village so close to the border of France and Spain, perhaps she liked
the young man and wanted to help him in his adventure. She called a
stable-boy and had him get the fresh horses that were needed, and when
the disguised Marquis and his friend were safely across the frontier and
some French officers came galloping up to the inn in pursuit of them
she told the latter that the post-chaise had driven off by the opposite
road to the one it had really taken.
At last, on April seventeenth, Lafayette reached the Spanish seaport of
Las Pasajes again and went on board of his sloop the _Victory_. After
six months of plotting and planning and all sorts of discouragements he
was actually free to sail for America, and on the twentieth of April,
1777, he gave the order to Captain Leboucier to hoist anchor and put out
to sea. On the deck of the _Victory_ with him stood De Kalb and about
twenty young Frenchmen, all, like their commander, eager to fight for
the cause of liberty. The shores of Spain dropped astern, and Lafayette
and his friends turned their eyes westward in the direction of the New
World.
When news of Lafayette’s sailing reached Paris it caused the greatest
interest. Though the King and the older members of his court might
frown and shake their heads the younger people were frankly delighted.
Coffee-houses echoed with praise of the daring Lieutenant, and whenever
his name was mentioned in public it met with the loudest applause. In
the world of society opinions differed; most of the luxury-loving
nobility thought the adventure of the Marquis a wild-goose chase. The
Chevalier de Marais wrote to his mother, “All Paris is discussing
the adventure of a young courtier, the son-in-law of Noailles, who
has a pretty wife, two children, fifty thousand crowns a year,--in
fact, everything which can make life here agreeable and dear, but who
deserted all that a week ago to join the insurgents. His name is M. de
Lafayette.”
And the Chevalier’s mother answered from her château in the country,
“What new kind of folly is this, my dear child? What! the madness
of knight-errantry still exists! It has disciples! Go to help the
insurgents! I am delighted that you reassure me about yourself, for I
should tremble for you; but since you see that M. de Lafayette is a
madman, I am tranquil.”
A celebrated Frenchwoman, Madame du Deffand, wrote to the Englishman
Horace Walpole, “Of course it is a piece of folly, but it does him no
discredit. He receives more praise than blame.” And that was the opinion
of a large part of France. If a young man chose to do such a wild thing
as to become a knight-errant he might be criticized for his lack of
wisdom, but on the whole he was not to be condemned.
Meantime, as the _Victory_ was spreading her sails on the broad
Atlantic, Benjamin Franklin was writing to the American Congress. This
was what he said: “The Marquis de Lafayette, a young nobleman of great
family connections here and great wealth, is gone to America in a ship
of his own, accompanied by some officers of distinction, in order to
serve in our armies. He is exceedingly beloved, and everybody’s good
wishes attend him. We cannot but hope he may meet with such a reception
as will make the country and his expedition agreeable to him. Those who
censure it as imprudent in him, do, nevertheless, applaud his spirit;
and we are satisfied that the civilities and respect that may be shown
him will be serviceable to our affairs here, as pleasing not only to
his powerful relations and the court, but to the whole French nation.
He has left a beautiful young wife; and for her sake, particularly, we
hope that his bravery and ardent desire to distinguish himself will be
a little restrained by the General’s prudence, so as not to permit his
being hazarded much, except on some important occasion.”
The _Victory_ was not a very seaworthy ship. Lafayette had been swindled
by the men who had sold the sloop to his agent; she was a very slow
craft, and was poorly furnished and scantily armed. Her two small cannon
and small stock of muskets would have been a poor defense in case she
had been attacked by any of the pirates who swarmed on the high seas in
those days or by the English cruisers who were looking for ships laden
with supplies for America.
In addition to the defects of his ship Lafayette soon found he had other
obstacles to cope with. He discovered that the captain of the _Victory_
considered himself a much more important person than the owner and meant
to follow his own course.
The papers with which the ship had sailed from Spain declared that her
destination was the West Indies. But ships often sailed for other ports
than those they were supposed to, and Lafayette wanted to reach the
United States as quickly as he could. He went to the captain and said,
“You will please make your course as direct as possible for Charlestown
in the Carolinas.”
“The Carolinas, sir!” exclaimed the captain. “Why, I cannot do that. The
ship’s papers are made out for the West Indies and will only protect us
if we sail for a port there. I intend to sail for the West Indies, and
you will have to get transportation across to the colonies from there.”
Lafayette was amazed. “This ship is mine,” he declared, “and I direct
you to sail to Charlestown.”
But the captain was obstinate. “I am the master of this ship, sir,”
said he, “and responsible for its safety. If we should be caught by an
English cruiser and she finds that we are headed for North America with
arms and supplies, we shall be made prisoners, and lose our ship, our
cargo, and perhaps our lives. I intend to follow my sailing-papers and
steer for the West Indies.”
No one could be more determined than Lafayette, however. “You may
be master of the _Victory_, Captain Leboucier,” said he, “but I am
her owner and my decision is final. You will sail at once and by the
directest course for the port of Charlestown in the Carolinas or I shall
deprive you instantly of your command and place the mate in charge of
the ship. I have enough men here to meet any resistance on your part. So
make your decision immediately.”
The captain in his turn was surprised. The young owner was very positive
and evidently not to be cajoled or threatened. So Leboucier complained
and blustered and argued a little, and finally admitted that it was
not so much the ship’s papers as her cargo that he was troubled about.
He owned that he had considerable interest in that cargo, for he had
smuggled eight or nine thousand dollars’ worth of goods on board the
_Victory_ and wanted to sell them in the West Indies and so make an
extra profit on the side for himself. The real reason why he didn’t want
to be caught by an English cruiser was the danger of losing his smuggled
merchandise.
“Then why didn’t you say so at first?” Lafayette demanded. “I would
have been willing to help you out, of course. Sail for the port of
Charlestown in the Carolinas; and if we are captured, searched, robbed,
or destroyed by any English cruisers or privateers I will see that you
don’t lose a sou. I will promise to make any loss good.”
That satisfied Captain Leboucier. As long as his goods were safe he had
no hesitation on the score of danger to the ship, and so he immediately
laid his course for the coast of the Carolinas. Lafayette, however,
realizing that the _Victory_ might be overtaken by enemy warships,
arranged with one of his men, Captain de Bedaulx, that in case of attack
and capture the latter should blow up the ship rather than surrender.
With this matter arranged the Marquis went to his cabin and stayed there
for two weeks, as seasick as one could be.
The voyage across the Atlantic in those days was a long and tedious
affair. It took seven weeks, and after Lafayette had recovered from his
seasickness he had plenty of time to think of the hazards of his new
venture and of the family he had left at home. He was devoted to his
family, and as the _Victory_ kept on her westward course he wrote long
letters to his wife, planning to send them back to France by different
ships, so that if one was captured another might carry his message to
Adrienne safely to her. In one letter he wrote, “Oh, if you knew what I
have suffered, what weary days I have passed thus flying from everything
that I love best in the world!” And then, in order to make his wife less
fearful of possible dangers that might beset him, he said, “The post of
major-general has always been a warrant of long life. It is so different
from the service I should have had in France, as colonel, for instance.
With my present rank I shall only have to attend councils of war.... As
soon as I land I shall be in perfect safety.”
But this boy, nineteen years old, though he called himself a
major-general, was not to be content with attending councils of war
and keeping out of danger, as later events were to show. He was far
too eager and impetuous for that, too truly a son of the wild Auvergne
Mountains.
And he showed that he knew that himself, for later in the same letter
to Adrienne he compared his present journey with what his father-in-law
would have tried to make him do had Lafayette met the Duke d’Ayen at
Marseilles. “Consider the difference between my occupation and my
present life,” he wrote, “and what they would have been if I had gone
upon that useless journey. As the defender of that liberty which I
adore; free, myself, more than any one; coming, as a friend, to offer
my services to this most interesting republic, I bring with me nothing
but my own free heart and my own good-will,--no ambition to fulfil and
no selfish interest to serve. If I am striving for my own glory, I am at
the same time laboring for the welfare of the American republic. I trust
that, for my sake, you will become a good American. It is a sentiment
made for virtuous hearts. The happiness of America is intimately
connected with the happiness of all mankind; she is destined to become
the safe and worthy asylum of virtue, integrity, tolerance, equality,
and peaceful liberty.”
This, from a boy not yet twenty years old, showed the prophetic instinct
that burned like a clear flame in the soul of Lafayette.
He knew very little of the English tongue, but that was the language of
the people he was going to help, and so on shipboard he set himself to
study it. “I am making progress with that language,” he wrote to his
wife. “It will soon become most necessary to me.”
The North Atlantic was stormy, the _Victory_ met with head winds, and
through April and May she floundered on, her passengers eagerly scanning
the horizon for a sight of land. On the seventh of June the Marquis
wrote in a letter to Adrienne, “I am still out on this dreary plain,
which is beyond comparison the most dismal place that one can be in....
We have had small alarms from time to time, but with a little care, and
reasonably good fortune, I hope to get through without serious accident,
and I shall be all the more pleased, because I am learning every day to
be extremely prudent.”
Then, on a June day, the _Victory_ suddenly became all excitement. The
lookout reported to Captain Leboucier that a strange vessel was bearing
down in their direction.
Leboucier instantly crowded on sail and tried to run from the strange
ship. But the _Victory_ was not built for fast sailing, and it was soon
clear that the stranger would quickly overhaul her.
“It’s an English man-of-war!” was the message that ran from lip to
lip. In that case the only choice would be between resistance and
surrender. Leboucier looked doubtful as to the wisest course to pursue,
but Lafayette and his companions made ready to fight. The two old cannon
were loaded, the muskets distributed, and the crew ordered to their
stations.
The stranger drew nearer and nearer, sailing fast, and the _Victory_
floundered along in desperation. Lafayette and De Bedaulx stood at the
bow of the sloop, their eyes fixed on the rapidly-gaining pursuer. Then,
just as escape appeared utterly out of the question, the oncoming ship
went about, and as she turned she broke out from her peak a flag of
red, white and blue, the stars and stripes of the new United States of
America. A wild cheer greeted that flag, and the colors of France were
run up to the peak of the _Victory_ in joyful greeting to the flag of
Lafayette’s ally.
The _Victory_ headed about and tried to keep up with the fleet American
privateer, but in a very short time two other sails appeared on the
horizon. The American ship ran up a danger signal, declaring these new
vessels to be English cruisers, scouting along the coast on the watch
for privateers and blockade runners. Having given that information the
American ship signaled “good-bye,” and drew away from the enemy on a
favoring tack.
The _Victory_ could not draw away so easily, however, and it was clear
that her two cannon would be little use against two well-armed English
cruisers. In this new predicament luck came to the aid of the little
sloop. The wind shifted and blew strongly from the north. This would
send the _Victory_ nearer to the port of Charlestown, the outlines of
which now began to appear on the horizon, and would also be a head wind
for the pursuing cruisers. Captain Leboucier decided to take advantage
of the shift in the wind, and instead of heading for Charlestown run
into Georgetown Bay, which opened into the coast of the Carolinas almost
straight in front of him.
Fortune again favored him, for, although he knew very little of that
coast, and nothing of these particular shoals and channels, he found
the opening of the South Inlet of Georgetown Bay and sailed his ship
into that sheltered roadstead. The English vessels, working against the
north wind, soon were lost to sight. On the afternoon of June 13, 1777,
Lafayette’s little sloop ran past the inlet and up to North Island, one
of the low sand-pits that are a fringe along the indented shore of South
Carolina.
The long sea-voyage was over, and Lafayette looked at last at the coast
of the country he had come to help.
IV
THE YOUNG FRENCHMAN REACHES AMERICA
The _Victory_ had anchored off North Island, a stretch of sand on the
South Carolina coast, but neither the captain nor the owner nor the
crew of the sloop knew much more about their location than that it was
somewhere in North America. Charlestown they believed was the nearest
port of any size, but it might be difficult to navigate through these
shoal waters without a pilot who knew the channels. So Lafayette
suggested to Baron de Kalb that they should land in one of the sloop’s
boats and see if they could get information or assistance.
Early in the afternoon Lafayette, De Kalb, and a few of the other
officers were rowed ashore in the _Victory’s_ yawl. But the shore was
merely a sand-flat, with no sign of human habitation. They put out again
and rowed farther up the bay, keeping a sharp lookout for any house or
farm. They found plenty of little creeks and islands, but the shores
were simply waste stretches of sand and scrub-bushes and woods. The
mainland appeared as deserted as though it had been a desert island far
out in the sea.
All afternoon they rowed about, poking the yawl’s nose first into one
creek and then into another, and nightfall found them still exploring
the North Inlet. Then, when they had about decided that it was too
dark to row further and that they had better return to the sloop, they
suddenly saw a lighted torch on the shore. Heading for this they found
some negroes dragging for oysters. Baron de Kalb, who knew more English
than the others, called out and asked if there was good anchorage for
a ship thereabouts and whether he could find a pilot to take them to
Charlestown.
The negroes, very much surprised at the sudden appearance of the yawl,
thought the men on board might be Englishmen or Hessians, and instantly
grew suspicious. One of them answered, “We belong to Major Huger, all of
us belongs to him. He’s our master.”
“Is he an officer in the American army?” De Kalb called back.
The negro said that he was, and added that there was a pilot on the
upper end of North Island, and then volunteered to show the men in the
yawl where the pilot lived and also to take them to the house of the
Major.
Lafayette thought it would be best to find Major Huger at once; but the
tide was falling fast, and when the rowers, unused to these shoals,
tried to follow the negroes in the oyster-boat, they discovered that
they were in danger of beaching their yawl. The only alternative was for
some of them to go in the oyster-boat, and so Lafayette and De Kalb and
one other joined the negroes, while the crew of the yawl rowed back to
the _Victory_.
Over more shallows, up more inlets the negroes steered their craft, and
about midnight they pointed out a light shining from a house on the
shore. “That’s Major Huger’s,” said the guide, and he ran his boat up to
a landing-stage. The three officers stepped out, putting their feet on
American soil for the first time on this almost deserted coast and under
the guidance of stray negro oystermen.
But this desolate shore had already been the landing-place of English
privateersmen, and the people who lived in the neighborhood were always
in fear of attack. As Lafayette and his two friends went up toward the
house the loud barking of dogs suddenly broke the silence. And as they
came up to the dwelling a window was thrown open and a man called out,
“Who goes there? Stop where you are or I’ll fire!”
“We are friends, sir; friends only,” De Kalb hurriedly answered. “We are
French officers who have just landed from our ship, which has come into
your waters. We have come to fight for America and we are looking for a
pilot to steer our ship to a safe anchorage and are also hunting shelter
for ourselves.”
No sooner had the master of the house heard this than he turned and gave
some orders. Lights shone out from the windows, and almost immediately
the front door was unbarred and thrown open. The owner stood in the
doorway, his hands stretched out in greeting, and back of him were a
number of negro servants with candles.
“Indeed, sirs, I am very proud to welcome you!” he said; and then
stopped an instant to call to the dogs to stop their barking. “I am
Major Huger of the American army, Major Benjamin Huger, and this is my
house on the shore where we camp out in the summer. Please come in,
gentlemen. My house and everything in it is at the service of the brave
and generous Frenchmen who come to fight for our liberties.”
There was no doubt of the warmth of the strangers’ welcome. The Major
caught De Kalb’s hand and shook it strenuously, while his small son, who
had slipped into his clothes and hurried down-stairs to see what all the
noise was about, seized Lafayette by the arm and tried to pull him into
the lighted hall.
“You are most kind, Major Huger,” said De Kalb. “Let me introduce my
friends. This gentleman is the leader of our expedition, the Seigneur
Gilbert du Motier, Marquis de Lafayette; this is Monsieur Price of
Sauveterre, and I am Johann Kalb.”
“He is the Baron de Kalb, monsieur,” put in Lafayette. “A brigadier
in the army of the King of France and aid to the Marshal the Count de
Broglie.”
Major Huger had heard of the Marquis de Lafayette, for already news
of the Frenchman’s determination to fight for the young republic had
crossed the Atlantic. He caught Lafayette by both hands. “The Marquis
de Lafayette!” he cried. “My house is indeed honored by your presence!
We have all heard of you. You have only to command me, sir, and I
will do your bidding. I will look after your ship and your pilot. But
to-night you must stay here as my guests, and to-morrow I will see to
everything. This is my son, Francis Kinloch Huger. Now please come into
my dining-room, gentlemen, and let me offer you some refreshment.”
Small Francis, still holding Lafayette’s hand, drew the Marquis in at
the door. The three guests, delighted at their welcome, went to the
dining-room, and there toasts were drunk to the success of the cause of
liberty. America was not so inhospitable to the weary travelers after
all, and with the glow of the Major’s welcome warming them, Lafayette
and his two friends went to their rooms and slept in real beds for the
first time in many weeks.
Lafayette naturally was delighted at safely reaching his haven, and, as
he put it in his own words, “retired to rest rejoiced that he had at
last attained the haven of his wishes and was safely landed in America
beyond the reach of his pursuers.” Weary from his long voyage on the
_Victory_, he slept soundly, and woke full of enthusiasm for this
new country, which was to be like a foster-mother to him. “The next
morning,” he wrote, “was beautiful. The novelty of everything around me,
the room, the bed with its mosquito curtains, the black servants who
came to ask my wishes, the beauty and strange appearance of the country
as I could see it from my window clothed in luxuriant verdure,--all
conspired to produce upon me an effect like magic and to impress me with
indescribable sensations.”
Major Huger had already sent a pilot to the _Victory_ and had done
everything he could to assist Lafayette’s companions. All the Major’s
family were so kind and hospitable that they instantly won Lafayette’s
heart. He judged that all Americans would be like them, and wrote to his
wife, “the manners of this people are simple, honest, and dignified.
The wish to oblige, the love of country, and freedom reign here together
in sweet equality. All citizens are brothers. They belong to a country
where every cranny resounds with the lovely name of Liberty. My sympathy
with them makes me feel as if I had been here for twenty years.” It was
well for him that his first reception in America was so pleasant and
that he remembered it with such delight, for he was later to find that
some Americans were not so cordial toward him.
If he was delighted with the Hugers, the Major and his son Francis were
equally delighted with the young Frenchman. And, strangely enough, the
little boy Francis, who had seized Lafayette’s hand on that June night
in 1777, was later to try to rescue his hero from a prison in Europe.
The Marquis and his friends thought they had had quite enough of life
on shipboard for the present, and so decided to go to Charlestown over
the country roads. The pilot that had been furnished by Major Huger came
back with word that there was not sufficient water for the _Victory_ to
stay in Georgetown Bay, and Lafayette ordered the ship, in charge of
the pilot, to sail to Charlestown. Meantime he and his companions, with
horses of the Major’s, rode to that seaport. As soon as he arrived there
he heard that there were a number of English cruisers on that part of
the coast, and so he at once sent word to Captain Leboucier to beach the
_Victory_ and burn her, rather than let her be captured by the cruisers.
The _Victory_, however, sailed safely into Charlestown without sighting
a hostile sail, and the captain unloaded Lafayette’s supplies and his
own private cargo. Later the sloop was loaded with rice and set sail
again, but was wrecked on a bar and became a total loss.
No welcome could have been warmer than that Lafayette received in
Charlestown. A dinner was given him, where the French officers met the
American generals Gulden, Howe, and Moultrie. All houses were thrown
open to him, and he was taken to inspect the fortifications and driven
through the beautiful country in the neighborhood. How pleased he was he
showed in a letter to Adrienne. “The city of Charlestown,” he wrote,
“is one of the prettiest and the best built that I have ever seen, and
its inhabitants are most agreeable. The American women are very pretty,
very unaffected, and exhibit a charming neatness,--a quality which is
most studiously cultivated here, much more even than in England. What
enchants me here is that all the citizens are brethren. There are no
poor people in America, nor even what we call peasants. All the citizens
have a moderate property, and all have the same rights as the most
powerful proprietor. The inns are very different from those of Europe:
the innkeeper and his wife sit at table with you, do the honors of a
good repast, and on leaving, you pay without haggling. When you do not
choose to go to an inn, you can find country houses where it is enough
to be a good American to be received with such attentions as in Europe
would be paid to friends.”
That certainly speaks well for the hospitality of South Carolina!