Adopted Son Page 12

  The passengers worried about the reception they would meet. One of them told Lafayette before they landed that it would be mixed, and that “we French must be detested by them, when, as people who come to offer knowledge superior to theirs, we hurt their pride in general and arouse their envy in particular. Don’t worry, though, it will be politic to welcome you.”7

  On June 12 the ship neared Charleston, South Carolina, and met an American vessel whose captain warned of British frigates blockading the harbor. Victoire headed north. On the thirteenth, she dropped anchor off North Island, at the entrance to Georgetown Bay, about sixty miles from Charleston. Lafayette, de Kalb, and four other officers were rowed ashore and met some black oystermen, who led them to the home of their master, Benjamin Huger, a rice planter. He told them that Georgetown Bay was too shallow for their ship. Offering to find a pilot to guide her past the blockade into Charleston, he proposed sending the officers overland.

  When he felt American soil under his feet for the first time that night, Lafayette claimed later, his first words were “an oath to conquer or die for America’s cause.” It is more likely that his first words proclaimed joy that the terrible voyage was over. He was in an exotic land, eating such strange foods as cornbread and sweet potatoes. Everything was new to him, he recalled, “the room, the bed draped in delicate mosquito curtains, the black servants who came to me quietly to ask my commands, the strange new beauty of the landscape; outside my windows, the luxuriant vegetation—all combined to produce a magical effect and fill me with indescribable sensations.”8

  Lafayette bubbled with boyish enthusiasm, enchanted by his great adventure. His companions were not so happy. One of them complained about trekking overland on hot sands and through thick woods, most of them walking because they had only three horses. They could not walk in their riding boots, so they went barefoot. They reached Charleston after three days, he said, “looking very much like beggars and brigands.” They were “received accordingly.”9

  The bedraggled soldiers received a municipal cold shoulder until Victoire crept into port the next day. She and her cargo raised the French party’s reputation—anyone who owned such a fine ship (actually, she was a tub) must be important. Lafayette introduced himself as a Mason at the local lodge, and the city’s dignitaries welcomed him as a “brother.” He and the other officers enjoyed eight days of feasts and celebrations.10

  It was impossible, Lafayette wrote to an uncle, “to be received with more enthusiasm, cordiality, or pleasantness than that with which I have been received by the American people and all the officials of this country.” By boosting his American reputation, he hoped to raise his standing in France as well. He gave Adrienne his impressions so far. Americans, he said, “are as likable as my enthusiasm has led me to picture them. A simplicity of manners, a desire to please, a love of country and liberty, and an easy equality prevail everywhere here.” The richest man and the poorest, he said, treated each other as equals. In general, the country reminded him of England, “but there is more simplicity, equality, cordiality, and courtesy here than in England.” Charleston was “one of the most beautiful and well built of cities,” and its inhabitants were among “the most agreeable people” he had ever met. American women were “very pretty, totally unaffected, and maintain a charming neatness.” Finally, he was happy to report that he could at least converse in “broken English.”11

  There was a flaw in this land of liberty, and the starry-eyed Lafayette was blind to it. That was slavery. In America there were no paupers, he told Adrienne, “or even the sort of people we call peasants.” Everyone had “property, a considerable number of Negroes, and the same rights as the most powerful proprietor in the land.” During his first year in America he became a slaveowner, and later proposed an attack on the British West Indies, “where the Negroes would pay the cost of the enterprise.” He meant to round up the slaves and sell them.12

  Lafayette’s journey out of Charleston almost did not start. He had planned to sell Victoire and her cargo to pay off what he still owed on her, and to finance his time in America. The shipping company’s agent would not allow that without clearance from the Bordeaux office because he was a minor, which in his country meant under twenty-five years old. The ship left for France and sank on the way. Insurance from that paid off his note, and the whole business was a loss to him. He borrowed against his accounts at home, but de Kalb had to cosign the note for 28,000 livres, again because of his age.13

  Johann “Baron” de Kalb, by C.W. Peale. De Kalb went from being de Broglie’s fixer to become an American patriot who died heroically at Camden. (INDEPENDENCE NATIONAL HISTORICAL PARK)

  On June 26, 1777, Lafayette, de Kalb, and five others set out on a grueling trip over 900 miles, through bad roads, swamps, and mosquitoes, headed for Philadelphia. The rest of the party decided to go by sea. Lafayette proved what his relatives had feared—that he had more money than sense. He bought a train of carriages that would have been fine in the city but were not up to cross-country travel, pulled by horses with the same shortcomings. By the fourth day, some of the carriages were in splinters, and several of the horses were dead or lame. Replacing the mused up all the party’s money. The officers were forced to leave part of their baggage behind, and some of it was stolen. They traveled much of the way on foot, sleeping in the woods, as one of them recalled, “starving, prostrated by the heat, and some of us suffered from fever and dysentery.” He claimed that “no campaign in Europe could be more difficult than this journey.”14

  Another member of the group was even more sour. “We endured abominable heat in South Carolina, and to refresh ourselves at the end of each day we had to accept horrible lodgings and detestable water,” the chevalier du Rousseau de Fayolle groused. Things in America were not as they had been described in France. The people were not united in their common cause, and he did not think they would ever “do anything spectacular.” He thought Americans were vain, all wanting to be officers rather than soldiers, and were “no better as one than as the other.”15

  Lafayette, in contrast to the others, remained chipper. He studied the language and local customs, and saw products and methods of cultivation wholly new to him. “Vast forests, immense rivers—nature adorns everything in the land with an air of youth and majesty,” he sang. He resumed writing to Adrienne along the way, and a self-deprecating humor suddenly emerged in him. “I departed most handsomely in a carriage,” he told her; “you will now learn that we are all on horseback after having broken the carriages, according to my laudable custom, and I expect to write to you in a few days that we arrived on foot.” The farther north he went, the more he liked both the country and its people, who showered him with courtesies and “kind attentions.” On July 17, at Annapolis, he sent his mail off on a ship bound for France. The group boarded another boat and sailed to Philadelphia, reaching the rebel capital on July 27.16

  They cleaned themselves up and went to the Pennsylvania State House (now Independence Hall), where Congress met. The doorkeeper would not let them in. A delegate told them that French officers were “very forward” to come without being invited. America did not need their services. They were stunned. “Our reception by the Congress…was not what we expected,” one of them complained; “on the contrary, it could not have been more uncivil. It even made us suspect that they were very surprised to see us.”17

  The Frenchmen had walked into a hornet’s nest stirred up by the obnoxious Tronson du Coudray. Congress had formed a Committee on Foreign Applications, to send foreign soldiers packing. There were also suspicions about de Broglie’s plot. De Kalb was known to be the general’s man, and some delegates assumed Lafayette was also. On the other hand, the letters from Deane and Franklin about him also had arrived, so he could not be brushed off lightly. No one knew he was a fugitive from the French king’s law, because the commissioners failed to mention that.

  Lafayette and de Kalb approached the president of Congress, John Hancock, and the marquis off
ered to serve at his own expense. Hancock liked the price, at any rate, and sent a member to interview him. In his halting English, Lafayette read aloud a note he had written. “After the sacrifices I have made,” it said, “I have the right to exact two favors: one is to serve at my own expense, and the other is to begin to serve as a volunteer.” The congressman recommended his recruitment.18

  John Hancock, by S. F. B. Morse, after John Singleton Copley, ca. 1816. Hancock recommended that Congress appoint Lafayette as a “volunteer” major general, and later calmed the uproar in Boston caused by the arrival of the French fleet from Rhode Island. (INDEPENDENCE NATIONAL HISTORICAL PARK)

  On July 31, 1777, Congress proclaimed, “Whereas the Marquis de la Fayette, out of his great zeal to the cause of liberty in which the United States are engaged, has left his family & connexions & at his own expense come over to offer his service to the United States without pension or particular allowance, and is anxious to risque his life in our cause: RESOLVED That his service be accepted and that in consideration of his zeal, illustrious family and connexions, he have the rank and commission of major general in the army of the United States.”

  This was a highly unusual resolution, because it stressed Lafayette’s connections and his willingness to serve for free; his services were “accepted.” Appointment of a general officer, foreign or domestic, almost always was a one-sentence resolution, creating the position and naming the person voted into it.19

  The other officers were turned aside on the grounds that they did not speak English and had misunderstood Deane. Lafayette promised to lobby for them. In the meantime, a major general needed aides, so he appointed the two youngest of the group as his aides-de-camp. Jean-Joseph Sourbader de Gimat and Louis-Sainte-Ange, chevalier Morel de La Colombe, thus joined the Continental Army.20

  Congress clearly intended his commission to be honorary. Much of the discussion before the resolution emphasized his service as a “volunteer,” which was why his offer was “accepted.” In other words, the lawmakers thought they were getting his labor in America and influence in France for free. He would not clamor for a command over American generals. Congressman Henry Laurens thought this was a terrific bargain for the United States. “He required no pension no special command,” just a chance to serve under Washington and, Laurens told a friend, to show his “zeal for the glorious cause of American freedom.” The risk was small compared to the possible benefits. Laurens predicted that “this illustrious stranger” would “have a short campaign & then probably return to France & secure to us the powerful interest of his high & extensive connections.”21

  Neither Lafayette nor the lawmakers understood each other. Congress heard “volunteer,” meaning free labor, thinking he would be satisfied with an empty commission. The marquis heard “volontaire,” which in the French army meant a young noble attached to a general officer as a military apprentice, who performed the duties of an aide-de-camp. He had no official position until he moved on to a staff assignment—or a line command. There were many volunteers in the Continental Army, who often became regular staff officers. A volunteer who was also a major general was, to say the least, highly unusual on either side of the Atlantic.22

  Lafayette assumed that he was entering a period of preparation under the commander in chief, before getting a command in the line. When Washington was informed of the appointment, he believed that he had acquired a glamorous supernumerary with a purely decorative rank. What, the commander in chief wondered, was he going to do with the marquis de Lafayette?

  I HAVE COME HERE TO LEARN

  The British were determined to smash the American Revolution. A two-pronged invasion of northern New York out of Canada had started. Clinton sat in New York with a large force. The Howes had left that city, destination unknown. Fearing an attack on Philadelphia, the commander in chief had marched his army toward the capital. When word arrived on August 4, 1777, that the British fleet was off the Delaware capes, the question was whether its target was Philadelphia or a southern port.

  Washington rode into the city to consult with Congress. On the evening of the fifth, some of the members hosted him for dinner at City Tavern. The group crowded into a dining room on the second floor, the windows open to relieve the heat, the atmosphere made smoky by lamps and tapers. Everyone’s attention was distracted by the figures at either end of the table. Washington was not the only guest of honor, because the delegates had brought along Lafayette.

  Washington dominated the room, as he always did. As Lafayette recalled his first sight of “this great man” in the crowded room, “the majesty of his figure and his height were unmistakable.” His friend Ségur was more descriptive four years later. “His presence almost foretold his history,” he said, “simplicity, grandeur, dignity, calm, kindness, firmness were stamped upon his face and upon his countenance as well as his character. His figure was noble and tall; the expression on his face was pleasant and kind; his smile was gentle, his manners simple without being familiar…. He inspired rather than commanded respect,” the awestruck young officer concluded.23

  Washington contemplated the nineteen-year-old at the opposite end of the table, this French marquis whose trip to America had kicked up a diplomatic storm, British protests and threats flying. Lafayette in the flesh—what there was of it—was a skinny boy in a fancy but trail-worn suit. Washington noticed that his slight body trembled with anticipation, as he had seen high-strung horses do. The boy was modest, eager to please, and trying to talk in English.24

  Everyone in the place was taken with Lafayette, and his puppy-dog charm was in full flower. Most appealing was his drop-jawed admiration for the commander in chief. He was overwhelmed by the legendary general at the other end of the table and could not conceal his awe. The more reserved Washington later said that he had felt from first sight that the boy was worthy of “esteem and attachment.”25

  George Washington, by James Peale, after C.W. Peale. The “great man” as he appeared when Lafayette first met him. (INDEPENDENCE NATIONAL HISTORICAL PARK)

  For the moment, the general had partly decided what he would do with the marquis. The scene remained vivid in Lafayette’s mind a half century later. He presented it, as he often described his own life, in the Caesarian third person: “Washington took Lafayette aside, spoke to him very kindly, complimented him upon the noble spirit he had shown and the sacrifices he had made in favor of the American cause, and then told him, that he should be pleased if he would make the quarters of the commander in chief his home, establish himself there whenever he thought proper, and consider himself at all times as one of his family.” The older general warned that he could not promise him the luxuries of a court, “which his former habits might have rendered essential to his comfort,” but he was confident the young general would “submit with a good grace to the customs, manners, and privations of a republican army.”26

  One word in that invitation struck Lafayette like a bolt: “family.” As had happened with “volunteer,” Washington and the young Frenchman began their connection with a misunderstanding. Lafayette heard famille, French for blood relations. Washington, following English practice, meant his military staff. Lafayette assumed that he was being adopted into the older man’s personal household. Washington had no idea that was the way his statement could be interpreted.27

  Lafayette at twenty, by Corcelli. The marquis as Washington first saw him. The “inexplicable” puppy-dog charm of the best-dressed soldier in North America is evident in this view. (LILLY LIBRARY, INDIANA UNIVERSITY)

  Lafayette learned better soon enough, but this use of “family” remained a novelty to the French in America. The chevalier de Chastellux—who spent the last half of the war in America as both tourist and sometime staff officer, then in a delightful memoir explained the New World to the Old—met Washington in 1780 and described this linguistic curiosity to his French audience. “He presented me to the generals,” he wrote, “and to his family…for in England and America, the aides-de-
camp, adjutants and other officers attached to the general, form what is called his family.”28

  Washington invited Lafayette into his military family to keep an eye on him. He soon received another letter from Franklin and Deane. The marquis’ bills had begun showing up, Victoire was lost, and the family still fretted that he did not handle money well. The commissioners asked Washington to find somebody who would put the teenager on an allowance. There were a lot of people in France, they reminded the general, “who interest themselves in the welfare of that amiable young nobleman.”29

  Babysitting could wait, because Washington had a more immediate problem involving his staff. Congress had authorized him four aides-de-camp, and three of the positions were filled. He needed another aide, but he had to hold the slot open until Lafayette’s position became clear. John Laurens, son of the next president of Congress, Henry Laurens, had applied for the aide’s job on August 4. Washington knew that he could be as useful militarily as politically.

  After meeting Lafayette, he wrote to young Laurens. For reasons “unnecessary to mention” he could not appoint a fourth aide, but he invited him to join the family “as an extra aide.” Laurens was wealthy, so serving without pay was no obstacle to him. He accepted, and after Lafayette’s status shook itself out, on October 6 Washington formally gave Laurens the position.30

  Washington returned to camp, but Lafayette had unfinished business in Philadelphia. He lobbied Congress for the other officers. On August 13, he thanked the lawmakers for his own commission. He promised, “I schall neglect nothing on my part to justify the confidence which the Congress of the United States has been pleased to repose in me…. I wish to serve near the person of General Washington till such time as he may think proper to entrust me with a division of the army.” This was the first letter Lafayette wrote personally in English, and an early sign that his interpretation of his “volunteer” status differed from everyone else’s. He closed by saying, “It is now as an american that I’l mention every day to Congress the officers who came over with me,” because he thought they also deserved commissions.31