strength than in the peaceful little Moravian community at Bethlehem.
For six weeks he stayed there, and the people tended him like one of
themselves. He could not use his leg, but he spent part of his enforced
idleness drawing up plans for the invasion of the British colonies in
the West Indies. He also wrote long letters to his wife in France. “Be
entirely free from anxiety as to my wound,” he said in one of these,
“for all the doctors in America are aroused in my behalf. I have a
friend who has spoken for me in a way to ensure my being well taken care
of; and that is General Washington. That estimable man, whose talents
and whose virtues I admired before, whom I venerate the more now as I
learn to know him, has been kind enough to me to become my intimate
friend. His tender interest in me quickly won my heart.... When he sent
his surgeon-in-chief to me, he directed him to care for me as I were his
son, because he loved me so much; and having learned that I wanted to
join the army too soon again, he wrote me a letter full of tenderness in
which he admonished me to wait until I should be entirely well.”
Wonderful it was that Washington, beset and harassed with all the
burdens of a commander-in-chief, could yet find the time to pay so much
attention to his wounded French aid!
Lafayette knew well that matters looked dark then for the American
republic. In another letter to Adrienne he said, “Now that you are
the wife of an American general officer, I must give you a lesson.
People will say, ‘They have been beaten.’ You must answer, ‘It is
true, but with two armies equal in number, and on level ground, old
soldiers always have an advantage over new ones; besides, the Americans
inflicted a greater loss than they sustained.’ Then, people will add,
‘That’s all very well; but Philadelphia, the capital of America, the
highroad of liberty, is taken.’ You will reply politely, ‘You are fools!
Philadelphia is a poor city, open on every side, of which the port was
already closed. The presence of Congress made it famous, I know not why;
that’s what this famous city amounts to, which, by the way, we shall
retake sooner or later.’ If they continue to ply you with questions,
send them about their business in terms that the Vicomte de Noailles
will supply you with.”
It was true that General Howe had taken Philadelphia while Lafayette
had to nurse his wounded leg at Bethlehem. It was not until the latter
part of October that the Marquis was able to rejoin the army, and then
his wound had not sufficiently healed to allow him to wear a boot. The
battle of Germantown, by which Washington hoped to dislodge the British
from Philadelphia, had been fought, and the year’s campaign was about to
close. Two battles had been lost by the Americans in the south, but in
the north the British general Burgoyne had been obliged to surrender.
Washington’s headquarters were now at Methacton Hill, near the
Schuylkill River, and there Lafayette went, hoping for active service.
His chance for service came soon. Cornwallis had entered New Jersey
with five thousand men, and General Greene was sent to oppose him
with an equal number. Lafayette joined Greene as a volunteer, and at
Mount Holly he was ordered to reconnoitre. On November twenty-fifth he
found the enemy at Gloucester. Their forage wagons were crossing the
river to Philadelphia, and Lafayette, in order to make a more thorough
examination of their position, went dangerously far out on a tongue of
land. Here he might easily have been captured, but he was quick enough
to escape without injury. Later, at four o’clock in the afternoon, he
found himself before a post of Hessians, four hundred men with cannon.
Lafayette had one hundred and fifty sharpshooters under Colonel Butler,
and about two hundred militiamen and light-horse. He did not know the
strength of the enemy, but he attacked, and drove them back so boldly
that Cornwallis, thinking he must be dealing with all of Greene’s
forces, allowed his troops to retreat to Gloucester with a loss of sixty
men.
This was the first real opportunity Lafayette had had to show his
skill in leading men, and he had done so well that General Greene was
delighted. In the report he sent to Washington he said, “The Marquis
is charmed with the spirited behavior of the militia and rifle corps.
They drove the enemy about a mile and kept the ground until dark.... The
Marquis is determined to be in the way of danger.”
Lafayette had shown himself to be a daring and skilful officer; more
than that, he had endeared himself to the men under his command. And
this was more than could be said for most of the foreign officers in the
American army; many of them devoted the larger part of their time to
criticizing everything about them. Baron de Kalb expressed his opinion
of these adventurers from across the Atlantic in forceful terms. “These
people,” said he, “think of nothing but their incessant intrigues
and backbitings. They hate each other like the bitterest enemies, and
endeavor to injure each other whenever an opportunity offers. Lafayette
is the sole exception.... Lafayette is much liked and is on the best of
terms with Washington.”
It was natural, therefore, that Washington, having had such a good
account of the young Frenchman at the skirmish at Gloucester, should
be willing to gratify his desire for a regular command in the army. So
the commander-in-chief wrote to Congress concerning the Marquis. “There
are now some vacant positions in the army,” said Washington, “to one of
which he may be appointed, if it should be the pleasure of Congress.
I am convinced he possesses a large share of that military ardor that
characterizes the nobility of his country.”
And Congress agreed with Washington, and voted that “the Marquis de
Lafayette be appointed to the command of a division in the Continental
Army.” On December 4, 1777, the Frenchman was given the command of
the Virginia division. He was twenty years old, and it was only a
little more than a year since he had first heard from the Duke of
Gloucester about the fight of the American farmers for liberty. He had
accomplished a great deal in that year, and had won his spurs by pluck,
by perseverance, and by ability.
Naturally he was delighted at this evidence of the confidence that
Washington and the American Congress placed in him. He wrote to his
father-in-law, the Duke d’Ayen, the man who had tried his best to keep
him from coming to America, “At last I have what I have always wished
for,--the command of a division. It is weak in point of numbers; it is
almost naked, and I must make both clothes and recruits; but I read, I
study, I examine, I listen, I reflect, and upon the result of all this
I make an effort to form my opinion and to put into it as much common
sense as I can ... for I do not want to disappoint the confidence that
the Americans have so kindly placed in me.”
Events were soon to test both his ability and his mettle.
VI
LAFAYETTE WINS THE FRIENDSHIP OF WASHINGTON
In December, 1777, Washington’s army went into winter quarters at
Valley Forge. That winter was to test the courage and endurance
of the soldiers, for they were ill-clad, ill-provisioned, and the
road to victory appeared a long and weary one. Fortunately the
commander-in-chief was a man of intrepid soul, one who could instill
confidence into the men about him.
Lafayette quickly found that all the people of the young republic were
not in agreement about the war. Men called Tories joined the British
army, and in countless other ways hampered the work of Congress.
Business was at such a standstill that it was almost impossible to
obtain clothing, shoes, and the other supplies that were so urgently
needed, and as Congress had no power to impose and collect taxes
it was hard to raise any money. The different states had each its
jealousies of the others and each its own ends to serve, and indeed in
1777 the union was so loosely knitted that it was a wonder that it held
together at all.
Washington had chosen Valley Forge as his winter quarters because from
there he could watch the enemy, keep the British to their own picket
lines, and cut off supplies going into Philadelphia. Otherwise, however,
the place had little to recommend it. The farmhouses in the neighborhood
could hold only a few of the two thousand men who were on the sick-list,
whose shoeless feet were torn and frozen from marching and who were ill
from hunger and exposure. For the rest the soldiers had to build their
own shelters, and they cut logs in the woods, covered them with mud,
and made them into huts, each of which had to house fourteen men. There
the American troops, lacking necessary food and blankets, shivered and
almost starved during the long winter.
There were times when Washington would have liked to make a sortie or
an attack on the enemy, but his men were not in condition for it.
Constantly he wrote to Congress, urging relief for his army. Once a
number of members of Congress paid a visit to Valley Forge, and later
sent a remonstrance to the commander-in-chief, urging him not to keep
his army in idleness but to march on Philadelphia. To this Washington
answered, “I can assure those gentlemen that it is a much easier and
less distressing thing to draw remonstrances in a comfortable room, by
a good fireside, than to occupy a cold, bleak hill, and sleep under
frost and snow, without clothes or blankets. However, although they seem
to have little feeling for the naked and distressed soldiers, I feel
superabundantly for them; and from my soul I pity those miseries, which
it is neither in my power to relieve nor prevent.”
All those hardships Lafayette also shared, setting his men an example of
patience and fortitude that did much to help them through the rigorous
winter, and winning again and again the praise of his commander for his
devotion.
In the meantime some men of influence, known as the “Conway Cabal,”
from the name of one of the leaders, plotted to force Washington from
the chief command, and put General Greene in his place. They wanted
to use Lafayette as a catspaw, and decided that the first step was to
separate him from Washington’s influence. With this object in view they
planned an invasion of Canada, the command of the expedition to be given
to Lafayette. But Lafayette saw through the plotting, and refused to
lead the expedition except under Washington’s orders and with De Kalb
as his second in command. He also showed where he stood when he was
invited to York to meet some of the members of Congress and generals who
were opposing his leader. At a dinner given in his honor he rose, and,
lifting his glass, proposed a toast to “The health of George Washington,
our noble commander-in-chief!” The party had to drink the toast, and
they saw that the Frenchman was not to be swerved from his loyalty to
his chief.
Congress had decided on the expedition to Canada, though the
conspirators now saw that their plot had failed, and so Lafayette
set out for Albany in February, 1778, to take command of the army
of invasion. But when he got there he found that nothing had been
done by way of preparation, and that none of those in authority were
able to help him. Twelve hundred ill-provided men were all he could
raise, altogether too few and too poorly armed for such an ambitious
enterprise. Very much disappointed, he had to give up the idea of
leading such an army. More and more he grew convinced that all the hopes
of America rested on Washington.
That Washington might know his feelings, Lafayette wrote to him. “Take
away for an instant,” he said, “that modest diffidence of yourself
(which, pardon my freedom, my dear general, is sometimes too great,
and I wish you could know, as well as myself, what difference there is
between you and any other man), and you would see very plainly that, if
you were lost for America, there is no one who could keep the army and
the revolution for six months.... I am now fixed to your fate, and I
shall follow it and sustain it as well by my sword as by all means in my
power. You will pardon my importunity in favor of the sentiment which
dictated it.”
Washington was no less devoted to Lafayette. When the latter returned
disappointed from Albany the commander said to him, “However sensibly
your ardor for glory may make you feel this disappointment you may be
assured that your character stands as fair as it ever did, and that no
new enterprise is necessary to wipe off an imaginary stain.”
And Washington’s view was now so strongly held by Congress that it
immediately voted that it had “a high sense of the prudence, activity,
and zeal of the Marquis de Lafayette,” and that it was “fully persuaded
nothing has, or would have been, wanting on his part or on the part
of the officers who accompanied him to give the expedition the utmost
possible effect.”
Lafayette went back to Valley Forge to cheer his soldiers, and there,
early in May, 1778, news came that Benjamin Franklin had succeeded in
his efforts in France and that the government of Louis XVI. had decided
on “armed interference” in the affairs of America, and that a treaty of
alliance had been signed between the United States and the French king.
The army at Valley Forge was wild with delight at this news. How it must
have cheered Lafayette to know that his own country now stood with the
young republic of the west! Washington proclaimed a holiday and held a
review of his troops. Then the commander planned a new and more vigorous
campaign.
The British, now foreseeing possible French as well as American attack,
decided to give up Philadelphia and fall back on New York. Washington
learned of this, and in order to keep a check on the movements of his
opponents, he sent Lafayette with a strong force of two thousand picked
men to keep as close to the British lines as possible.
Lafayette joyfully led his command to a ridge called Barren Hill that
overlooked the Schuylkill. From here he could watch the road from
Philadelphia, and he at once fortified his camp. British scouts brought
reports of this to their generals, and the latter decided it would
be a capital plan to defeat the Frenchman’s forces and capture the
Marquis. This they considered so easy to accomplish that Generals Howe
and Clinton sent out invitations to their friends to a dinner at their
headquarters “to meet Monsieur the Marquis de Lafayette.”
On the morning of May twentieth eight thousand British and Hessian
soldiers with fifteen pieces of artillery marched out of Philadelphia
by one road to take Lafayette in the rear, while by another road a
force of grenadiers and cavalry marched to attack his right wing, and
a third column, commanded by Generals Howe and Clinton in person, with
the admiral, Lord Howe, accompanying them as a volunteer, took a third
road to attack the Marquis in front. In this way the enemy forces were
completely surrounding the American position, except on the side of the
river, by which they considered escape impossible.
Lafayette was talking with a young woman who had agreed to go into
Philadelphia and try to obtain information on the pretext of visiting
her relations there, when word was brought him that redcoats had been
seen in the rear. He was expecting a small force of dragoons, and his
first idea was that it was these who were approaching. But, being
a prudent commander, he at once sent out scouts, and these quickly
reported the advance of a large force. Immediately he made a change of
front under cover of the stone houses and the woods. Then messengers
dashed up with news of the real state of affairs. His little command was
about to be attacked in a three-cornered fight by an overwhelming number
of the enemy.
It was a ticklish position, and Lafayette came within a hair’s breadth
of being trapped and captured. His men called out to him that he was
completely surrounded. In the confusion of the moment he had to keep on
smiling, as he afterward said. It was a test fit to try the skill of a
much more experienced general than the young Frenchman. But this one had
studied his ground thoroughly, and lost not a moment in deciding on his
course. Back of his men was a road, hidden from the British by trees,
which led to a little-used crossing known as Matson’s Ford, a place
unknown to the enemy, though they were, as a matter of fact, much nearer
to it than Lafayette was.
The Marquis quickly threw out “false heads of columns,” that is, a few
men here and there, who were to march through the woods at different
points, and give the impression that his whole army was advancing to
battle. The British general saw these “false heads” and, taking them
to be the advance guards of the Americans, halted to form his lines.
Meantime Lafayette sent all his other troops at the double-quick down
the hidden road and across the ford, bringing up the rear himself and
waiting until he was joined by the men who had formed the false columns.
The small American army was almost all across the ford before the
enemy realized his mistake and began to attack. Then, as the three
British columns climbed the hill to crush the Americans according to
their plans, they met only each other. They tried to make an attack on
Lafayette’s rear, but by that time he was out of their reach. He crossed
the Schuylkill and reached the camp at Valley Forge without the loss of
a single man, to the great delight and relief of Washington, who had
heard of the danger in which Lafayette stood and had ordered signal guns
fired to warn him of it.
Lafayette had a good story to tell the commander-in-chief on his return.
A small body of Indian warriors had been stationed in ambush to attack
any stray parties of the enemy. As the Indians lay in the bushes they
saw a company of grenadiers in tall bearskin hats and scarlet coats
coming up the road. Never having seen such men as these before the
Indians were seized with terror, threw down their arms, and yelling as
loud as they could, made a dash for the river. The grenadiers, on their
part, seeing the painted faces and hearing the yells, thought they had
come on a crowd of devils, and hurried away as fast as they could in the
opposite direction.
Washington complimented Lafayette on what had really amounted to a
victory, the bringing his men in safety from an attack by overwhelming
forces, and advised Congress of the Frenchman’s “timely and handsome
retreat in great order.”
And so Generals Howe and Clinton were unable to present to their guests
at the dinner at their headquarters that evening “Monsieur the Marquis
de Lafayette,” as they had intended.
If the British generals meant to use their armies in the field it was
clear that they could not stay in Philadelphia indefinitely. As Franklin
said, instead of their having taken Philadelphia, Philadelphia had
taken them. They had spent the winter there in idleness, and unless
they purposed to spend the summer there in the same fashion they must
be on the move. Washington foresaw this, and called a council of war
to decide on plans for his forces, and at this council General Charles
Lee, who was then second in command, insisted that the Americans were
not strong enough to offer effective opposition to the enemy, although
Generals Greene, Wayne, Cadwalader, and Lafayette expressed contrary
opinions. Then, early in the morning of June 18, 1778, General Howe’s
army evacuated Philadelphia, and crossed the Delaware on their way to
New York.
Washington instantly prepared to follow. General Maxwell was sent out
in advance with a division of militia to impede the enemy’s progress
by burning bridges and throwing trees across the roads. The bulk of
the American army followed, and when they arrived near Princeton, in
New Jersey, Washington called another council. Here Lafayette made a
stirring plea for immediate action. But Lee again opposed this, and the
council decided, against Washington’s own judgment, not to bring on a
general engagement with the enemy.
Almost immediately, however, the advance of General Clinton threatened
one of the American detachments, and Lee was ordered to check this.
He declined to do so, saying it was contrary to the decision of the
council of war. At once the command was given to Lafayette, who took the
appointment with the greatest eagerness.
But the Marquis had hardly more than planned his advance when General
Lee interfered again. The latter saw that if the movement was successful
all the honor of it would go to Lafayette, and this was not at all
according to his wishes. So he appealed to Washington to replace him in
his command, and also went to Lafayette and asked the latter to retire
in his favor. “I place my fortune and my honor in your hands,” he said;
“you are too generous to destroy both the one and the other.”
He was right; Lafayette was too chivalrous to refuse such a request.
Lee had placed Washington in an awkward situation, but the Frenchman’s
tact and good-feeling, qualities which had already greatly endeared him
to all the Americans he had met, relieved the commander-in-chief of
the need of offending Lee. Lafayette immediately wrote to Washington,
“I want to repeat to you in writing what I have told to you; which is,
that if you believe it, or if it is believed, necessary or useful to
the good of the service and the honor of General Lee to send him down
with a couple of thousand men or any greater force, I will cheerfully
obey and serve him, not only out of duty, but out of what I owe to that
gentleman’s character.”
No wonder Washington liked a man who could be so unselfish as that! He
gave the command back to Lee, and arranged that Lafayette should lead
the advance.
Early the following morning Washington ordered an attack on the British
at Monmouth Court House, and on June 28, 1778, the battle of Monmouth
was fought. The result might have been very different if Lafayette, and
not Lee, had been in command. For Lee delayed, and when he did finally
move forward he assaulted what he thought was a division of the enemy,
but what turned out to be the main body. He was driven back, tried
another attack, got his officers confused by his contradictory orders,
and at last gave the word for a retreat, which threatened to become a
rout. At this point Washington rode up, questioned the officers, got no
satisfactory answer as to what had happened, and was so indignant that
when he reached General Lee he took the latter to task in the strongest
terms. Then he gave instant orders to make a stand, and by his superb
control of the situation succeeded in having his men repulse all further
attacks.
Lafayette meantime had led his cavalry in a charge, had done his best
to stem the retreat, and when Washington arrived reformed his line upon
a hill, and with the aid of a battery drove back the British. By his
efforts and those of the commander-in-chief the day was finally partly
saved and the American army manœuvred out of disaster.
Night came on and the troops camped where they were. Washington, wrapped
in his cloak, slept at the foot of a tree, with Lafayette beside him.
And when they woke in the morning they found that the enemy had stolen
away, leaving their wounded behind them.
So the honors of war at Monmouth, in spite of General Lee, lay with
Washington. The enemy, however, escaped across New Jersey and reached
New York without any further attacks by the Americans.
When Sir Henry Clinton arrived near Sandy Hook he found the English
fleet riding at anchor in the lower bay, having just come from the
Delaware. Heavy storms had broken through the narrow strip of sand that
connects Sandy Hook with the mainland, and it was now divided by a deep
channel. A bridge was made of the ships’ boats, and Clinton’s army
crossed over to the Hook, and was distributed on Long Island, Staten
Island, and in New York. In the meantime Washington moved his troops
from Monmouth to Paramus, where the Americans rested.
Now a French fleet of fourteen frigates and twelve battle-ships, under
the command of Count d’Estaing, reached the mouth of the Delaware at
about that time. Monsieur Gérard, the minister sent to the United
States by the court of France, and Silas Deane, were on board, and when
D’Estaing heard that Lord Howe’s squadron had left the Delaware he sent
Gérard and Deane up to Philadelphia in a frigate, and sailed along the
coast to Sandy Hook, where he saw the English fleet at anchor inside.
He had considerable advantage over Lord Howe in point of strength,
and at once prepared to attack the enemy squadron. Anticipating this,
Washington crossed the Hudson River at King’s Ferry, and on July
twentieth took up a position at White Plains.
The French fleet, however, could not make the attack. They could find no
pilots who were willing to take the large ships into New York harbor,
for all the pilots agreed that there was not enough water there, and the
French admiral’s own soundings confirmed their opinion.