferred to New York, and Cornwallis came forward with reenforcements, declaring that he would now "proceed to dislodge Lafayette from Richmond." The struggle between the young French officer (not yet twenty-four years old) in his first attempt at carrying on an independent campaign, and the veteran British commander with years of service behind him, was now taken up with more spirit than ever before. It was the crisis of the Revolution. If the Continental army could only hold out a little longer, it might be possible, by adroit advance and diplomatic retreat, to avoid unequal battles until the foe was worn out or until some favorable opportunity should arise for a direct attack. Cornwallis, of course, despised his exhausted enemy. A letter from him was intercepted and brought into the American camp; in the letter he said, "The Boy cannot escape me!" Lafayette's face must have been set in very grim lines when he read that letter.

Technically, Lafayette had been taking orders from General Greene whose command was in the south and included Virginia. But on the 18th of May, Lafayette was ordered to take the entire command in Virginia and to send all reports directly to General Washington. "The Boy's" letters to Colonel Hamilton show that he fully recognized the gravity of affairs, the responsibility of his position, and the dangers of his own over-enthusiastic spirit. The British command of the adjacent waters, the superiority of their cavalry, and the great disproportion in the forces of the two armies, gave the enemy such advantages that Lafayette dared not venture to engage the British. The British generals thoroughly understood what they called Lafayette's "gasconading disposition," and they relied upon it to work woe to his plans and to contribute to their own glory. His prudence disappointed them as much as it satisfied Washington who had said of Lafayette, "This noble soldier combines all the military fire of youth with an unusual maturity of judgment." Lafayette desired to be worthy of this high praise.

On April 29, Lafayette and his light infantry reached Richmond in time to prevent its capture and to protect the supplies that had been concentrated there. In the battle at Green Spring his bravery led him once more to plunge into the thick of the fight, losing his horse (some reports say two horses) which was shot under him or by his side.

In Wayne's official report on that battle he said that "Lafayette was frequently requested to keep at a greater distance, but his native bravery rendered him deaf to the admonition."

He compelled the admiration of his opponents by his skill in defensive maneuvers. The "Boy" obeyed his commander in chief, and he succeeded in misleading his foe, for Cornwallis believed that the American force was larger than it actually was; he also believed that he could break down the loyalty of the inhabitants of Pennsylvania and of Virginia. In both these points he was direfully mistaken. But Lafayette had high respect for Cornwallis as a general. "His Lordship plays so well," he complained, "that no blunder can be hoped from him to recover a bad step of ours."

Finally, reenforcements did come to Lafayette. In despair the American Congress sent a special messenger express to Paris to bear one more urgent appeal for help. Washington wrote, "We are at the end of our tether; ... now or never our deliverance must come."

Impetuous young John Laurens was chosen to be this Ambassador Extraordinary to France. Laurens was greatly admired and loved by Lafayette and he recommended him to the affections of his noble relatives in Paris. At the moment Laurens's father was being held a prisoner by the British in the Tower of London—a fact that no doubt quickened the zeal of the son. At all events, he was successful in his mission. The French fleet in the West Indies was ordered to the United States and the king himself became surety for several millions of livres in addition to what had already been sent to our aid.

The time was coming when Lafayette could begin to move the British army before him little by little down the York River toward Yorktown, a method of procedure that now became, as the British reports described it, the "constant and good policy of the enemy." On the 24th of September, 1781, Cornwallis proceeded to occupy Yorktown and to strengthen it against attack.

The city of Yorktown is situated near the entrance to Chesapeake Bay. At that place two rivers enter the bay, the York and the James, and upon a conspicuous bluff on the northern side of the neck of land between them stood this small town.

Cornwallis began at once to prepare the place for assault. Around the village he built a series of fortifications consisting of seven redoubts and six batteries on the land side, and these he connected by intrenchments. He placed a line of batteries on the river bank to command the channel, and he established outworks to impede the approach of the enemy. Lafayette saw all this and rejoiced, for he believed that Cornwallis was at last where he most desired to have him—in a place where he would be open to attack, and with some hope of success. All the country around Yorktown was now familiar to Lafayette. He knew every inch of the land, the river, the morass, and the commanding hill. "Should a fleet come in at this moment, affairs would take a very happy turn," he wrote joyfully to General Washington.

On the 30th of August the French fleet, under the Count de Grasse, with twenty-eight ships of the line, appeared in the waters of Chesapeake Bay; a few days later the Marquis de Saint Simon, field marshal in the French army, debarked a large reenforcement of French troops; and on the 4th of September Lafayette moved nearer to Yorktown and took a position with the troops he could bring together,—his own light infantry, the militia, and the reenforcements at Williamsburg, a town in the vicinity of the British position.

Nothing now remained but the arrival of General Washington himself to take charge of the whole enterprise, and Lafayette's happiness was complete when, on the 14th of September, he resigned his command into the hands of his revered General.



CHAPTER XI

THE TWO REDOUBTS

It is September, 1781. The "Boy" has not been caught. He is encamped at Williamsburg, and looks toward his powerful enemy who is surrounded by well-devised intrenchments at Yorktown, twelve miles down the river.

The American and French troops, fifteen or sixteen thousand in number, arrived and took their places. General Washington was in supreme command. America had never before seen such an army. The Americans had done their utmost. That part of the French army that had come down from Connecticut with Rochambeau had astonished the people of Philadelphia as they marched through the city by the brilliancy of their rose-and-violet-faced uniforms, and by the display of their graceful and accurate military movements. Now they were to have an opportunity to show whether their warlike spirit was expressed chiefly in ruffles and tinsel trimmings, or whether they could win fame by more solid qualities.

On the 29th of September the combined American and French armies moved southward to a point about four miles from the town. There they divided into two columns and the Americans defiled to the right, the French to the left. They then proceeded to arrange themselves around the town in an irregular semicircle that extended from the river bank at the west to the shore on the southeast, a distance of about two miles. Toward the southern side were ranged the various American regiments under Baron Steuben and General Wayne; and next to these stood what was called the Light Infantry corps under Lafayette. He had ventured to suggest to General Washington that he wished his division might be composed of the troops that had been with him through the fatigues and dangers of the Virginia campaign; this, he said, would be the greatest reward he could have for the services he might have rendered, as he had now the strongest attachment for those troops. Still another division stood at the extreme right. This was under the command of General Lincoln, who had been forced, through no fault of his own, to surrender to the British at Charleston.

The approaches to Yorktown were easy; there were means of shelter everywhere, and the American army at once began preparations for the siege.

At last the men finished the construction of two parallels. They were now within three hundred yards of the British defenses. General Washington then placed his siege guns in position. It was the first week in October, 1781. On the sixth the siege began.

Every point in this dramatic history has been made the subject of story or poem, and naturally some legendary quality would after a time irradiate the incidents. Thus some writers affirm that General Washington gave the order for the first shot, and some say that it was Lafayette. The story is this. Before signing the order, General Washington turned to Thomas Nelson who was both governor of Virginia and a general in the army, and inquired,

"At what object shall this gun be fired?"

Pointing to his own dwelling where the roof appeared above the trees of Yorktown, and where it was understood Cornwallis had his headquarters, General Nelson answered,

"There is my house; aim at that!"

The story is that Washington turned to the gunner and said,

"For every shot you cause to hit that house, I will give you five guineas."

From the 6th to the 10th of October, the fire from the allied American and French army increased daily in vigor. On the 11th the second parallel was completed and entered, and the besieging line was thus tightened and strengthened. Within their intrenchments the British were watching for reenforcements that were fated never to come.

On the 14th of October it was found that the British held two redoubts whose guns were inconveniently active, and the Americans believed they must be silenced. The redoubts had been built on two small hills on the American right, in a difficult region where rocky cuts alternated with swampy depressions. These two hills were called "Number Nine" and "Number Ten"; "Number Ten" was also called "Rock Redoubt." These redoubts were about three hundred yards in front of the British garrison, and Washington decided after consultation that they were of sufficient importance to take by storm.

Accordingly the order was given. The reduction of Redoubt Number Nine was intrusted to a group of French grenadiers and chasseurs. Rock Redoubt stood nearest the river; this was assigned to Lafayette with his American regiments.

Important among the men under General Lafayette's command was Lieutenant Colonel de Gimat, the French aid who had always been so faithful a follower of Lafayette; he commanded a body of men from Massachusetts and Rhode Island. Then there was Lieutenant Colonel Alexander Hamilton, the young American to whom Lafayette was personally so warmly attached, who afterwards was to become one of the most distinguished servants of the new nation, and who was to meet so strange and sad an end after his great work was done.

When Hamilton heard a rumor that General Washington was intending to give to a certain Colonel Barber the opportunity to lead the attack, his spirit was immediately aroused. Without a moment's delay he hastened to headquarters and warmly urged his right to the honorable and dangerous task. He gained his point and returned in a state of exuberant satisfaction, exclaiming to his major, "We have it! We have it!" So Lafayette assigned Lieutenant Colonel Alexander Hamilton to lead the advance corps, to be assisted by Colonel de Gimat. In all there were four hundred men under Lafayette for this storming adventure.

It was eight o'clock on the evening of October 14. The storming of the two redoubts had been carefully planned even down to the least details; but so energetic was the work of the men, so dashing was their valor, that when the time really came, the attack lasted but a few minutes.

Lafayette's redoubt was taken in a mere flash of time—in less than ten minutes, some close observers said; others made it eight minutes. The six shells, the signal agreed upon, were fired. The men started the march. Rock Redoubt loomed before them in the thick dusk of twilight. They advanced in good order with their bayonets fixed and in utter silence, as they had been commanded. But when the first volley of musketry came down from the top of the redoubt, they broke their silence and huzzaed with all their power. Then they rushed forward, charging with their bayonets as they ran, and in almost no time they were within the redoubt, with the defending officer and forty-five men their prisoners. Not a shot had been fired; and so swift was the action that few of the Americans were lost.

The not ungenerous rivalry between the groups of men who took the two redoubts is one of the most picturesque incidents of the American Revolution. If it had not been for the fact that the French detachment had paused to have the abatis cut through in regular order, they would probably have been in their redoubt before the Americans under Lafayette were in theirs; for when they were once on the height, they occupied but six minutes in making themselves masters of their redoubt and in manning it again for action.

One move follows another quickly at such a time, and when Lafayette had entered his redoubt, he looked over the parapet and saw that the men on the other height were still struggling for the possession of theirs. It happened that a certain General Viomesnil had expressed a doubt as to the efficiency of the American troops, therefore Lafayette welcomed this opportunity to show their valor. He instantly sent an aid to announce to General Viomesnil, with a flourish of compliments, that the American troops were in possession of their redoubt and to say that if M. le Baron de Viomesnil desired any help, the Marquis de Lafayette would have great pleasure in assisting him! The Major sent word,

"Tell the Marquis that I am not in mine, but that I will be in five minutes."

This promise was made good by the brave and energetic French troops. Perhaps never before had the space of two minutes been of so much importance in the honor of two nations.

General Washington who, in his eagerness to see this important action, had ridden near,—too near to please his officers and surgeons,—had closely watched the storming of the redoubts. When they were taken and the guns had been instantly whirled about to face the enemy, he turned to Generals Knox and Lincoln who stood near and said with emphasis,

"The work is done, and well done."

Then he mounted his horse and rode back to headquarters.



CHAPTER XII

THE SURRENDER OF YORKTOWN

At the siege of Yorktown much of the gallantry and glory of war was to be seen; but there was another side as well. The dwelling houses in ruin, the sufferings of the wounded men, the surgical operations, the amputations, the groans and sighs and homesickness, the dying gasps, the bodies of slain horses lying in the way—these also are war.

In Yorktown itself many houses were in flames. A sortie had been attempted and had failed. British reenforcements had not come. Supplies were giving out. The outlook seemed hopeless. The men fought without spirit. An attempt was made to escape by sea. It also failed. A violent storm drove the boats back to shore. The idea of surrender was entertained.

Consequently, on the 17th of October, General Cornwallis sent a note to General Washington asking for a cessation of hostilities for twenty-four hours, to settle terms for the surrender of Yorktown. Washington allowed two hours instead of twenty-four. Why waste any more time?

Interviews were immediately held, and a treaty of capitulation was framed.

When it was known that the British had yielded, a wave of the wildest joy spread through the American and French camps—and through the whole country as well. Messengers rode at top speed to Philadelphia to carry the good news. Congress was sitting there at the time. The rider came in at midnight. At one o'clock the watchers called "All's well," as usual, but added,

"Cornwallis is taken!"

Windows were opened and heads thrust out. The streets soon filled with rejoicing people. What Lafayette called "a good noisy feu de joie" followed.

The third article in the document of capitulation stated that the British troops should be required to march out to the place appointed in front of the posts, at two o'clock precisely, with shouldered arms, colors cased, and drums beating a British or a German march. They were then to ground their arms and return to their encampments. The same afternoon the works at Gloucester on the opposite side of the river were to be given up, the infantry to file out as prescribed for the garrison at York, and the cavalry to go forth with their swords drawn and their trumpets sounding.

Over all this there had been a sharp discussion. The British wished to receive the "honors of war," that is, to go out with colors flying and drums beating; and the courteous Washington was inclined to grant this request. But Lafayette remembered the requirements the British had made at the defeat at Charleston. They had compelled the men to march out with colors cased, and had forbidden them to play a British or a Hessian air; and he thought that in fair retaliation the British army should now give up their arms in the manner required by them on that occasion. He suggested, however, one original variation,—that they should be not forbidden but required to march to a British or a German air. Colonel Laurens was in accord with this. He had served at Charleston under General Lincoln, and he was only too glad to remind the British commissioners that it had been so arranged and required of the American troops after that defeat.

"The article remains or I cease to be a commissioner," the young man said firmly. The high-spirited Laurens could but remember that at that very moment his own father was still imprisoned in the Tower of London.

The condition remained; and at noon on the 19th of October the capitulation was signed. At one o'clock possession was taken of the enemies' works, and at two the garrison marched out.

A field about a mile and a half south of Yorktown was chosen for the ceremony. The scene was brilliant and spectacular. All the American soldiers were drawn up in a line on one side of the road and the French stood opposite with General Rochambeau, their commander in chief, leading their line. General Washington, mounted on his horse and attended by his aids, was at the head. Washington was ardently admired by all the French officers and they must have envied him his magnificent appearance in this fortunate hour. That fearless and austere commander, who had shared the sufferings and privations of his men in the dark night of Valley Forge, now rejoiced with them in the hour of accomplishment.

The French made a splendid appearance with their uniforms of bright colors and contrasting trimmings. Nearly all had the conventional three-cornered Revolutionary cap of blue; and the trousers were prevailingly of a lemon or canary yellow. Glittering orders were flashing on many uniforms, their banners were embroidered with golden lilies; each noble had his servants arrayed in silver-laced livery, and the French bands of many fifes, horns, and cymbals, played such music as was never heard before.

The American soldiers, who had inherited no traditions of either the glory or the disasters of warfare, could not compare with the foreigners in their full-dress display. But in every heart among them there was a feeling that richly compensated for the lack of feathers and facings. Whether shopkeeper or farmer or mighty hunter from the interior who stood in that line, the tide of united nationality ran higher in his heart than ever before. And every last man among them was one degree happier by having the dashing young French Major General, their beloved "Marquis," on the American side of the procession instead of in the foreign line. The "Boy" that Cornwallis was so certain he could catch was splendid that day in the perfection of military form. He sat, as always, very perfectly on his horse and he had the grace to be proud of the company in which he stood. As to his own regiment of Light Infantry, he had always been fond of decorating them with finery. They appeared now in dark leather leggins and white trousers; their blue coats had white facings and white cuffs; and a blue feather stood up in front of the cap and waved over the crown. This was the regulation uniform for them, but perhaps, having just gone through the severities of their Virginia campaign, they were not able to "live up" to their fine clothes. However, nothing mattered on that great day.

A vast concourse of American spectators was present to witness the surrender, but their desire to see Lord Cornwallis was not gratified. He pleaded indisposition and appointed General O'Hara in his place. As this general approached the group of commanding officers, the bands added their music. By the stipulation, they had been commanded to play an English or a Hessian march, but they were too proud to select one of their dignified national airs. Instead, they gave the tune of an English folk song of hoary age, known from time immemorial as "Derry Down," but now called "The World Turned Upside Down," a title the British bandmaster no doubt considered appropriate to the circumstances.

But the dignity of the occasion required that they should now observe the proprieties, for there was a wonderful pageant to be viewed, and all felt the great import of the hour.

The conquered army advanced between the two long lines of French and American soldiers. General O'Hara led the procession, riding slowly and proudly. As he approached General Washington, he removed his hat and apologized for the absence of General Cornwallis. General Washington received the apology and indicated that he had appointed General Lincoln, as the conquered commander of Charleston, to do the honors of the day and to receive the arms of the conquered. The moment was historic.

In one of the halls at Yale University stands a celebrated picture, painted by Trumbull, which gives a vivid impression of the brilliancy and importance of the occasion. In this picture General Washington, in an attitude of great dignity, is placed in the center of the scene. Near him stands General Lincoln who is being richly rewarded for his bitter defeat at Charleston. His hand is held out to receive the sword which the representative of General Cornwallis is passing to him.

At the left of the picture are seen the French officers. Rochambeau is at the back and a little separated from the rest, and the others in the line are the counts, marquises, and barons who were officers in the French army.

General Lafayette, the American, was on the American side, not far from his beloved General Washington. The one nearest to the commander in chief is General (or Governor) Thomas Nelson, the one who had suggested that his own house roof be aimed at in the beginning of the siege; the next is Lafayette; then Baron Steuben; the others are representative commanders from various states.

The ceremony that followed this climax was most impressive. General Lincoln received the sword of Cornwallis, and at once handed it back to General O'Hara. The several regiments came forward to deliver their colors. Twenty-eight British captains, each bearing a flag folded in a case, were drawn up in a line opposite the twenty-eight American sergeants who were stationed to receive the flags. Ensign Wilson, then but eighteen years old, the youngest commissioned officer in the American army, was chosen to conduct this ceremony and to hand the colors on to the American sergeants. Lafayette looked down from his place in the line of mounted American officers and felt that his most ardent hopes were now fulfilled, and that his motto, "Cur non," had brought him only the best of fortune.

The day after the ceremony of surrender was the Sabbath, and General Washington ordered that divine service should be held in all the regiments and that Thanksgiving should be the theme. The next day he gave a dinner to which the general officers of the three armies were invited. Lafayette could not restrain his admiration for Cornwallis for his gallant and appropriate conduct upon all these rather embarrassing occasions.



If, however, he had possessed the gift of prophecy, he might have looked forward but one short century to the centennial of Yorktown, when the flags of the United States and of Great Britain would be run up together on the site of this historic surrender. Then he would have seen British and American officers stand together with bared heads and in brotherly friendliness, while salutes were fired and cheers rent the air.

Looking still further, he would have seen the day when the people of France would unite with their one-time foe in various endeavors both peaceful and warlike. A strange planet is this, for the shifting of national loyalties and the rending and intertwining of bonds of union! If history could make the human race amenable to receiving any instruction whatever, we should learn that war never yet decided any problem that could not have been better settled in some other way.



CHAPTER XIII

LIONIZED BY TWO WORLDS

Three days after the surrender, the 22d of October, Lafayette was on board the Ville de Paris in Chesapeake Bay. It was believed that the surrender of Cornwallis would be practically conclusive as to the matter at issue between England and the United States. Lafayette therefore felt a sweep of thoughts toward home. Congress gave him leave of absence. The Alliance was again placed at his disposal and awaited him in Boston harbor.

An adoring France received him on his arrival. He had been the hero of the New World; he now became the hero of the Old. The king of France gave him audience; when he arrived the queen sent her carriage to bring Adrienne, who at the moment happened to be at some royal fete, as swiftly as possible to the Noailles mansion. Balls were given in his honor. He was presented with laurel at the opera. The king made him a field marshal, his commission to date from the day of Cornwallis's surrender, and he was invited by Richelieu to a dinner where all the field marshals of France were present, and where the health of Washington was drunk with words so full of reverent admiration that they did Lafayette's heart good.

About this time a traveled American gentleman, Ledyard by name, was staying in Paris and commented on the popularity of the returned American hero. He said:

"I took a walk to Paris this morning and saw the Marquis de Lafayette. He is a good man, this same Marquis. I esteem him. I even love him, and so we all do, except a few, who worship him.... If I find in my travels a mountain as much elevated above other mountains as he is above ordinary men, I will name it Lafayette."

The meeting of Lafayette with Adrienne cannot be described. He had now proved the value of his love of freedom, and she was filled with pride in the acknowledgment he received on all sides. The family reunion was perfect. He wrote to Washington, "My daughter and your George have grown so much that I find I am much older than I thought." He had reached the advanced age of twenty-four!

Lafayette was at once concerned with the concluding negotiations for peace between England and the United States. To hasten these and to carry on further military plans, France united with Spain in a projected expedition against the English possessions in the West Indies. For this purpose Lafayette, in December, 1782, went to Cadiz as chief of staff, where an armament of sixty ships and twenty-four thousand men were assembling. But while waiting for the final orders to sail, a swift courier brought the news to Cadiz that the treaty of peace had, on the 20th of January, 1783, been finally signed at Paris. Lafayette wished to be the one to carry this news to America, but he was told that his presence at the negotiations at Madrid was necessary to their success, and therefore he had to forego the pleasure of being the personal messenger of the good news. Instead, he was allowed to borrow from the fleet a ship which he sent, as swiftly as possible, to the land of his heart. The ship lent him was Le Triomphe, well named for this message, and this was the first ship to bring the news of the Peace to our shores.

His work in Spain being successfully accomplished, he returned to Paris by swift posts, which means that he went in a carriage, with relays of good horses; and by driving day and night, over the mountains and through the valleys, following ancient Roman roads and crossing through many historic sites and cities, he covered the wide distance between the capital of Spain and that of France.

The war being over, Washington, as every one knows, retired to his estate at Mount Vernon, an act incomprehensible to some, but fully understood by his "adopted son," Lafayette, who wrote:

"Your return to a private station is called the finishing stroke of an unparalleled character. Never did a man exist who stands so honorably in the opinion of mankind, and your name if possible will become greater to posterity. Everything that is great and everything that is good were never hitherto united in one man; never did that man live whom the soldier, statesman, patriot, and philosopher could equally admire; and never was a revolution brought about which, in all its motives, its conduct, its consequences, could so well immortalize its glorious chief. I am proud of you, my dear General; your glory makes me feel as if it were my own; and while the world is gaping upon you, I am pleased to think and to tell that the qualities of your heart do render you still more valuable than anything you have done."

From Mount Vernon, where the wearied and peace-loving warrior was very glad to be, Washington, in February, 1784, wrote to Lafayette:

"At length, my dear Marquis, I am become a private citizen on the banks of the Potomac, and under the shadow of my own vine and fig-tree, free from the bustle of the camp, and the busy scenes of public life, I am pleasing myself with those tranquil enjoyments of which the soldier who is ever in pursuit of fame; the statesman whose watchful days and sleepless nights are spent in devising schemes to promote the welfare of his own, perhaps the ruin of other countries, as if this globe was insufficient for us all; the courtier who is always watching the countenance of his prince in hopes of catching a gracious smile, can have but little conception."

He then goes on to give a brief history of recent events—the evacuation of New York, the American troops entering that city in good order, and New York finally freed from the British flag. He regretfully declined the pressing invitation of Lafayette to come to Paris, and again invited him and Madame de Lafayette to pay a visit at Mount Vernon. The correspondents appear to have thought of each other frequently, though separated by the wide seas. Later, Lafayette had joyous news to impart, for he wrote to Washington:

"I want to tell you that Madame de Lafayette and my three children are well, and that all of us in the family join to present their dutiful affectionate compliments to Mrs. Washington and yourself. Tell her that I hope soon to thank her for a dish of tea at Mount Vernon. Yes, my dear General, before the month of June is over, you will see a vessel coming up the Potomac and out of that vessel will your friend jump, with a panting heart and all the feelings of perfect happiness."

During Lafayette's visit to America in 1784 the people had an opportunity to show their gratitude to one who had freely given his services to them in their day of need. In New York he was received with the greatest enthusiasm by the whole people, including his affectionate companions in arms. From here on he listened to the ringing of bells and the resounding of huzzas by day and saw lavish illuminations in his honor by night. A visit of ten days at Mount Vernon gave great pleasure to Washington as well as to Lafayette. In Boston his coming was celebrated at the stump of the Liberty Tree that the British had cut down during their occupation of the city. Many speeches were made during this journey, and Lafayette showed himself tactful in adapting his words to the occasion. His tact was prompted by a sincere liking for all people, a benevolent feeling toward the whole world. This was the foundation of much that was attractive and useful in his character.

During this journey Lafayette went as far north as Portsmouth and as far south as Yorktown. The various great battlefields of the campaign of 1781 each received a visit in the company of Washington and of other companions in arms. The different states vied with one another in giving his name to their towns and villages—a custom that has continued to this day. The state of Virginia placed a bust of Lafayette in the capitol at Richmond; another was presented to the city of Paris by the minister of the United States, and was received with great pomp at the Hotel de Ville, or city hall. Three states, Maryland, Connecticut, and Virginia, conferred on him the right of citizenship for himself and his children, an enactment that later became national; and so Lafayette became an American citizen in legal form as well as in spirit. How little did he think that this right would become so precious a boon to him and would be so sorely needed!

The bust in the Hotel de Ville was destroyed at the time of the Terror; and the day came soon after when nearly all that remained to the "Hero of Two Worlds" was a certificate of citizenship in a country to which he was not native, while the owner of the certificate, because of his principles, was hurried from prison to prison. In 1784 he was riding on the high tide of success and popularity, but tragic days were soon to come in the life of America's loyal friend.

Lafayette took his farewell of Congress at Trenton, New Jersey, where it was then in session. The scene was dignified and affecting. It was at the close of this ceremony that Lafayette pronounced that wish—one might call it a prayer—which has been so often quoted.

"May this immense Temple of Freedom ever stand a lesson to oppressors, an example to the oppressed, and a sanctuary for the rights of mankind! And may these happy United States attain that complete splendor and prosperity which will illustrate the blessings of their government, and in ages to come rejoice the departed souls of their founders."

Following his return from America at this time, Lafayette made a long tour through Germany and Austria. His purpose was to improve himself, he said, by the inspection of famous fields of battle, by conversation with the greatest generals, and by the sight of well-trained troops. He visited Frederick the Great who, in the eyes of the exquisite Frenchman, presented a most untidy appearance in a dirty uniform covered over with Spanish snuff. He saw him review thirty-one battalions and seventy-five squadrons, thirty thousand men in all, and he admired the "perfectly regular machine wound up for forty years" by which they clicked off their movements. At the table of Frederick, Lafayette ate, at one time, with Cornwallis on one side and the son of the king of England on the other; on which occasion the Prussian despot indelicately amused himself by plying the young soldier with questions about American affairs. One wonders if in all his travels Lafayette caught any glimpse on the horizon of a certain grim fortress wherein, because of his hatred of despots like Frederick, fate decreed that he was to be immured for five long years.



CHAPTER XIV

GATHERING CLOUDS

The great storm of the French Revolution was now to appear on the horizon, climb to its height, and break in terror over France. During these years, from 1784 to 1792, Lafayette was for most of the time in Paris where he took part in events of great importance and in such a way as to command respect from those who sympathized with his liberal ideas and to win detraction from devotees of monarchial systems.

At first, however, no one dreamed what the future held for France. Lafayette busied himself in doing what he could to further the affairs of the United States, turning his attention to commercial questions such as he had never supposed would interest him. Whale-oil, for instance, became a favorite subject with him; his services on behalf of that American industry were acknowledged by the seagoing people of Nantucket who sent him a gigantic, five-hundred-pound cheese, the product of scores of farms, as a testimonial of their appreciation.

A cause that interested him intensely was slavery. His views on this subject he summed up in 1786 in a letter to John Adams:

"In the cause of my black brethren I feel myself warmly interested, and most decidedly side, so far as respects them, against the white part of mankind. Whatever be the complexion of the enslaved, it does not, in my opinion, alter the complexion of the crime which the enslaver commits, a crime much blacker than any African face. It is to me a matter of great anxiety and concern, to find that this trade is sometimes carried on under the flag of liberty, our dear and noble stripes, to which virtue and glory have been constant standard-bearers."

Lafayette not only had a lofty sentiment about the condition of the slaves, but he put his theory into practice by buying at great expense an estate in Cayenne, or French Guiana, with a large number of slaves whom he put under a system of education, with the intention of making them free as soon as they were fitted for economic independence. Madame de Lafayette interested herself in the management of this estate; she provided pastors and teachers to go to Cayenne as missionaries and educators.

The experiment was going on well when the Revolution broke over France. Then it was doomed. While Lafayette was languishing in the dungeon at Olmuetz, one of his great anxieties was for his Cayenne charge. He would have been even more unhappy if he had known that when the revolutionists took possession of his property, they caused that estate to be sold, together with all the slaves, who thus went back into slavery—a great inconsistency in those same revolutionists who imagined they were working for liberty and enfranchisement!

During this time Lafayette had two great interests: one, a public life marked by increasing premonitions of national danger; the other, at Chaviniac where his family stayed and where he was instituting all sorts of reforms on his own estate and in the village of Chaviniac, and working steadily for the welfare of the people who were dependent upon him. He founded an annual fair and a weekly market day. He built roads at his own expense. In the village he established a resident physician whose services the poor could have at any time without cost to themselves. He founded a weaving business and a school to teach the art. The agricultural advancement of America had interested him, so he brought a man from England to teach new methods to his farmers. New implements were imported and new breeds of cattle were introduced. In every way he brought enlightenment and betterment.

Meantime a spirit was rising that was soon to sweep not only over Paris but through all the provinces of France. Lafayette saw this storm coming. One day, in 1789, he was walking in the grand gallery of the Chateau de Chaviniac with a gentleman of the neighborhood. They spoke together of what the emancipation of the peasant would mean to the people of the Auvergne region. At that moment a group of peasants from his estate came in to offer Lafayette some nosegays and cheeses. They presented these gifts on bended knees, in an attitude of deep submission and respect.

"There," said the neighbor, "see how little disposed these peasants are to receive your boasted emancipation; depend upon it, they think very little on the matter."

"Well, well," replied Lafayette, "a few years hence we shall see who was right."

They did! The time was not far distant when the peasants of Auvergne, as well as the rabble of Paris, went singing:

Ah! ca ira, ca ira, ca ira! Celui qui s'eleve, on l'abaissera, Et qui s'abaisse, on l'elevera.

Significant events followed, and on every important occasion Lafayette bore a part. He was a member of the Assembly of Notables, and he led a minority of the nobility who demanded the calling of the States General, a representative assembly. He presented his famous composition, the Declaration of Rights, modeled on Jefferson's Declaration of Independence. He was made by acclamation Colonel General of the new National Guard and gave them the white cockade. He represented the people on the great day of the oath of loyalty to the new constitution. For a time he was riding on the top wave of popularity.

Lafayette believed in freedom for all people and to every man his rights. But he thought that France was not yet ready for the form of government that was succeeding in America. For France he believed the constitutional monarchy to be the best. He thought—and every one now thinks—that Louis XVI was a man of good intentions, and he believed these good intentions would show that monarch what was for the welfare and happiness of the people. Therefore he defended the king and the royal family as a part of the form of government that was the best for France. The newly adopted constitution appeared to him to be the just expression of royal authority.

In his blind optimism Lafayette could not believe but that his ideas would in the end have their proper weight. He stood with the nobility, resting proudly on their good intentions, and facing a brute force newly awakened by the tocsin of liberty. To this unreasoning instinct, liberty meant nothing but license. The result of putting this license into power meant anarchy.

Now came Lafayette's time of difficulty. He was accused of conniving at the attempt of the king and queen to escape. Afterwards the queen in her trial testified that Lafayette had known nothing whatever of the project. Lafayette was also blamed for the death of Foulon, a minister who was hanged, beheaded, and dragged through the streets by the mob. The fact was that he did all in his power to control the mob that caused Foulon's death. They accused him of firing on the mob. That he did, in defense of the life of the king—first standing before the cannon to give his life if need be. He was accused of being too liberal and of being too aristocratic. He was burned between the two fires. The people seemed determined not to understand him. They said that if Lafayette truly loved the people it was but another evidence that his soul was plebeian—his simplicity of manner and unstudied grace of speech were but further proofs thereof. Brutality and lawlessness, veiled under the name of patriotism, could hardly do less than hate an incorruptible man like Lafayette who was outspoken in his beliefs.

A coalition of European powers stood ready to invade France and place the monarchy again on a secure basis. Lafayette was at the head of one of three armies sent to withstand the forces of the coalition, but his own soldiers were secretly in sympathy with the revolutionary frenzy.

The end came when Lafayette defied the Jacobin party, and they in turn declared him a traitor and put a price on his head. But even at that late day, if there had been in France any number of men who possessed Lafayette's calmness, self-control, and generous spirit, the state might still have been saved from tumult and degradation. As it was, France turned its face away from its best light and hope, and Lafayette was, as Carlyle picturesquely said, "hooted forth over the borders into Cimmerian night." He put his army into the best order possible, and with a company of devoted officers and followers started for a neutral country.

Meantime in Paris the feet of the people were at the threshold of the Terror.



CHAPTER XV

LAFAYETTE IN PRISON

Lafayette attempted to cross the frontier on his way to America when he was intercepted and taken prisoner. This was at Rochefort, on neutral territory. The arrest of peaceful citizens on their way through neutral territory to a neutral country was treason to all international covenant and courtesy; evidently, the phrase "international courtesy" had not then been coined; but the act has been abhorred by unprejudiced military men the world over.

The party were taken to Namur, thence to Wesel, where some were released; later, three remained to be imprisoned in Magdeburg. Lafayette is reported to have owned as his highest ambition that his name should be a terror to all kings and monarchs. If he made this remark, his wish was fulfilled; for at a meeting of a committee of the Coalition it was agreed that the "existence of Lafayette was incompatible with the safety of the governments of Europe."

Following this decision, in May, 1794, the king of Prussia gave him into the keeping of the Emperor of Austria, and the dangerous prisoner, together with three of the officers who were with him when arrested, Latour-Maubourg, Bureaux-de-Pusy, and Lameth, were promptly carried to the strong fortress of Olmuetz, high up in the gloomy Carpathian Mountains. Lameth nearly died and therefore was released, but the other two remained, not, however, being allowed to see or to communicate with their distinguished companion.

Lafayette had no apologies to make for the step he had taken. Indeed, he had great hopes that he would escape from his captors. Friends were finding means to communicate with him and plots were forming in the undercurrents of correspondence.

But on the whole he much preferred to take his liberty than to have it granted to him. If indeed liberty were granted, it would be with conditions "like those made by a lower class of brigands in the corner of a thicket," and the discussion would in all probability result in a shutting on him of quadruple doors.

He "much preferred to take his liberty than to have it granted to him." Accordingly plans were made. In one letter he calls for a good chart, arms, a passport, a wig, some drugs to insure a quiet night's sleep to the jailors, with instructions as to the dose to be given, and an itinerary for the route, with dangerous places indicated in it. They must know the exact time horses were to be ready, and the exact house where they were to stand. He was in buoyant spirits.

"Although a sojourn of fourteen months in the prisons of their Majesties has not contributed to my health," he wrote, "still I have a strong constitution and my early habits of life, added to the recollection of my fetters, will enable me to make a very rapid journey."

Finishing one of these letters, he says, "I hear them opening my first locks [the outer doors] and must stop writing." Latour-Maubourg adds a passage in his own hand. He begs for a piece of sealing wax and emphasizes that Lafayette must surely be rescued, whether the others are or not.

The prisoners looked out for those who were helping them to escape; these helpers were to be protected from suspicion. To do this they put a manikin with a nightcap on in Lafayette's bed, dug a channel under the chimney, and left a coat in the passage well smudged with soot.

Why none of these plans worked is not known. Lafayette was carted on to Neisse, but the plotting still went on. At last the grim and impregnable fortress of Olmuetz received the three prisoners. Here he could receive no letters; he could read no paper; he was harshly told that he should never again know anything of what was going on in the outside world; that he was now a complete nonentity, a being known only by a number, and that no person in Europe knew where he was nor ever should know until his death.

Lafayette's misery was turned to a still darker hue by the fact that he felt the gravest alarm for the welfare of Madame de Lafayette. As he was being carted from prison to prison, on his way eastward toward that final destination in the mountain fortress, the news that was smuggled to him by secret and mysterious bearers was not of a kind to bring peace to his mind. He heard of the extremes to which the revolutionary frenzy was carrying the Parisian people; he heard that the king and queen and various members of their family had been proscribed, denounced, and sentenced to death by a committee miscalled a "Committee of Public Safety," and that the nobility were being ruthlessly sacrificed. Saddest of all this for him was the news that his wife, that woman of heroic character, of marvelous spiritual charm, and of liberal and philanthropic mind, had been imprisoned and was in danger of perishing on the scaffold. This word—and nothing more! The darkness of life behind walls seven feet thick was not lightened for many a long month by any further news in regard to Adrienne. The thoughts of Lafayette in his prison were as sad as can be imagined.

As months and years passed on, Lafayette may be forgiven if he sometimes thought that he had been wholly forgotten. But it was not so. It was not an easy matter to liberate a man whose very existence was a menace to every throne. The kings had him completely in their power—they wished to keep him out of sight.

It goes without saying that to President Washington the imprisonment of his young friend, to whom he was bound by strong and vital bonds of gratitude and friendship, was a source of genuine anguish. But what could he do? As Lafayette said, America was far away and the politics of Europe were tortuous. In them Washington had no part and no influence; and he could not go to war for he had no equipment for any such exploit.

He did, however, put in train many schemes designed to influence others to aid his loyal friend. He used the greatest secrecy; the correspondence as it is preserved refers only to "our friend" and to "the one you know," so that if the letters were lost, no one could possibly divine what was being done. The President sent letters to the representatives of the United States in both France and England, commanding that informal solicitations for the release of that friend of America should be made, and that these were to be followed by formal ones if necessary. He wrote to the king of Prussia, urging the release of his dear friend as an act of justice as well as a personal favor to himself; and to the Emperor of Austria, begging that Lafayette might be allowed to come to America. The letter has that thorough goodness and that amplitude of dignity that were characteristics of Washington.

"PHILADELPHIA, 15 May, 1796.

"TO THE EMPEROR OF GERMANY:

"It will readily occur to your Majesty that occasions may sometimes exist, on which official considerations would constrain the chief of a nation to be silent and passive, in relation to objects which affect his sensibility, and claim his interposition as a man. Finding myself precisely in this situation at present, I take the liberty of writing this private letter to your Majesty, being persuaded that my motives will also be my apology for it.

"In common with the people of this country, I retain a strong and cordial sense of the services rendered to them by the Marquis de Lafayette; and my friendship for him has been constant and sincere. It is natural, therefore, that I should sympathize with him and his family in their misfortunes, and endeavor to mitigate the calamities which they experience; among which, his present confinement is not the least distressing.

"I forbear to enlarge on this delicate subject. Permit me only to submit to your Majesty's consideration whether his long imprisonment and the confiscation of his estates, and the indigence and dispersement of his family, and the painful anxieties incident to all these circumstances, do not form an assemblage of sufferings which recommend him to the mediation of humanity? Allow me, Sir, to be its organ on this occasion; and to entreat that he may be permitted to come to this country, on such conditions and under such restrictions as your Majesty may think fit to prescribe.

"As it is a maxim with me not to ask what under similar circumstances I would not grant, your Majesty will do me the justice to believe that this request appears to me to correspond with those great principles of magnanimity and wisdom, which form the basis of sound policy and durable glory.

"May the Almighty and merciful Sovereign of the universe keep your Majesty under his protection and guidance!"

Little by little the place where Lafayette was imprisoned became known to a few, and public sentiment was aroused to the point of bringing up the matter before the British Parliament. It was a certain General Fitzpatrick who, strange to say, had met Lafayette in London before he went to America, and again between battles when they were ranged on opposite sides of the Revolution, who now brought up the question. Twice he made a motion in favor of acting for the release of Lafayette. Fitzpatrick was the kind of man who could not bear to entertain the idea that there should exist "in any corner of British soil, in any English heart, conceptions so narrow as to wish to see the illustrious pupil of Washington perishing in a dungeon on account of his political principles." General Fitzpatrick's motion was seconded by General Tarleton, who had fought Lafayette through the length and breadth of Virginia. Pitt and Burke spoke against it.

Lord Grey said that if asked what would be gained by furthering the release of Lafayette, he would reply that "we should exculpate ourselves from the suspicion of being accomplices in the foulest wrong that ever disgraced humanity." The question was put to vote and stood forty-six yeas and one hundred and fifty-three nays. Such was the composition of the British Parliament at that time.

The next year Fitzpatrick renewed his efforts for Lafayette and proposed another motion. In an eloquent speech which should make his name honored for all time, he reviewed the former debate and paid a wonderful tribute to the character of Madame de Lafayette. The discussion that followed dwelt mainly on the question whether Lafayette was to be considered as a subject of the emperor or as a prisoner of war. The vote stood, yeas fifty, nays one hundred and thirty-two. Evidently the British Parliament had not made any great advance in the intervening year.

Meantime secret plans were being made to rescue Lafayette. The beautiful Angelica Schuyler Church, daughter of the American general, Philip Schuyler, was then in London; her husband, John Barker Church, had fought under Lafayette, and was now in the British Parliament. Mrs. Church was the sister-in-law of Alexander Hamilton, one of Lafayette's dearest friends among his young companions-in-arms, and she was in touch with a group of French emigres. In fact, she was the center of a little volcano of feeling for the exile.

This secret circle kept up a constant communication with Mr. Pinckney and Mr. Jay. Mrs. Church wrote to Thomas Jefferson, Secretary of State in the United States, and to many others, begging, pleading for help. For Lafayette, whom she had known in New York, her heart was constantly bleeding.

Proceeding from a mysterious writer who signed his name "Eleutherios," spirited articles soon began to appear in the English newspapers, and thus constantly fed a flame of feeling. All sorts of fears for Lafayette were entertained. "I see him in a dungeon," wrote one; "I see him in Siberia; I see him poisoned; I see him during what remains of his life torn by the uncertainty of the fate of all that he loves."

Soon after this the name of a Hanoverian doctor begins to appear in the documents preserved. This Dr. Bollman had carried one exploit through successfully, bringing out of Paris during the Terror a certain French emigre and conveying him to London in safety. Bollman was to be engaged by the London group to start out and see what could be done for Lafayette. This scheme resulted in a great adventure in which an American youth figured nobly.



CHAPTER XVI

AN ATTEMPTED RESCUE

The hope that potentates and governments might take up the cause of Lafayette began to fail and other plans were made. Chivalric dreams of going to seek the place where he was confined and effect what seemed the impossible—a personal rescue—began to haunt the minds of daring youths. A letter is on record from a young man who wrote to Washington to ask if he might not have permission to go and seek Lafayette, and, if possible, conduct him and his family to America. Washington told him that all was being done that could be done, and that personal attempts would only result in failure. But there was another enterprising soul who did not wait for permission—he acted upon his own initiative. The story of that splendid young American must now be told.

Francis Kinloch Huger was the first child that Lafayette saw after he landed in America. It will be remembered that the little company of adventurers first touched shore on the country estate of Major Benjamin Huger, at Prospect Hill, near Charleston, South Carolina. Here Lafayette was received hospitably and sent on in his host's carriage to Charleston.

The child Francis was then five years old and was the young representative of a remarkable family of Huguenot extraction. The first Daniel Huger came from Loudon, France, soon after the Edict of Nantes, and his descendants to-day number six thousand; among them are found a large number of distinguished names. Five Huger brothers held important positions in Revolutionary times. Three served in the war; Brigadier General Isaac Huger was second in command to General Greene at Guilford Court House; Lieutenant Colonel Frank Huger was promoted from Moultrie's Regiment to be Quartermaster General of the Southern Army of the Revolution; and Major Benjamin Huger, Lafayette's host and the father of the child Francis, was killed in 1780 before the lines at Charleston. Of the other two brothers in this remarkable family group, Daniel was one of Governor Rutledge's Privy Council and later a member of Congress, and John was on the Council of Safety and Secretary of State.