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  He told the comte that he would be hearing from Washington, who would share intelligence with him. D’Estaing could trust the American commander “as a man devoted to the French alliance and as the man on this continent who is the most disgusted with England.” He also claimed that, however happy he was in America, he had always thought that he would “rather be a soldier in the French service than a general officer anywhere else.” He said he planned to leave immediately for the Antilles, Europe, even the East Indies if France was waging war in one of those parts of the world. “Monsieur le Comte, send me your orders,” he urged.

  The marquis was not a man of divided loyalties, but a patriotic Frenchman who wanted to return to his own country’s flag. He was so busy waving that flag that he almost forgot the point of his letter, which was to introduce Laurens. He did that in a postscript, suggesting that d’Estaing would “greatly please the general and Congress by receiving him with distinction and that will have many good effects.” In this, Lafayette overstepped his bounds, because he presumed to volunteer diplomatic advice to his superior.5

  Lafayette would not be upstaged by Laurens for long. Once an attack on New York became impossible, Washington proposed a joint assault on the 6,000 British troops at Newport, Rhode Island, to drive the last enemy forces from New England. But there was a problem—Sullivan commanded the 3,000 Continentals in Rhode Island, along with 6,000 Massachusetts militia under Governor John Hancock. Sullivan and Lafayette were friends, but the Irishman’s hatred for all other Frenchmen was well-known. To make sure that he got along with the new allies, on July 22 Washington sent Lafayette to Rhode Island with two brigades and another detachment to serve under Sullivan as liaison to the French fleet.6

  The young general was delighted, telling Sullivan how pleased he was to serve under him. “I both love and esteem you, therefore the moment we’ll fight together will be extremely pleasant and agreable to me.” He worried that he would miss the show. “For God’s sake, my dear friend,” he pleaded, “do’nt begin any thing before we arrive.”7

  Laurens returned from d’Estaing with an invitation for Lafayette to command the marines in his fleet, and any sailors he put into the land force, making him both an American and a French officer. He was ecstatic, he told his cousin, at the chance “to seem worthy to you of being a French soldier and of serving in this capacity under your orders.”8

  Off he marched, firing letters daily to Washington, Henry Laurens, d’Estaing, Sullivan, and others, reporting his progress and his enthusiasm. His advance was slow because of muddy roads and difficulty in getting provisions. He wanted Washington to know that he had learned from Monmouth and was not pushing the soldiers too hard. As for his enthusiasm, he cried to Sullivan, “For God’s sake, in the name of your own love of glory, do not begin before we arrive! I avow that if I were to arrive too late I should like to hang myself!”9

  Washington knew that Lafayette was tempted to return to French service. He also decided that more troops would be needed at Newport, so he sent them under Greene, who was from Rhode Island. The commander in chief told Sullivan to divide all his troops into two divisions under Lafayette and Greene, and gave Lafayette more explanation than was necessary, assuring him that the rearranged command would “not be less honorable” than the original assignment.

  Privately, Washington told Sullivan, he did not know whether d’Estaing would land any troops. If he did, there was no way to predict whether they would be under American or French command. He closed by warning the explosive Irishman to control himself. “Harmony and the best understanding between us should be a capital and first object,” he advised, reminding Sullivan that d’Estaing was “a land officer and of the high rank of Lt. General in the French Army.”10

  Lafayette did not learn about the change of orders until Greene caught up with him near Newport. He told the commander in chief that anything he ordered or even wished, “schall alwaïs be infinetly agreable to me, and I will alwaïs feel happy in doing any thing which may please you or forward the public good.” Washington, who had worried about the young fellow’s reaction, breathed a sigh of relief. His letter, he told him, “afforded a fresh proof of the noble principles upon which you act; and has just claim to my sincere & hearty thanks.” Lafayette’s “chearful acquiescence to the measure,” after being appointed to command the brigades that marched from the Main Army, “gave me singular pleasure.”11

  John Sullivan, by Richard Morrell Staigg, after John Trumbull, 1876. The volcanic commander at Rhode Island nearly broke up the alliance with France, but he and Lafayette emerged from the uproar still friends. (INDEPENDENCE NATIONAL HISTORICAL PARK)

  That was about the last “chearful” news anyone would hear from Rhode Island. The comte reached the coast on July 29, 1778, and began an exchange of stiff notes with Sullivan. From the outset, they did not get along. Sullivan treated his ally as a subordinate, and his requests sounded like orders. D’Estaing, who could be gracious or arrogant as the mood hit him, was offended. He told Lafayette on the thirtieth that he looked forward to seeing him “with the most extreme impatience.” The marquis was “the one who will have won over the opinion and assistance that were essential needs.” He groused about the shoal waters on the American coast and was clearly not enthusiastic about the whole enterprise. Lafayette arrived on August 2 and walked into an international dogfight.12

  D’Estaing’s arrival sent the British into near panic, and they beached or blew up their ships and boats to prevent capture. But the comte was pessimistic. His protracted crossing of the Atlantic had left many of his marines and sailors sick or dead from scurvy; he put some of them ashore on an island to recover. He kept looking out to sea, afraid that Howe would show up and blockade him in Narragansett Bay. Sullivan pressed him to land in force for a joint operation on Rhode Island—the island where Newport stood gave the colony its name—then told him to wait until Hancock arrived with the Massachusetts militia.

  The allied commanders were about to throw down gauntlets at each other, so Lafayette went out to d’Estaing’s ship to mediate. His cousin greeted him icily, mentioning his “political anxiety about receiving a French officer who had violated the king’s orders not to leave for America.” Feeling slapped, the marquis replied that he “had come to fight the English to learn to serve his master [King Louis].” The comte accepted that and later graciously told his superiors that “no one is in a better position than this young general officer to become an additional bond of unity between France and America.” The marquis and the admiral worked up a plan of action that thoughtlessly disregarded Sullivan’s. The French would land two battalions of marines under Lafayette’s command to support an attack on the island, while the ships moved in with their guns against the British works.13

  Lafayette returned to camp to outline the plan to Sullivan and Greene. They did not like it. Sullivan wanted to wait for more militia and did not want to detach troops to cover the landing of the French marines. The marquis reacted defensively, and the American officers were taken aback. John Laurens thought that his “private views withdrew his attention wholly from the general interest,” favoring the French party too much. His hunger to command anything from the French forces instead of a division in the American ones also annoyed them. Complaining that the others wanted the French fleet to play only a “humiliating secondary part,” he told d’Estaing that they acted out of jealousy. It was truly “irksome for certain people to see the beautiful scenes of a play performed by foreign actors,” he sniffed. He felt that “the French will overshadow their neighbors a bit.”

  Instead of furthering cooperation between the two allies, Lafayette was hindering it. D’Estaing smoothed Sullivan’s feathers by bowing to the American plan of campaign but ruffled them again by mildly rebuking the general for being too hard on the marquis. He could be tactful when he wanted to be, however, and offered a plan satisfactory to everybody, including Lafayette, who would command an American detachment cooperating with the French.
The admiral would run his fleet into the channel, past the British shore batteries, on the night of August 8. On the night of the ninth, Sullivan would cross over to the northeastern tip of the island, prepared to move on Newport at the southern end. The next morning d’Estaing would land his marines on the island to support him.14

  Early on August 9, 1778, Sullivan learned that British general Robert Pigot had withdrawn from the northern end of the island to the fieldworks around Newport. Without telling d’Estaing, he crossed his American troops over to take the northern positions. When the French commander protested, Sullivan sneered that the comte was “unduly sensitive and punctilious.” John Laurens told his father, “The French officers sounded like women disputing precedence in a country dance.”15

  Things got worse. Lord Howe had sailed from New York, and he appeared offshore on August 9, by which time d’Estaing was inside Narragansett Bay. The French admiral wanted to sail out and confront the enemy before he was bottled up. On the island, Sullivan called a council of war. If the fleet left him, his men would be exposed. The council decided to ask d’Estaing to stay. Lafayette snitched to his cousin that Sullivan promised to provide subsistence to the naval force and did not think the French ships were in any danger. He said undiplomatically “that the Americans do not find your situation dangerous, but it is easy to make plans of attack and defense when one is ashore and not responsible for anything.”16

  D’Estaing was trapped in the bay throughout the ninth, because the winds were southerly. They shifted to the north during the night, and the comte retrieved his sick and sailed out. Howe was downwind of an enemy who outnumbered and outgunned him. As the two fleets jockeyed for advantage, on the night of August 11 an extremely violent storm hit and blasted them for three days. The ships were scattered and heavily damaged. D’Estaing’s flagship, Languedoc, was completely dismasted and lost her rudder. When the storm blew itself out on the fourteenth, Howe took his leaking ships back to New York. The French fleet straggled into Narragansett Bay, the crippled Languedoc under tow.17

  Lafayette at about the time of the Rhode Island Campaign, by C.W. Peale, 1779–80. (INDEPENDENCE NATIONAL HISTORICAL PARK)

  Lafayette had assumed command of the American left before d’Estaing sailed out. Sullivan’s troops were still full of fight, and the capture of Pigot’s army seemed like a sure thing. The Americans pushed down the island toward Newport after the big storm. The town was stoutly defended by two lines of redoubts and batteries, bristling with abatis, both flanks against the water. Ahead of the two lines of redoubts was a ravine, which would have to be crossed. The Americans dug trenches and gun emplacements, sure that with the French fleet’s help they could overrun the enemy.18

  Sullivan was happy to see the ships back in the bay, no matter how beat-up they looked. Allied messenger boats passed each other between shore and ship. The Americans wanted to resume the attack. The French wanted to leave for Boston, to repair their damage. When Sullivan assured the general-admiral that Providence, at the north end of the bay, offered all needed facilities, d’Estaing rebuffed him. So on August 20 the American commander sent Greene and Lafayette to the flagship to make the case in person. “If we fail in our negotiation,” Greene said as they were being rowed out, “at least we shall get a good dinner.”19

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  As soon as they were hoisted aboard Languedoc, Greene lost his appetite, becoming violently seasick, although Lafayette, surprisingly, did not. When he recovered, Greene outlined the importance of a renewed offensive against Newport and described the shipyards at Providence, which could meet the fleet’s needs. The comte turned the decision over to a council of his captains, and Lafayette later told Sullivan that he thought his combative cousin would have stayed and fought if not for their objections. They had no confidence in the foot-soldier admiral, who had let Howe outsail him before the storm. Their fleet was wounded, and they wanted to find a refuge before he got them into a worse mess.20

  “[T]he devil has got into the French fleet,” Greene roared, “they are about to desert us, and go round to Boston. I am afraid our expedition is now at an end; to evacuate the island is death; to stay may be ruin.” Sullivan, Hancock—who had arrived with his militia—and Lafayette appealed to the admiral to change his mind. He told his cousin that he had “never seen these gentlemen so certain about the facilities you will find here and about the hopes for our success.” This time, Lafayette agreed with the Americans.21

  The fleet sailed on the morning tide. Sullivan had spent the night preparing a nine-item memorandum, signed by all the generals except Lafayette, arguing against the voyage to Boston. It included language that was bound to inflame the allies, one point being, “Because the honor of the French nation must be injured by their fleet abandoning their allies upon an island, in the midst of an expedition agreed to by the Count himself. This must make such an unfavorable impression on the minds of Americans at large, and create such jealousies between them and their hitherto esteemed allies, as will in great measure frustrate the intentions of His Most Christian Majesty and the American Congress.” When d’Estaing received this, he underlined “their hitherto esteemed” twice.22

  Lafayette blew up, insulted for his country and personally. The American generals recoiled at his outburst and tried to mollify him. He was too hot to calm down, however, and sent his own letter along with the nine points, confessing that he had lost his temper. “Would you believe,” he asked the admiral, “that they dared summon me to a council where they protested against a measure taken by the French squadron? I told those gentlemen that my country was more dear to me than America, that whatever France did was always right, that M. le Comte d’Estaing was my friend, and that I would support those sentiments with a sword,” meaning a duel. He ranted on and on. “Monsieur le Comte, judge my situation: from now on, every word that is uttered may be the one I think I must avenge.” His loyalties were never more split than at that moment.23

  Lafayette was not the only one being childish. Sullivan’s general orders for August 24 said that “Americans will prove by the event able to procure that by their own arms which their allies refuse them assistance in obtaining.” Soon the whole camp was talking about d’Estaing’s “desertion,” and Lafayette was even more hurt and angry. He went to Sullivan’s headquarters, while rumors swirled that he planned to challenge the general to a duel. The volcanic Irishman realized that he had overdone it. He apologized to his young friend and promised to correct his statement in the next orders.24

  Sullivan’s orders for the twenty-sixth weakly bandaged the wound. “It having been supposed by some persons that…the Commander in Chief meant to insinuate that the departure of the French fleet was owing to a fixed determination not to assist in the present enterprize,” he said, “as the Genl. would not wish to give the least colour for ungenerous and illiberal minds to make such unfair interpretations, he thinks it necessary to say that as he could not possibly be acquainted with the orders of the admiral he…therefore did not mean to censure an act which the admirals orders might render absolutely necessary.” That was limp, and it was too late.25

  Like Achilles of old, Lafayette sulked in his tent, nursing his wounded pride. He refused to associate with the other generals or attend councils of war. Nearly all the militia had gone home, and Sullivan lacked the manpower to challenge Pigot.

  Hancock wanted to go back to Boston to help d’Estaing get his ships repaired, and asked Lafayette for an introduction. He sent two letters, one formal, the other private. The formal one told d’Estaing that Hancock was “a Brutus in the flesh, and this one’s role in the revolution should make him as interesting to persons in the present age as he will be to posterity.” Hancock was a true friend of France, he said.26

  Privately, the marquis snorted that Hancock was “a Jesuitical twist: the man has only the wit necessary to get him out of difficulty wherever he goes, and his vanity equals the reputation that has so readily been give
n him in Europe; yet he is all-powerful in Boston…. Fear of English vengeance will make him a loyal ally of our country; he is a man to be treated entirely with respect in the town whose assistance is unfortunately essential to you.”

  Lafayette’s hypocrisy grew out of his anger. He had expected that the fleet’s departure would ruffle American feathers, he told the comte, but the scale of the uproar had taken him by surprise. “Would you believe that the majority of these people here, forgetting both their general obligations to France and the services specifically rendered by the fleet, let smoldering prejudices flare up again and speak as if they had been abandoned, almost betrayed?” And so he continued in page after page of adolescent fury. The only way he saw out of the mess was for France to promise the Americans a corps of 6,000 to 10,000 French soldiers “destined for the conquest of Canada next year.” He never would understand that neither the French government nor Washington wanted to invade Canada. Nor did he realize that he appeared to be taking the French side in a competition, rather than an alliance, between the two countries.

  Nevertheless, Lafayette remained steadfastly loyal to his adoptive father. The admiral must recognize, he said, that offending Sullivan and the people of New England “need not mean falling out with General Washington and Congress, the two great movers of all our undertakings. I would only fear seeing them prejudiced by people who explain away their own stupidities by blaming them on the fleet.” He said sourly that he would prefer that France won the war alone as a lesson to the American upstarts, but that was impractical, because Washington was the only man for the job.27