[Illustration: LAFAYETTE MEETS WASHINGTON]
Lafayette, We Come!
The Story of How a Young
Frenchman Fought for Liberty
in America and How America
Now Fights for Liberty in France
By
RUPERT S. HOLLAND
_Author of “Historic Boyhoods,” “The Knights
of the Golden Spur,” etc._
[Illustration: Colophon]
PHILADELPHIA
GEORGE W. JACOBS & COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
Copyright, 1918, by
GEORGE W. JACOBS & COMPANY
_All rights reserved_
Printed in U. S. A.
_To
Those Men of the Great Republic
Who Have Answered
The Call of Lafayette,
Lover of Liberty_
Illustrations
Lafayette meets Washington _Frontispiece_
_Facing page_
Lafayette, a Prussian prisoner 226
“America’s Answer” 302
Foreword
In 1777 the young Marquis de Lafayette, only nineteen years old, came
from France to the aid of the Thirteen Colonies of North America because
he heard their cry for liberty ringing across the Atlantic Ocean. In
1917 the United States of America drew the sword in defense of the
sacred principle of liberty for which the country of Lafayette was
fighting. The debt of gratitude had never been forgotten; the ideals of
the gallant Frenchman and of the young Republic of the Western World
were the same; what he had done for us we of America are now doing for
him.
It is a glorious story, and one never to be forgotten while men love
liberty and truth. Every boy and girl should know it, for it is the
story of a brave, generous, noble-minded youth, who gave such devoted
service to America that he stands with Washington and Lincoln as one of
the great benefactors of our land. “I’m going to America to fight for
freedom!” he cried; and the cry still rings in our ears more than a
century later. The message is the same one we hear to-day and that is
carrying us across the Atlantic to France. From Lafayette’s story we
learn courage, fidelity to honor, loyalty to conviction, the qualities
that make men free and great. The principles of “liberty, equality, and
fraternity” of France are the same as those of our own Declaration of
Independence, and the men of the countries of Washington and Lafayette
now fight under a common banner. “Lafayette, we come!” was America’s
answer to the great man who offered all he had to us in the days of
1777.
Contents
I. THE LITTLE MARQUIS OF FRANCE 7
II. “WAKE UP! I’M GOING TO AMERICA TO
FIGHT FOR FREEDOM!” 25
III. HOW LAFAYETTE RAN AWAY TO SEA 45
IV. THE YOUNG FRENCHMAN REACHES
AMERICA 63
V. “I WILL FIGHT FOR AMERICAN LIBERTY
AS A VOLUNTEER!” 82
VI. LAFAYETTE WINS THE FRIENDSHIP OF
WASHINGTON 102
VII. THE FRENCHMAN IN THE FIELD AGAIN 123
VIII. THE MARQUIS AIDS THE UNITED STATES
IN FRANCE 153
IX. HOW LAFAYETTE SOUGHT TO GIVE
LIBERTY TO FRANCE 172
X. STORM-CLOUDS OF THE FRENCH REVOLUTION 194
XI. LAFAYETTE IN PRISON AND EXILE 225
XII. IN THE DAYS OF NAPOLEON 248
XIII. THE UNITED STATES WELCOMES THE
HERO 272
XIV. THE LOVER OF LIBERTY 287
XV. AMERICA’S MESSAGE TO FRANCE--“LAFAYETTE,
WE COME!” 302
I
THE LITTLE MARQUIS OF FRANCE
In the mountains of Auvergne in Southern France, in what was for many
centuries called the province of Auvergne, but what is now known as the
department of Haute-Loire, or Upper Loire, stands a great fortified
castle, the Château of Chavaniac. For six hundred years it has stood
there, part fortress and part manor-house and farm, a huge structure,
built piecemeal through centuries, with many towers and battlements and
thick stone walls long overgrown with moss. Before it lies the valley of
the Allier and the great rugged mountains of Auvergne. Love of freedom
is deeply rooted in the country round it, for the people of Auvergne
have always been an independent, proud and fearless race.
In this old Château of Chavaniac there was born on September 6, 1757,
the Marquis de Lafayette. He was baptized the next day, with all the
ceremonies befitting a baby of such high rank, and the register of the
little parish church in the neighboring village records the baptism
as that of “the very noble and very powerful gentleman Monseigneur
Marie-Joseph-Paul-Yves-Roch-Gilbert Dumotier de Lafayette, the
lawful son of the very noble and very powerful gentleman Monseigneur
Michel-Louis-Christophle-Roch-Gilbert Dumotier, Marquis de Lafayette,
Baron de Vissac, Seigneur de Saint-Romain and other places, and of
the very noble and very powerful lady Madame Marie-Louise-Julie
Delareviere.”
A good many names for a small boy to carry, but his family was very
old, and it was the custom of France to give many family names to each
child. He was called Gilbert Motier for short, however, though he was
actually born with the title and rank of Marquis, for his father had
been killed in battle six weeks before the little heir to Chavaniac was
born.
The family name of Motier could be traced back to before the year 1000.
Then one of the family came into possession of a farm called the Villa
Faya, and he lengthened his name to Motier of La Fayette. And as other
properties came to belong to the family the men added new names and
titles until in 1757 the heir to the old château had not only a long
string of names but was also a marquis and baron and seigneur by right
of his birth. There were few families in Auvergne of older lineage than
the house of Lafayette.
The little heir’s father, Michel-Louis, Marquis de Lafayette, had been
killed while leading a charge at the head of his regiment of French
Grenadiers in the battle of Hastenbeck, one of the battles of what was
known as the Seven Years’ War in Europe, which took place at about
the same time as the French and Indian War in America. Although only
twenty-four years old Michel-Louis de Lafayette was already a colonel
and a knight of the order of Saint Louis and had shown himself a true
descendant of the old fighting stock of Auvergne nobles. Now the small
baby boy, the new Marquis, succeeded to his father’s titles as well as
to the castle and several other even older manor-houses, for the most
part in ruins, that were perched high up in the mountains.
For all its blue blood, however, the family were what is known as “land
poor.” The little Marquis owned large farms in the mountains, but the
crops were not very abundant and most of the money that had come in from
them for some time had been needed to provide for the fighting men.
Fortunately the boy’s mother and grandmother and aunts, who all lived at
Chavaniac, were strong and sturdy people, willing to live the simple,
healthy, frugal life of their neighbors in the province and so save as
much of the family fortune as they could for the time when the heir
should make his bow at court.
Without brothers or sisters and with few playmates, spending his time
out-of-doors in the woods and fields of Chavaniac, the young Lafayette
had a rather solitary childhood and grew up awkward and shy. He was a
lean, long-limbed fellow with a hook nose, reddish hair, and a very
bashful manner. But his eyes were bright and very intelligent; whenever
anything really caught his attention he quickly became intensely
interested in it, and he was devoted to all the birds and beasts of the
country round about his home.
Some of these beasts, however, were dangerous; there was a great gray
wolf that the farmers said had been breaking into sheepfolds and doing
great damage. The boy of eight years old heard the story and set out,
sword in hand, to hunt and slay the wolf. There is no account of his
ever coming up with that particular monster, but the peasants of the
neighborhood liked to tell all visitors this story as proof of the
courage of their young Marquis.
But the family had no intention of keeping the head of their house in
this far-off province of France. He must learn to conduct himself as a
polished gentleman and courtier, he must go to Paris and prepare himself
to take the place at the royal court that belonged to a son of his long,
distinguished line. His family had rich and powerful relations, who
were quite ready to help the boy, and so, when he was eleven years old,
he left the quiet castle of Chavaniac and went to a school for young
noblemen, the College du Plessis at Paris.
Lafayette’s mother’s uncle, taking a liking to the boy, had him
enrolled as a cadet in one of the famous regiments of France, “The
Black Musketeers,” and this gave the boy a proud position at school,
and many a day he took some of his new friends to see the Musketeers
drill and learn something of the Manual of Arms. The company of other
boys, both at the College du Plessis in Paris and then at the Academy
at Versailles, as well as the interest he took in his gallant Black
Musketeers, made Lafayette less shy and awkward than he had been at
Chavaniac, though he was still much more reserved and thoughtful than
most boys of his age. He learned to write his own language well, and his
compositions in school showed the practical common sense of his country
bringing-up. He wrote a paper on the horse, and the chief point he
brought out in it was that if you try to make a horse do too many things
well he is sure to get restless and throw you, a bit of wisdom he had
doubtless learned in Auvergne.
The boy Marquis was at school in Paris when, in 1770, his devoted
mother and the rich granduncle who had had him appointed a cadet of
the Musketeers both died. The little Lafayette was now very much
alone; his grandmother in the distant castle in the mountains was his
nearest relation, and, though only a boy of thirteen, he had to decide
important questions for himself. But the granduncle had been very fond
of the lad, and in his will he left Lafayette all his fortune and
estates. The fortune was very large, and as a result the boy Marquis,
instead of being only a poor young country nobleman from Auvergne,
became a very rich and important person.
Immediately the proud and luxury-loving society of the French court
took a great interest in Gilbert Motier de Lafayette. Every father and
mother who had a daughter they wished to marry turned their attention
to the boy. And Lafayette, who, like most boys of his age, paid little
attention to girls, was beset with all sorts of invitations to parties
and balls.
In Europe in those days marriages were arranged by parents with little
regard to the wishes of their children. Sometimes babies of noble
families were betrothed to each other while they were still in the
cradle. It was all a question of social standing and of money. So
Lafayette’s guardians put their heads together and looked around for the
most suitable girl for him to marry.
The guardians chose the second daughter of the Duke d’Ayen,
Mademoiselle Marie-Adrienne-Françoise de Noailles, a girl twelve years
old. The Duke was pleased with the proposal; the Marquis de Lafayette
would make a most desirable husband for his daughter. But the little
girl’s mother had strong ideas of her own. When the Duke told her of the
husband selected for Marie-Adrienne she objected.
“It is too great a risk to run for Adrienne,” she said. “The Marquis de
Lafayette is very young, very rich, and very wilful. He seems to be a
good boy, so far as his standing at school and his conduct in society
are concerned; but with no one to guide him, no one to look after his
fortune and hold him back from extravagance and foolishness, without a
near relative, and with his character as yet unformed and uncertain, our
daughter’s marriage to him is out of the question, and I will not agree
to it.”
Both the Duke and the Duchess were strong-willed; Adrienne’s father
insisted on the match and her mother opposed it more and more
positively. At last they actually quarreled and almost separated over
this question of the marriage of two children, neither of whom had
been consulted in regard to their own feelings. At last, however, the
Duke suggested a compromise; the marriage should not take place for two
years, Adrienne should not leave her mother for three years, and in the
meantime the Duke would look after the education of the boy and see that
he became a suitable husband for their daughter.
This suited the Duchess better. “If the boy is brought up in our home
where I can see and study him,” she said, “I will agree. Then, having
taken all precautions, and having no negligence wherewith to reproach
ourselves, we need do nothing but peacefully submit to the will of God,
who knows best what is fitting for us.”
The shy boy came to the Duke’s house and met the little girl. Adrienne
was very attractive, sweet-natured, pretty, and delightful company.
Before the two knew the plans that had been made concerning them they
grew to like each other very much, became splendid companions, and
were glad when they learned that they were to marry some day. As for
Adrienne’s mother, the more she saw of the boy the better she liked him;
she took him into her house and heart as if he were her own son, trying
to make up to him for the loss of his own mother. The Duke kept his
agreement. He saw that Lafayette was properly educated at the Academy
at Versailles where young noblemen were taught military duties and that
in proper time he obtained his commission as an officer in the royal
regiment of the Black Musketeers.
Then, on April 11, 1774, Lafayette and Adrienne were married. The groom
was sixteen years old and the bride fourteen, but those were quite
proper ages for marriage among the French nobility. For a year the young
husband and wife lived at the great house of the Duke d’Ayen in Paris,
still under the watchful eye of the careful Duchess, and then they took
a house for themselves in the capital, going occasionally to the old
castle of Chavaniac in Auvergne.
The boy Marquis never regretted his marriage to Adrienne. Through
all the adventures of his later life his love for her was strong
and enduring. And she was as fine and noble and generous a woman as
Lafayette was a brave, heroic man.
Rich, a marquis in his own right, married to a daughter of one of the
greatest houses of France, Lafayette had the entrance to the highest
circles at court, to the innermost circle in fact, that of the young
King Louis XVI. and his Queen Marie Antoinette. And never was there a
gayer court to be found; the youthful King and his beautiful wife and
all their friends seemed to live for pleasure only; they were gorgeous
butterflies who flitted about the beautiful gardens of the Palace at
Versailles and basked in continual sunshine.
But the boy of seventeen, son of a line of rugged Auvergne fighters,
men of independent natures, did not take readily to the unceasing show
and luxury of court. Balls and dramas, rustic dances and dinners and
suppers, all the extravagant entertainments that the clever mind of the
young Queen could devise, followed in endless succession. True it was
that some of the courtiers had the fashion of talking a good deal about
the rights of man and human liberty, but that was simply a fashion in a
country where only the nobles had liberty and the talk of such things
only furnished polite conversation in drawing-rooms. To Lafayette,
however, liberty meant more than that; young though he was, he had seen
enough of the world to wish that there might be less suffering among
the poor and more liberality among the wealthy. The constant stream of
pleasures at Versailles often gave him food for thought, and though he
was very fond of the King and Queen and their youthful court, he had
less and less regard for the older nobles, who appeared to him as vain
and stiff and foolish as so many strutting peacocks.
Sometimes, however, for all his thoughtfulness, he joined
whole-heartedly in the revels the Queen devised. On one midsummer night
Marie Antoinette gave a fête at Versailles, and Lafayette led the
revels. The Queen had declared that she meant to have a _fête champêtre_
in the gardens that should be different from anything the court of
France had ever seen. All her guests should appear either as goblins
or as nymphs. They should not be required to dance the quadrille or
any other stately measure, but would be free to play any jokes that
came into their heads. As Marie Antoinette outlined these plans to him
Lafayette shook his head in doubt.
“What will the lords in waiting say to this?” he asked, “and your
Majesty’s own ladies?”
The pretty Queen laughed and shrugged her shoulders. “Who cares?” she
answered. “As long as Louis is King I shall do what pleases me.”
Then a new idea occurred to her and she clapped her hands with delight.
“I shall go to Louis,” she said, “and have him issue a royal order
commanding every one who comes to the fête to dress as a goblin or a
nymph. He will do it for me, I know.”
King Louis was too fond of his wife to deny her anything, so he issued
the order she wanted, much though he feared that it might affront the
older courtiers. And the courtiers were affronted and horrified. The
Royal Chamberlain and the Queen’s Mistress of the Robes went to the King
in his workshop, for Louis was always busy with clocks and locks and
keys, and told him that such a performance as was planned would make the
court of France appear ridiculous.
Louis listened to them patiently, and when they had left he sent for
Marie Antoinette and her friends. They described how absurd the
courtiers would look as nymphs and goblins and the King laughed till he
cried. Then he dismissed the whole matter and went back to the tools on
his work-table.
So Marie Antoinette had her party, and the gardens of Versailles saw the
strange spectacle of tall, stiff goblins wearing elaborate powdered wigs
and jeweled swords, and stout wood-nymphs with bare arms and shoulders
and glittering with gems. The Queen’s friends, a crowd of hobgoblins,
swooped down upon the stately Mistress of the Robes and carried her
off to a summer-house on the edge of the woods, where they kept her a
prisoner while they sang her the latest ballads of the Paris streets.
The court was shocked and indignant, and the next day there was such a
buzzing of angry bees about the head of the King that he had to lecture
the Queen and her friends and forbid any more such revels.
As the older courtiers regained their influence over Louis the young
Lafayette went less and less often to Versailles. He was too independent
by nature to bow the knee to the powdered and painted lords and ladies
who controlled the court. Instead of seeking their society he spent
more and more time with his regiment of Musketeers. But this did not
satisfy his father-in-law, the Duke d’Ayen, who was eager for Lafayette
to shine in the sun of royal favor. So the Duke went to the young Count
de Segur, Lafayette’s close friend and cousin, and begged him to try and
stir the Marquis to greater ambition.
The Count, who knew Lafayette well, had to laugh at the words of the
Duke d’Ayen. “Indifferent! Indolent! Faith, my dear marshal, you do
not yet know our Lafayette! I should say he has altogether too much
enthusiasm. Why, it was only yesterday that he almost insisted on my
fighting a duel with him because I did not agree with him in a matter of
which I knew nothing, and of which he thought I should know everything.
He is anything but indifferent and indolent, I can assure you!”
Pleased with this information, and feeling that he had much
misunderstood his son-in-law, the Duke made plans to have Lafayette
attached to the suite of one of the princes of France, and picked out
the Count of Provence, the scapegrace brother of Louis XVI. This Prince
was only two years older than Lafayette, and famous for his overbearing
manners. As a result, when the Duke told his son-in-law of the interview
he had arranged for him with the Count of Provence, Lafayette at once
determined that nothing should make him accept service with so arrogant
a fellow.
Having decided that he wanted no favors from that particular Prince,
Lafayette set about to make his decision clear. His opportunity soon
came. The King and Queen gave a masked ball at court, and the youthful
Marquis was one of their guests. With his mask concealing his face he
went up to the King’s brother, the Count of Provence, and began to talk
about liberty and equality and the rights of man, saying a great deal
that he probably did not believe in his desire to make the Count angry.
The plan succeeded beautifully. The Count tried to answer, but every
time he opened his mouth Lafayette said more violent things and made
more eloquent pleas for democracy. At last the young Prince could stand
the tirade no longer. “Sir,” said he, lifting his mask and staring at
his talkative companion, “I shall remember this interview.”
“Sir,” answered the young Marquis, also lifting his mask and bowing
gracefully, “memory is the wisdom of fools.”
It was a rash remark to make to a royal prince, but it had the effect
that Lafayette desired. With an angry gesture the Count of Provence
turned on his heel and made it clear to every one about him that the
Marquis was in disgrace. In later days the Count showed that he had
remembered Lafayette’s words to him.
News of what the Marquis had said quickly flew through the court and
speedily reached the ears of the Duke d’Ayen. He was horrified; his
son-in-law had not only insulted the Prince and so lost his chance
of becoming a gentleman of his suite, but had also made himself a
laughing-stock. The Duke lectured the boy, and told him that he was
throwing away all his chances for worldly advancement. But Lafayette
answered that he cared nothing for princely favor and meant to follow
the dictates of his own nature.
So the Duke, finally despairing of doing anything with so independent
a fellow, had him ordered to join his regiment, and Lafayette left
Paris to seek his fortune elsewhere. Already, although he was only
seventeen, the boy Marquis had shown that he was a true son of Auvergne,
not a parasite of the King’s court, as were most of his friends, but an
independent, liberty-loving man.
II
“WAKE UP! I’M GOING TO AMERICA TO FIGHT FOR FREEDOM!”
Although the young Marquis had deliberately given up a career at court,
there was every promise of his having a brilliant career in the army.
Soon after his famous speech to the King’s brother, in August, 1775, he
was transferred from his regiment of Black Musketeers to a command in
what was known as the “Regiment de Noailles,” which had for its colonel
a young man of very distinguished family, Monseigneur the Prince de
Poix, who was a cousin of Lafayette’s wife.
The “Regiment de Noailles” was stationed at Metz, a garrison city some
two hundred miles to the east of Paris. The commander of Metz was the
Count de Broglie, a marshal and prince of France, who had commanded the
French armies in the Seven Years’ War, in one of the battles of which
Lafayette’s father had been killed. The Count de Broglie had known
Lafayette’s father and had greatly admired him, and he did all he could
to befriend the son, inviting him to all the entertainments he gave.
It happened that early in August the Count de Broglie gave a dinner in
honor of a young English prince, the Duke of Gloucester, and Lafayette,
in the blue and silver uniform of his rank, was one of the guests at
the table. The Duke of Gloucester was at the time in disgrace with his
brother, King George the Third of England, because he had dared to marry
a wife whom King George disliked. The Duke was really in exile from
England, and in the company of the French officers he had no hesitation
in speaking his mind about his royal brother and even in poking fun at
some of his plans. And the Duke made a special point of criticizing King
George for his policy toward the colonists in America.
In that very year of the dinner-party at Metz, in the spring of 1775, a
rebellion had broken out in the colonies, and there had actually been a
fight between American farmers and British regulars at the village of
Lexington in the colony of Massachusetts Bay. The Duke had received
word of the obstinate resistance of the farmers--peasants, he called
them--at Lexington and Concord, and of the retreat of Lord Percy and
his troops to Boston. The Duke told the dinner-party all about the
discomfiture of his royal brother, laughing heartily at it, and also
related how in that same seaport of Boston the townspeople had thrown a
cargo of tea into the harbor rather than pay the royal tax on it.
The Duke talked and Lafayette listened. The Duke spoke admiringly of the
pluck of the American farmers, but pointed out that it was impossible
for the colonists to win against regular troops unless experienced
officers and leaders should help them. “They are poor, they are ill
led,” said the Duke, “they have no gentlemen-soldiers to show them
how to fight, and the king my brother is determined to bring them into
subjection by harsh and forcible methods if need be. But my letters say
that the Americans seem set upon opposing force with force, and, as the
country is large and the colonies scattered, it certainly looks as if
the trouble would be long and serious. If but the Americans were well
led, I should say the rebellion might really develop into a serious
affair.”
Most of the officers knew little about America; even Lafayette had only
a vague idea about the colonies on the other side of the Atlantic Ocean.
But the Duke’s words stirred him deeply; he sat leaning far forward, his
eyes shining with interest, his face expressing the closest attention.
Finally, as the guests rose from the table, Lafayette burst forth
impetuously. “But could one help these peasants over there beyond the
seas, monseigneur?” he asked the Duke.
The English prince smiled at the young Frenchman’s eagerness. “One
could, my lord marquis, if he were there,” he answered.
“Then tell me, I pray you,” continued Lafayette, “how one may do it,
monseigneur. Tell me how to set about it. For see, I will join these
Americans; I will help them fight for freedom!”
Again the Duke smiled; the words seemed extravagant on the lips of a
French officer. But a glance at Lafayette’s face showed how much the
boy was in earnest. The words were no idle boast; the speaker plainly
meant them. So the Duke answered, “Why, I believe you would, my lord. It
wouldn’t take much to start you across the sea,--if your people would
let you.”
Lafayette smiled to himself. He had already done one thing that his
family disapproved of, and he did not intend to let them prevent his
embarking on such an enterprise as this, one that appealed so intensely
to his love of liberty. He asked the Duke of Gloucester all the
questions he could think of, and the Duke gave him all the information
he had about America.
The dinner-party broke up, and most of the officers soon forgot all the
conversation; but not so the young Marquis; that evening had been one
of the great events of his life. As he said afterward, “From that hour
I could think of nothing but this enterprise, and I resolved to go to
Paris at once to make further inquiries.”
His mind made up by what he had heard at Metz, Lafayette set off for
Paris. But once there, it was hard to decide where he should turn for
help. His father-in-law, he knew, would be even more scandalized by his
new plan than he had been by the affront the young man had given the
King’s brother. His own wife was too young and inexperienced to give
him wise counsel in such a matter. Finally he chose for his first real
confidant his cousin and close friend, the Count de Segur. Lafayette
went at once to his cousin’s house, though it was only seven o’clock
in the morning, was told that the Count was not yet out of bed, but,
without waiting to be announced, rushed upstairs and woke the young man.
The Count saw his cousin standing beside him and shaking him by the arm.
In great surprise he sat up. “Wake up! wake up!” cried Lafayette. “Wake
up! I’m going to America to fight for freedom! Nobody knows it yet; but
I love you too much not to tell you.”
The Count sprang out of bed and caught Lafayette’s hand. “If that is so,
I will go with you!” he cried. “I will go to America too! I will fight
with you for freedom! How soon do you start?”
It was easier said than done, however. The two young men had breakfast
and eagerly discussed this momentous matter. The upshot of their
discussion was to decide to enlist a third friend in their cause, and so
they set out to see Lafayette’s brother-in-law, the Viscount Louis Marie
de Noailles, who was a year older than the Marquis.
The young Viscount, like the Count de Segur, heard Lafayette’s news
with delight, for he also belonged to that small section of the French
nobility that was very much interested in what was called “the rights
of man.” So here were three young fellows,--hardly more than boys,--for
none of the three was over twenty years old, all of high rank and large
fortune, eager to do what they could to help the fighting farmers of the
American colonies.
At the very start, however, they ran into difficulties. France and
England, though not on very friendly terms at that particular time,
were yet keeping the peace between them, and the French prime minister
was afraid that if the English government should learn that a number of
young French aristocrats were intending to aid the rebellious American
colonists it might cause ill-feeling between France and England. The
prime minister, therefore, frowned on all such schemes as that of
Lafayette, and so the three young liberty-loving conspirators had to
set about their business with the greatest secrecy.
Lafayette’s next step was to hunt out a man who had been sent over to
France from the American colonies as a secret agent, a representative of
what was known as the American Committee of Secret Correspondence, of
which Benjamin Franklin was a member. This man was Silas Deane of the
colony of Connecticut. Deane was secretly sending arms and supplies from
France to America, but he was so closely watched by the agents of the
English Ambassador, Lord Stormont, that it was very difficult to see him
without rousing suspicions.
While the Marquis was studying the problem of how to get in touch with
Deane he confided his secret to the Count de Broglie, his superior
officer at Metz and his very good friend. The Count was at once opposed
to any such rash venture. “You want to throw your life away in that land
of savages!” exclaimed De Broglie. “Why, my dear Lafayette, it is the
craziest scheme I ever heard of! And to what purpose?”
“For the noblest of purposes, sir,” answered the Marquis. “To help a
devoted people win their liberty! What ambition could be nobler?”
“It is a dream, my friend, a dream that can never be fulfilled,” said
the old soldier. “I will not help you to throw your life away. I saw
your uncle die in the wars of Italy, I witnessed your brave father’s
death at the battle of Hastenbeck, and I cannot be a party to the
ruin of the last of your name, the only one left of the stock of the
Lafayettes!”
But even the old Marshal could not withstand the ardor and enthusiasm of
the youth. So vehemently did Lafayette set forth his wishes that finally
the Count promised that he would not actively oppose his plans, and
presently agreed to introduce the Marquis to a Bavarian soldier named De
Kalb, who might be able to help him.
“I will introduce you to De Kalb,” said the Count. “He is in Paris
now, and perhaps through him you may be able to communicate with this
American agent, Monsieur Deane.”
De Kalb was a soldier of fortune who had been to America long before
the Revolution and knew a great deal about the colonies. At present
he was in France, giving what information he could to the government
there. And the upshot of Lafayette’s talk with the Count de Broglie
was that the latter not only gave the Marquis a letter to De Kalb
but also actually asked De Kalb to go to America and see if he could
arrange things so that he, the Count de Broglie, might be invited by the
American Congress to cross the ocean and become commander-in-chief of
the American army! Perhaps it was natural that the veteran Marshal of
France should think that he would make a better commander-in-chief than
the untried George Washington.
The Baron de Kalb arranged that the Count de Broglie should see Silas
Deane of Connecticut. Silas Deane was impressed with the importance of
securing such a powerful friend and leader for his hard-pressed people,
and he at once agreed to see what he could do for De Broglie, and
promised Baron de Kalb the rank of major-general in the American army
and signed an agreement with him by which fifteen French officers should
go to America on a ship that was fitting out with arms and supplies.
This fell in beautifully with Lafayette’s wishes. De Broglie introduced
the Marquis to De Kalb, and De Kalb presented him to Silas Deane. This
was in December, 1776, and Lafayette, only nineteen, slight of figure,
looked very boyish for such an enterprise. But he plainly showed that
his whole heart was in his plan, and, as he said himself, “made so
much out of the small excitement that my going away was likely to
cause,” that the American agent was carried away by his enthusiasm,
and in his own rather reckless fashion, wrote out a paper by which the
young Marquis was to enter the service of the American colonies as a
major-general.
Deane’s enthusiasm over Lafayette’s offer of his services may be seen
from what he wrote in the agreement. The paper he sent to Congress
in regard to this volunteer ran as follows: “His high birth, his
alliances, the great dignities which his family holds at this court, his
considerable estates in this realm, his personal merit, his reputation,
his disinterestedness, and, above all, his zeal for the liberty of our
provinces, are such as have only been able to engage me to promise him
the rank of major-general in the name of the United States. In witness
of which I have signed the present this seventh of December, 1776. Silas
Deane, Agent for the United States of America.”
By this time the colonies had issued their Declaration of Independence,
and called themselves, as Silas Deane described them, the United States
of America.
Imagine Lafayette’s joy at this result of his meeting with Silas Deane!
It seemed as if his enthusiasm had already won him his goal. But there
were other people to be considered, and his family were not as much
delighted with his plans as the man from Connecticut had been.
As a matter of fact his father-in-law, the powerful Duke d’Ayen, was
furious, and so were most of the others of his family. His cousin, the
Count de Segur, described the feelings of Lafayette’s relations. “It
is easy to conceive their astonishment,” he wrote, “when they learned
suddenly that this young sage of nineteen, so cool and so indifferent,
had been so far carried away by the love of glory and of danger as to
intend to cross the ocean and fight in the cause of American freedom.”
There was more of a storm at home than when the self-filled young
Marquis had of his own accord disgraced himself at court.
But his wife Adrienne, girl though she was, understood him far better
than the rest of the family, and even sympathized with his great desire.
“God wills that you should go,” she said to her husband. “I have prayed
for guidance and strength. Whatever others think, you shall not be
blamed.”
Others, however, did have to be reckoned with. Lafayette’s two friends,
the Count de Segur and the Viscount de Noailles, both of whom had been
so eager to go with him, had found that their fathers would not supply
them with the money they needed and that the King would not consent to
their going to America. Reluctantly they had to give up their plans. But
Lafayette was rich, he had no need to ask for funds from any one; there
was no difficulty for him on that score.
He was, however, an officer of France, and it was on that ground that
his father-in-law tried to put an end to his scheme. He went to the
King with his complaint about the wilful Marquis. At the same time the
English Ambassador, who had got wind of the matter, also complained
to King Louis. And Louis XVI., who had never concerned himself much
about liberty and took little interest in the rebel farmers across the
Atlantic, said that while he admired the enthusiasm of the Marquis de
Lafayette, he could not think of permitting officers of his army to
serve with the men of America who were in rebellion against his good
friend the King of England. Therefore he issued an order forbidding any
soldier in his service taking part in the Revolution in America.
The Duke d’Ayen was delighted. He went to Lafayette, and trying to put
the matter on a friendly footing, said, “You had better return to your
regiment at Metz, my dear son.”
Lafayette drew himself up, his face as determined as ever. “No Lafayette
was ever known to turn back,” he answered. “I shall do as I have
determined.”
One of Lafayette’s ancestors had adopted as his motto the words “_Cur
non_,” meaning “Why not?” and the Marquis now put these on his own coat
of arms, the idea being, as he himself said, that they should serve him
“both as an encouragement and a response.”
By this time the young republic in America had sent Benjamin Franklin
to help Silas Deane in Paris. Franklin heard of Lafayette’s desires and
knew how much help his influence might bring the new republic. So he set
about to see what he could do to further Lafayette’s plans.
At that moment things looked gloomy indeed for the Americans. Their
army had been badly defeated at the battle of Long Island, and their
friends in Europe were depressed. That, however, seemed to Lafayette
all the more reason for taking them aid as quickly as he could, and
when he heard that Benjamin Franklin was interested in him he made an
opportunity to see the latter.
Franklin was perfectly fair with Lafayette. He gave the young
Frenchman the exact news he had received from America, information
that Washington’s army of three thousand ragged and suffering men were
retreating across New Jersey before the victorious and well-equipped
troops of General Howe. He pointed out that the credit of the new
republic was certain to sink lower and lower unless Washington should be
able to win a victory and that at present it looked as if any such event
was far away. And in view of all this Franklin, and Silas Deane also,
was frank enough to tell Lafayette that his plan of aiding the United
States at that particular time was almost foolhardy.
The Frenchman thanked them for their candor. “Until this moment,
gentlemen,” said he, “I have only been able to show you my zeal in your
struggle; now the time has come when that zeal may be put to actual use.
I am going to buy a ship and carry your officers and supplies to America
in it. We must show our confidence in the cause, and it is in just such
a time of danger as this that I want to share whatever fortune may have
in store for you.”
Franklin was immensely touched by the generosity of the young Marquis
and told him so. But, practical man as he was, although he gladly
accepted Lafayette’s offer, he pointed out that as the American agents
were closely watched in Paris it would be better for Lafayette to work
through third parties and in some other place than the French capital,
if possible.
Lafayette took these suggestions. At once he found that it was extremely
difficult to secure a ship without discovery by the English Ambassador.
Here the Count de Broglie again gave him aid. He introduced the Marquis
to Captain Dubois, the brother of his secretary, an officer in one
of the King’s West Indian regiments, who happened to be at home on
furlough at the time, and Lafayette engaged him as his agent. He sent
him secretly to Bordeaux, the French seaport that was supposed to be
safest from suspicion, and gave him the money to buy and supply a ship,
the plan being that Captain Dubois should appear to be fitting out the
vessel for the needs of his own regiment in the West Indies.
The needed repairs to the ship would take some time, and meanwhile, in
order to escape all possible suspicion of his plans, Lafayette arranged
with his cousin, the Prince de Poix, to make a journey to England. The
Marquis de Noailles, Lafayette’s uncle, was the French Ambassador to
England, and he welcomed the two young noblemen with delight. Every
one supposed that Lafayette had at last given up his wild schemes,
and all the great houses of London were thrown open to him. He wrote
of the amusement he felt at being presented to King George III., and
of how much he enjoyed a ball at the house of Lord George Germain, the
secretary for the colonies. At the opera he met Sir Henry Clinton, with
whom he had a pleasant, friendly chat. The next time Sir Henry and he
were to meet was to be on the field of arms at the Battle of Monmouth.
But he never took advantage of his hosts. He kept away from the English
barracks and shipyards, though he was invited to inspect them. He was
careful to a degree to avoid any act that might later be considered as
having been in the nature of a breach of confidence. And after three
weeks in the gay world of London he felt that he could brook no longer
delay and told his uncle the Ambassador that he had taken a fancy to
cross the Channel for a short visit at home.
His uncle opposed this idea, saying that so abrupt a departure would
be discourteous to the English court, but Lafayette insisted. So the
Marquis de Noailles finally offered to give out the report that his
nephew was sick until the latter should return to London. Lafayette
agreed. “I would not have proposed this stratagem,” he said later, “but
I did not object to it.”
The voyage on the Channel was rough and Lafayette was seasick. As soon
as he reached France he went to Paris and stayed in hiding at the house
of Baron de Kalb. He had another interview with the American agents and
sent out his directions to the men who were to sail with him. Then he
slipped away to Bordeaux, where he found the sloop _Victory_, bought
by Captain Dubois with Lafayette’s money, and now ready for the voyage
across the Atlantic.
Lafayette, however, could not sail away from France under his own name,
and as a permit was required of every one leaving the country, a special
one had to be made out for him. This is still kept at Bordeaux, and
describes the passenger on the sloop as “Gilbert du Mottie, Chevalier
de Chavaillac, aged about twenty, rather tall, light-haired, embarking
on the _Victory_, Captain Lebourcier commanding, for a voyage to the
Cape on private business.” His name was not very much changed, for he
was really Gilbert du Motier and also the Chevalier de Chavaniac, but
probably a careless clerk, who had no concern in this particular young
man’s affairs, made the mistakes in spelling, and so aided Lafayette’s
disguise.
But all was not yet smooth sailing. Lord Stormont, the English
Ambassador, heard of Lafayette’s departure from Paris and also of his
plans to leave France, and at once protested to the King. Lafayette’s
father-in-law likewise protested, and no sooner had the young nobleman
arrived in Bordeaux than royal officers were on his track. The French
government did not want him to sail, no matter how much it might
secretly sympathize with the young republic across the ocean.
Having come so far, however, the intrepid Marquis did not intend to be
stopped. He meant to sail on his ship, he meant to carry out the brave
words he had spoken to his cousin. “I’m going to America to fight for
freedom!” he had said, and he was determined to accomplish that end.
III
HOW LAFAYETTE RAN AWAY TO SEA
Lafayette did actually run away to sea, with the officers of King Louis
XVI. hot-foot after him. When he learned that his plans were known and
that he would surely be stopped if he delayed he ordered the captain
of the _Victory_ to set sail from Bordeaux without waiting for the
necessary sailing-papers. His intention was to run into the Spanish port
of Las Pasajes, just across the French frontier on the Bay of Biscay,
and there complete his arrangements for crossing the Atlantic, for the
sloop still needed some repairs before starting on such a voyage.
At Las Pasajes, however, he found more obstacles and difficulties.
Instead of the sailing-papers he expected letters and orders and French
officers were waiting for him. The letters were from his family,
protesting against his rash act, the orders were from Louis XVI.’s
ministers, and charged him with deserting the army, breaking his oath
of allegiance to the King, and involving France in difficulties with
England. And the officers were from the court, with documents bearing
the King’s own seal, and commanding Lieutenant the Marquis de Lafayette
of the regiment of De Noailles to go at once to the French port of
Marseilles and there await further orders.
The news that affected the runaway nobleman most was contained in
the letters from home. He had had to leave Paris without telling his
intentions to his wife, much as he hated to do this. He knew that she
really approved of his plans and would do nothing to thwart them, but
the letters said that she was ill and in great distress of mind. He
would have braved the King’s order of arrest and all the other threats,
but he could not stand the idea of his wife being in distress on his
account. So, with the greatest reluctance he said good-bye to his
plans, left his ship in the Spanish port, and crossed the border back
to France.
It looked as if this was to be the end of Lafayette’s gallant
adventure. The Baron de Kalb, very much disappointed, wrote to his
wife, “This is the end of his expedition to America to join the army of
the insurgents.”
It might have been the end with another man, but not with Lafayette. He
rode back to Bordeaux, and there found that much of the outcry raised
against him was due to the wiles of his obstinate father-in-law, the
Duke d’Ayen. It was true that the English Ambassador had protested to
King Louis’ ministers, but there was no real danger of Lafayette’s
sailing disturbing the relations between England and France. New letters
told Lafayette that his wife was well and happy, though she missed
him. The threats and the orders were due, not to the anger of his own
government, but to the determination of the Duke that his son-in-law
should not risk his life and fortune in such a rash enterprise.
When he learned all this the Marquis determined to match the obstinacy
of the Duke with an even greater obstinacy of his own. His first
thought was to join his ship the _Victory_ at once, but he had no
permit to cross into Spain, and if he should be caught disobeying the
King’s orders a second time he might get into more serious trouble.
His father-in-law was waiting to see him at Marseilles, and so he now
arranged to go to that city.
In Bordeaux Lafayette met a young French officer, named Du Mauroy, who
had also received from Silas Deane a commission in the American army,
and who was very anxious to reach the United States. The two made their
plans together, and the upshot of it was that they presently set out
together in a post-chaise for Marseilles.
They did not keep on the road to Marseilles long, however. No sooner
were they well out of Bordeaux than they changed their course and drove
in the direction of the Spanish border. In a quiet place on the road
Lafayette slipped out of the chaise and hid in the woods. There he
disguised himself as a post-boy or courier, and then rode on ahead, on
horseback, as if he were the servant of the gentleman in the carriage.
His companion, Du Mauroy, had a permit to leave France, and the plan
was that he should try to get the Marquis across the Spanish frontier
as his body-servant. The chaise went galloping along as fast as the
horses could pull it, because the young men had good reason to fear
that French officers would speedily be on their track, if they were
not already pursuing them. They came to a little village, St. Jean de
Luz, where Lafayette had stopped on his journey from Las Pasajes to
Bordeaux a short time before, and there, as the Marquis, disguised as
the post-boy, rode into the stable-yard of the inn the daughter of
the innkeeper recognized him as the same young man she had waited on
earlier.
The girl gave a cry of surprise. “Oh, monsieur!” she exclaimed.
Lafayette put his finger to his lips in warning. “Yes, my girl,” he said
quickly. “Monsieur my patron wants fresh horses at once. He is coming
just behind me, and is riding post-haste to Spain.”