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  Having gotten all that off his chest, the boy general calmed down and answered Sullivan’s request for opinions on what his army should do. He advised retreating to the northern end of the island, and gave Sullivan “a public assurance upon my honor” that he would be happy to go anywhere and do anything “which will be deem’d useful to my native country and this country for whom I may venture to say I have given proofs of zeal.” He asked permission to rejoin meetings of the general officers, but his outbursts had caused some of them to observe that his French nature had overwhelmed his claim to being three-quarters American. As Greene told Washington, “The Marquis’ great thirst for glory and national attachment often runs him into errors.”28

  Lafayette was hurting, as lonely and unhappy as he had been in Albany. Again he unloaded on Washington. His reason for not writing the same day the French fleet went to Boston, he began, was that he “did not choose to trouble your friendship with the sentiments of an afflicted, injur’d heart, and injur’d by that very people I came from so far to love and support. Do’nt be surpris’d, my dear general, the generosity of your honest mind would be offended at the schoking sight I have under my eyes…. Now, my dear general, I am going to hurt your generous feelings by an imperfect picture of what I am forc’d to see. Forgive me for it. It is not the commander in chief, it is to my most dearest friend General Washington that I am speacking. I want to lament with him the ungenerous sentiments I have been forc’d to see in many american breasts.”

  The marquis reviewed the uproar after the French fleet left. “You ca’nt have any ideas of the horrors which were to be heard in that occasion,” he said. “Frenchmen of the highest characters have been expos’d to the most disagreable circumstances, and me, yes, myself the friend of America, the friend of General Washington, I am more upon a warlike footing in the american lines, than when I come near the british lines at Newport.” He expected Sullivan to order him to Boston and asked Washington to write to that place to get help for the fleet. He was afraid d’Estaing would feel put upon by “the behaviour of the people on this occasion. You ca’nt conceive how distress’d he was to be prevented from serving this country for some time.”

  Torn between his French loyalties and his love for Washington, the unhappy adolescent showed how much he missed his adoptive father. “Farewell, my dear general; when ever I quit you I meet with some disappointement and misfortune. I did not want to desire seeing you as much as possible.” He closed on a positive note, however, saying that he had received a letter from Greene “very different from the expressions I have right to complain of, and that he seems there very sensible of what I feel.”29

  Sullivan’s outbursts reached Congress in Philadelphia and Washington in New York on August 28, 1778, before Lafayette’s letter. Congress “[o]rdered, that General Washington take every measure in his power that the protest of the officers of General Sullivan’s army against the departure of Count d’Estaing not be made public.” The commander in chief was already trying to limit the damage, writing to generals and politicians in Boston, New York, and Rhode Island, stressing that it was important to “palliate and soften matters.” He reminded each that “prudence dictates that we should put the best face upon the matter and, to the world, attribute the removal [of the fleet] to Boston, to necessity. The reasons are too obvious to need explaining,” the main one being to prevent America’s enemies from turning the dispute between allies into a “serious rupture.”30

  The commander in chief had a separate message for the owner of the Irish temper on Rhode Island. “I will just add a hint,” he told Sullivan. “Should the expedition fail, through the abandonment of the French fleet, the officers concerned will be apt to complain loudly.” He wanted that squelched.31

  It was too late, according to Greene, who had been working to undo the effects of Sullivan’s undisciplined mouth and pen. “People censure the admiral with great freedom,” he advised Washington, and they condemned the French nation as well as d’Estaing. “General Sullivan very imprudently issued something like a censure in general orders. Indeed it was an absolute censure. It opened the mouths of the army in very clamourous strains.” Sullivan had also written obnoxious letters to the government of Rhode Island, but native son Greene kept them from being read to the legislature.32

  Washington did not yet know about Greene’s actions, but he knew the man would do the right thing. He advised Greene that he depended on his “temper and influence” to soothe the wounded feelings separating Americans from Frenchmen in the American army. Lafayette had “spoken kindly” of Greene’s letter to him on this subject. The marquis would “therefore take any advice coming from you, in a friendly light, and if he can be pacified, the other French gentlemen will of course be satisfied as they look up to him as their head.” Washington could not be there to calm Lafayette down and relied on the sensible Greene to look after him.33

  Lafayette was not under Greene’s eye as those letters galloped back and forth in the saddle pockets of couriers. He was in Boston. Then he was back in Rhode Island. Then he was in Boston again.

  I THINK MYSELF HAPPY IN BEING LINKED TO YOU IN BONDS OF STRICTEST FRIENDSHIP

  Sullivan sent Lafayette to Boston to make peace between America and the French navy. Sullivan’s outburst reached the Massachusetts city ahead of d’Estaing, and when the fleet dropped anchor in the harbor, rioting broke out. There were brawls between Americans and French sailors, and a French officer was killed by a mob. Lafayette and Hancock restored calm, and soon the admiral and his captains enjoyed dinners in their honor. State officials placated the allies, the dead officer was buried in King’s Chapel, and the legislature voted funds for a statue of him. Hancock, said Lafayette, “did much distinguish himself by his zeal on the occasion,” and reported to Washington that he had the pleasure to inform him that “the discontent do’nt appear so much.”34

  During a banquet, Lafayette learned that there had been renewed fighting on Rhode Island. “That there has been an action fought where I could have been and where I was not,” he told Washington, “is a thing which will seem as extraordinary to you as it seems so to myself.” The young general rode relays of horses eighty miles in less than eight hours. Not having slept in several days, he was exhausted, but as Sullivan told Congress, “[h]e was sensibly mortified that he was out of action.”35

  The Americans were retreating from the island. Abandoned by his militia, Sullivan had withdrawn the remaining 1,500 men from the Newport lines on the night of August 28. Pigot was right on his heels, and they fought a hard battle at the northwest end of the island on the twenty-ninth. The Americans were dug in, outnumbered almost four to one, but Greene stopped the first enemy attack in the morning. British ships began bombarding the American right during the fiercely hot afternoon. Pigot launched several assaults on that flank, but skilled musketry and artillery drove back one after another. A new Rhode Island battalion of African American soldiers showed “desperate valor,” according to Sullivan, in repelling three “furious assaults” by Hessian regulars. The British general stopped trying, although sniping and bombardment by land and naval artillery continued until nightfall.36

  Pigot pulled all his artillery up from Newport, and Sullivan made a show of preparing to meet a renewed attack. On the night of August 30, 1778, he withdrew his troops, ferrying them to Providence. Lafayette arrived when only a rear guard remained on the island, and insisted on taking command of it, Sullivan reported, and “not a man was left behind nor the smallest article lost.”

  Lafayette was the last man off the island, leaving about two in the morning. Afterward, he returned Sullivan’s praise. “By what I have heard from sensible, and candid french gentlemen,” he told Washington, “the action does great honor to Gal. Sullivan.” The American had in fact mounted a masterly defense and retreat. Lafayette thought that the whole affair was equally honorable to the Americans and “schamefull for the british generals and troops. They had indeed so fine chances as to cut us to pieces
.”37

  The next morning a British fleet arrived, landing 5,000 troops at Newport. D’Estaing’s captains had been right to leave Narragansett Bay before they were trapped. Lafayette had stopped whining about American attitudes and wanted to close the rift between the two nations. He told d’Estaing that the solution was to propose joint actions against Canada, the West Indies, and other places. The general-admiral had no intention of doing so, but the marquis confessed “that I impatiently await the responses to the requests that you are going to make to Congress and even to General Washington.” For once, he showed some discretion, saying that he would not write about these subjects, “even in confidence to my acquaintances in Congress or to the general, unless I receive your instructions, for fear that my measures would not be coordinated with yours.”38

  Lafayette headed back to Boston and sent his adoptive father a long account of what had happened, closing more happily than he had earlier. “I long my dear general, to be again with you,” he said, “and the pleasure of cooperating with the french fleet under your immediate orders will be the greatest I may feel. Then I am sure every thing will be right.”39

  Washington had been too busy to answer Lafayette’s earlier letter. He was trapped in his headquarters, looking for signs of movement among the enemy in New York, bearing a heavier burden for supply with Greene absent, and blocking an end run to Congress by Steuben, who wanted a command in the line.40

  On September 1, Washington offered the boy general some fatherly advice about what cause they were fighting for. He sympathized with Lafayette’s torment, saying that he felt “every thing that hurts the sensibility of a gentleman; and, consequently upon the present occasion, feel for you & for our good & great allys the French.” He felt hurt also “at every illiberal, and unthinking reflection which may have been cast upon Count d’Estaing, or the conduct of the fleet under his command. And, lastly for my country.” America was a land of free speech, he explained, and if d’Estaing’s fleet had been an American one, the complaints would have been even louder. He begged Lafayette to “take no exception at unmeaning expressions…but in a free & republican government, you cannot restrain the voice of the multitude. Every man will speak as he thinks, or more properly without thinking.” This was a matter not just of national differences but of human nature. “It is the nature of man, to be displeased with every thing that disappoints a favourite hope,” and too many people were inclined to criticize without knowing the facts.

  There were greater things at stake here, and Lafayette had a part to play. “Let me beseech you therefore my good Sir,” Washington pleaded, “to afford a healing hand to the wound that, unintentionally has been made. America esteems your virtues & yr. services and admires the principles upon which you act. Your countrymen, in our army, look up to you as their patron. The count and his officers consider you as a man high in rank, & high in estimation, here and in France; and I your friend, have no doubt but that you will use your utmost endeavours to restore harmony, that the honour, glory, and mutual interest of the two nation’s may be promoted and cemented in the firmest manner.”41

  For a man who had no children of his own, this was a masterly performance, fatherly in every way. Washington’s love and sympathy for the youngster came through, he addressed him as an adult, and he appealed to Lafayette’s better nature, gently reminding him of his responsibilities. By giving him the duty of healing the breach between the two countries, he boosted the marquis’ ego and stopped him from focusing on himself. It had the desired effect, as Washington knew it would. When Lafayette received it, he sent a copy to d’Estaing. He had been “extremely pleased with General Washington’s response,” he told his cousin; “in it he shows all the sensibility and the delicacy that one could desire.” The letter had been dictated by “the honesty of his soul. I admit that I greatly value recognizing on this occasion the heart of a man to whom I am tenderly devoted.”42

  Washington wanted to gain d’Estaing’s confidence. “The adverse element [weather], which robbed you of your prize,” he told him, “can never deprive you of the glory due to you. Though your success has not been equal to your expectations, yet you have the satisfaction of reflecting, that you have rendered essential services to the common cause.” He lamented “the least suspension of harmony and good understanding between the generals of allied nations.” At Washington’s request, Congress resolved that d’Estaing “hath behaved as a brave and wise officer, and that his excellency and the officers and men under his command have rendered every benefit to these states.” Also at Washington’s urging, other generals apologized for what had happened. Greene graciously begged d’Estaing not to judge other American generals by the tone of Sullivan’s letter. He assured the admiral “with the greatest sincerity of the respect and veneration that your reputation has inspired in them; permit me to add that no one feels this more deeply than I.”43

  Congress commended Sullivan for his conduct of the retreat from Rhode Island. In particular, the members “[r]esolved [t]hat Mr. President be requested to inform the Marquis de la Fayette, that Congress have a due sense of the sacrifice he made of his personal feelings in undertaking a journey to Boston with a view of promoting the interest of these states at a time when an occasion was daily expected of his acquiring glory in the field, and that his gallantry in going on Rhode Island when the greatest part of the army had retreated and his good conduct in bringing off the pickets and out sentries deserves their particular approbation.”44

  Washington had to curb Sullivan’s unruly tongue. He had been gentle with Lafayette, but he addressed the older general bluntly, putting the responsibility for the commotion on the man who started it. The disagreement between the army in Rhode Island and the French fleet had given him “very singular uneasiness,” he said. He pointed out that “the continent at large is concerned in our cordiality, and it should be kept up…. In our conduct towards them we should remember that they are a people old in war, very strict in military etiquette…. Permit me to recommend…the cultivation of harmony and good agreement, and your endeavours to destroy that ill-humour which may have got into the officers.”45

  Concern for d’Estaing’s wounded feelings turned out to be exaggerated. As Lafayette discovered when he returned to Boston, d’Estaing and his officers were having a good time. The admiral and Hancock had become the best of friends. The governor had rounded up every available shipwright and fitter, and repairs went forward while the admiral and his senior officers ate at the governor’s house every night. Hancock spoke French, but not very well. Once he invited d’Estaing and thirty officers to breakfast, and the count brought up almost all of the officers of his fleet, midshipmen included, Mrs. Hancock recalled. He was embarrassed, and invited her to visit his fleet along with all her friends. She led 500 ladies to the waterfront.

  The fun ended early in November, when the fleet sailed over the horizon. Americans had learned that the mere fact that France had joined their struggle did not end the war.46

  Lafayette tried to talk d’Estaing and Washington into adopting his plans to strike at the British everywhere. He wanted to get back into the fight, but nobody could figure out what the British were up to, unless it was nothing. The marquis was “very much afraid” that his spies had been hanged, he told d’Estaing in September, because he had ceased to hear from them. “Such an accident, rather common in that profession, would force me to take other measures, but I do not yet despair.”47

  The campaign season in America was coming to an end anyway. If the marquis could not find a fight in Washington’s command, he wanted to get into battle in the French service, and expected the next scene of action to be in Europe. D’Ayen had told him that he did not think anything would happen there, but he replied that he wanted to rejoin the French army. He told Adrienne and d’Estaing the same.48

  The question remained how he would be received if he went back to France. There, he knew, he was a celebrity, but he was also a fugitive. What he did not know was tha
t other Frenchmen in America were already preparing a welcome for him. “I cannot help saying,” the minister to the United States, Gérard, told Vergennes, that “the conduct of M. de Lafayette, equally prudent, courageous, and amiable, has made him the idol of Congress, the army, and the American people.” D’Estaing gave the minister of marine an effusive account of the marquis’ record in America. Exaggerating the hardships of serving in the New World, and especially of dealing with impertinent republicans, he said, “It is his knowing how to turn all that to advantage, to put it in its place and remain in his own that has most impressed me in the difficulties M. le Marquis de Lafayette has overcome. As well as he can, he restrains the indiscretions of the Frenchmen in the American army who are not exactly subordinate to him; at the same time he helps them with his credit, his purse, and his table.”49

  Lafayette had been welcomed in America because American officials thought he was influential in France. He just might be welcomed in France because French officials thought he was influential in America. Before he left, however, he did not want his adoptive father to think that he was abandoning him.

  He received Washington’s letter of September 1 on the twenty-first. “My love for you is such, my dear general,” he answered from Boston, “that I did enjoy it better (if possible) in a private sentimental light than in a political one. Nothing makes me happier than to see a conformity of sentiments between you and me upon any matter whatsoever, and the opinion of your heart is so precious to me, that I will ever expect it to fixmine…. I long much, my dear general, to be again with you. Our separation has been long enough, and I am here as inactive as any where else.”50

  Washington replied, “The sentiments of affection & attachment which breathe so conspicuously in all your letters to me, are at once pleasing & honourable; and afford me abundant cause to rejoice at the happiness of my acquaintance with you. I think myself happy in being linked with you in bonds of strictest friendship.” He was especially grateful for Lafayette’s “endeavours to cherish harmony” among the allies, which he said “deserves & now receives, my particular, & warmest thanks.” After inviting Lafayette and his wife to Mount Vernon after the war, he gave his blessings to the marquis’ immediate desires, as if he had read his young mind. If he had been thinking about visiting home this winter, he assured him, “but waver on acct. of an expedition into Canada, friendship induces me to tell you, that I do not conceive that the prospect of such an operation is so favourable at this time as to cause you to change your views.” He would be very happy to have Lafayette with the Main Army again, “but the present designs of the enemy are wrapped in such impervious darkness, that I scarce know what measures to pursue to counteract them.”51