your last letter gave me; but I cannot write again without repeating my
assurance of the delight I derived from its perusal. I have blessed, a
thousand times, the vessel that brought that letter, and the favourable
winds that blew it, to the American shore. The kindness and affection
you express have sunk deeply into a heart which is fully sensible of
all their value. Your partiality has far over-rated my slight merit; but
your approbation is so precious to me, my desire of obtaining it is so
very strong, that I experience the same pleasure as if I were conscious
of meriting your good opinion. I love you too well not to be enchanted
and overjoyed when I receive any proof of your affection. You may
find many persons more worthy of it, but I may take the liberty of
challenging you to find one human being who either values it more
highly, or is more desirous of obtaining it. I place full reliance on
your kindness, and even if I were unhappy enough to fall under your
displeasure, I hope I should not forfeit your affection. I think I may
promise that that last misfortune shall never occur through any fault of
mine, and I wish I could feel as certain of never erring from my head as
from my heart. The goodness of my friends imposes a weight of obligation
upon me. My greatest pleasure will be to hear you say, whilst I embrace
you, that you do not disapprove of my conduct, and that you retain for
me that friendship which renders me so happy. It is impossible for me to
describe to you the joy your letter, and the kind feeling which dictated
it, have inspired me with. How delighted I shall be to thank you for
it, and to find myself again in your society! If you should ever amuse
yourself by looking at the American campaigns, or following them on your
maps, I shall ask permission to insert a small river or a mountain:
this would give me an opportunity of describing to you the little I have
seen, of confiding to you my own trifling ideas, and of endeavouring so
to combine them as to render them more military: for there is so great
a difference between what I behold here, and those large, fine,
well-organised armies of Germany, that, in truth, when I recur from them
to our American armies, I scarcely dare say that we are making war. If
the French war should terminate before that of the rest of Europe, and
you were disposed to see how things were going on, and permitted me to
accompany you, I should feel perfectly happy; in the meantime, I have
great pleasure in thinking that I shall pass some mornings with you at
your own house, and I promise myself as much improvement as amusement
from conversing with you, if you are so kind as to grant me some portion
of your time.
I received, with heartfelt gratitude, the advice you gave me to remain
here during this campaign; it was inspired by true friendship and a
thorough knowledge of my interest: such is the species of advice we give
to those we really love, and this idea has rendered it still dearer
to me. I will be guided by it in proportion as events may follow the
direction you appear to have expected. A change of circumstances renders
a change of conduct sometimes necessary. I had intended, as soon as war
was declared, to range myself under the French banner: I was induced to
take this resolution from the fear that the ambition of obtaining higher
rank, or the wish of retaining the one I actually enjoy, should appear
to be my only motives for remaining here. Such unworthy sentiments have
never found entrance into my heart. But your letter, advising me to
remain, and assuring me there would be no land campaign, induced me
to change my determination, and I now rejoice that I have done so.
The arrival of the French fleet upon this coast, has offered me the
agreeable prospect of acting in concert with it, and of being a happy
spectator of the glory of the French banner. Although the elements,
until now, have declared themselves against us, I have not lost the
sanguine hopes of the future, which the great talents of M. d'Estaing
have inspired us with. You will be astonished to hear that the English
still retain all their posts, and have contented themselves with
merely evacuating Philadelphia. I expected, and General Washington also
expected, to see them abandon everything for Canada, Halifax, and their
islands; but these gentlemen are apparently in no great haste. The
fleet, it is true, may hitherto have rendered such a division of their
troops rather difficult; but now that it is removed to Boston, they
might easily begin to make a move: they appear to me, instead of moving
off, to intend fighting a little in this part of the country. I thought
I ought to consult M. d'Estaing, and even M. Gérard on this subject.
Both agreed that I was right to remain, and even said, that my presence
here would not prove wholly useless to my own country. That I might have
nothing to reproach myself with, I wrote to M. de Montbarrey a short
letter, which apprised him of my being still in existence, and of the
resolution I had taken not to return to France in the midst of this
campaign.
The kind manner in which you received the gazette which John Adams
conveyed to you, induced me to send you a second, which must have made
you acquainted with the few events that have taken place during
this campaign. The visit that the English army designed to pay to a
detachment which I commanded the 28th of May, and which escaped their
hands owing to their own dilatory movements; the arrival of the treaty,
subsequently that of the commissioners, the letter they addressed to
congress, the firm answer they received, the evacuation of Philadelphia,
and the retreat of General Clinton through Jersey, are the only articles
worthy of attention. I have also described to you in what manner we
followed the English army, and how General Lee, after my detachment
had joined him, allowed himself to be beaten. The arrival of General
Washington arrested the disorder, and determined the victory on our
side. It is the battle, or rather affair, of Monmouth. General Lee has
since been suspended for a year by a council of war, for his conduct on
this occasion.
I must now relate to you what has occurred since the arrival of the
fleet, which has experienced contrary winds ever since it sailed; after
a voyage of three months it reached the Delaware, which the English
had then quitted; from thence it proceeded to Sandyhook, the same place
General Clinton sailed from after the check he encountered at Monmouth.
Our army repaired to White Plains, that former battle-field of the
Americans. M. d'Estaing blockaded New York, and we were thus neighbours
of the English both by land and sea. Lord Howe, enclosed in the harbour,
and separated from our fleet only by the Sandy-hook bar, did not accept
the combat which the French admiral ardently desired, and offered him
for several days. A noble project was conceived--that of entering into
the harbour; but our ships drew too much water, and the English seventy
fours could not enter with their guns. Some pilots gave no hopes on this
subject; but, when we examined the case more narrowly, all agreed as to
its impossibility, and soundings proved the truth of the latter opinion;
we were therefore obliged to have recourse to other measures.
General Washington, wishing to make a diversion on Rhode Island, ordered
General Sullivan, who commanded in that state, to assemble his troops.
The fleet stationed itself in the channel which leads to Newport, and
I was ordered to conduct a detachment of the great army to General
Sullivan, who is my senior in command. After many delays, which were
very annoying to the fleet, and many circumstances, which it would be
too long to relate, all our preparations were made, and we landed on
the island with twelve thousand men, many of them militia, of whom I
commanded one half upon the left side. M. d'Estaing had entered the
channel the day before, in spite of the English batteries. General Pigot
had enclosed himself in the respectable fortifications of Newport. The
evening of our arrival, the English fleet appeared before the channel
with all the vessels that Lord Howe had been able to collect, and a
reinforcement of four thousand men for the enemy, who had already from
five to six thousand men.
A north wind blew most fortunately for us the next day, and the French
fleet passing gallantly under a sharp fire from the batteries, to which
they replied with broadside shot, prepared themselves to accept the
conflict which Lord Howe was apparently proposing to them. The English
admiral suddenly cut his cables, and fled at full sail, warmly pursued
by all our vessels, with the admiral at their head. This spectacle
was given during the finest weather possible, and within sight of the
English, and American armies. I never felt so proud as on that day.
The next day, when the victory was on the point of being completed, and
the guns of the _Languedoc_ were directed towards the English fleet, at
the most glorious moment for the French navy, a sudden gale, followed
by a dreadful storm, separated and dispersed the French vessels, Howe's
vessels, and those of Biron, which, by a singular accident, had just
arrived there. The _Languedoc_ and the _Marseillais_ were dismasted, and
the _Cesar_ was afterwards unheard of for some time. To find the English
fleet was impossible. M. d'Estaing returned to Rhode Island, remained
there two days, to ascertain whether General Sullivan wished to retire,
and then entered the Boston harbour. During these various cruises, the
fleet took or burnt six English frigates, and a large number of vessels,
of which several were armed; they also cleared the coast and opened the
harbours. Their commander appeared to me to have been formed for great
exploits; his talents, which all men must acknowledge, the qualities of
his heart, his love of discipline and of the honour of his country, and
his indefatigable activity, excite my admiration, and make me consider
him, as a man created for great actions.
As to ourselves, we remained some time at Rhode Island, and spent
several days firing cannon shot at each other, which produced no
great result on either side; but General Clinton having led himself a
reinforcement of five thousand men, and a part of our militia having
returned to their own homes, we thought of retiring; the harbour was no
longer blockaded, and the English were resuming their naval advantage.
Our retreat at that period was preceded by a trifling skirmish, at which
I was not present, having repaired to Boston respecting an affair which
I dare not write for fear of accidents. I returned in great haste, as
you may imagine, and, after my arrival, we completed the evacuation of
the Island. As the English were gone out, we were such near neighbours,
that our picquets touched each other; they allowed us, however, to
re-embark without perceiving it, and this want of activity appeared to
me more fortunate, as they would have incommoded me exceedingly had they
attacked the rear.
I am at present on the continent, and have the command of the troops
stationed nearest Rhode Island; General Sullivan is at Providence; M.
d'Estaing is taking in, at Providence, masts and provisions; General
Washington is at White Plains, with three brigades, stationed some miles
in advance on that side, in case of need. As to the English, they occupy
New York and the adjacent Islands, and are better defended by their
vessels than by their troops. They possess the same number of troops at
Rhode Island that they did formerly, and General Grey, at the head of
about five thousand men, marches along the coast, with the intention
of burning the towns and ransoming the small Islands. It is thought,
however, that the scene will soon become more animated; there are
great movements in New York; Lord Howe has gone out with all his fleet,
strengthened with the greatest part of Biron's squadron; M. d'Estaing
has taken possession of the harbour, and has established some formidable
batteries. On the other side, Mr. Grey may form and execute more serious
projects; he is at present in my neighbourhood, and I am obliged to
keep myself still more on the alert, because the stations which I occupy
extend from Seconnet Point, which you may see on the map, to Bristol. I
hope all this will soon end, for we are now in a very tiresome state of
inaction.
I am becoming extremely prolix, but I perceive that I have forgotten
dates, and two lines more or less will not add much to your fatigue.
The evacuation of Philadelphia took place the 18th June; the affair of
Monmouth the 28th; we arrived on Rhode Island, I think, the 10th
August, and evacuated it the 30th of the same month: my gazette is now
completed.
An accident has occurred on this Island which has affected me deeply.
Several French officers, in the service of America, have the kindness
to pass much of their time with me, especially when I am engaged firing
musket balls. M. Touzard, an artillery officer in the regiment of _La
Fère_, has been, during the last months, one of my constant associates.
Finding a good opportunity on the Island of snatching a piece of cannon
from the enemy, he threw himself in the midst of them, with the greatest
gallantry and courage; but his temerity drew upon himself a hot fire
from the enemy, which killed his horse, and carried away his right arm.
His action has been admired, even by the English; it would be indeed
unfortunate if distance should prevent its being known in France; I
could not refrain from giving an account of it to M. de Montbarrey,
although I have not any right to do so; but I am very anxious to be of
use to this brave officer. If any opportunity offers of serving him,
I recommend him earnestly to your love of noble actions. I confide my
letters to M. d'Estaing, who will send them to France. If you should
have the kindness to write to me, and any packet ships be sent out to
the fleet, I beg you to take advantage of them. The admiration I feel
for him who commands it, and my firm conviction that he will not let
an opportunity escape of performing glorious deeds, will always make
me desirous of being employed in unison with him; and the friendship of
General Washington gives me the assurance that I need not even make such
a request; I often also receive letters from M. d'Estaing, and he will
send me yours as soon as he receives them. You must feel how impossible
it is for me to ascertain when I can return to you. I shall be guided
entirely by circumstances. My great object in wishing to return was
the idea of a descent upon England. I should consider myself as almost
dishonoured if I were not present at such a moment. I should feel so
much regret and shame, that I should be tempted to drown or hang myself,
according to the English mode. My greatest happiness would be to drive
them from this country, and then to repair to England, serving under
your command. This is a very delightful project; God grant it may be
realized! It is the one which would be most peculiarly agreeable to
me. I entreat you to send me your advice as soon as possible; if I but
receive it in time, it shall regulate my conduct. Adieu, I dare not
begin another page; I beg you to accept the assurance of my tender
respect, and of all the sentiments that I shall ever feel for you during
the remainder of my life.
I shall add this soiled bit of paper, which might have suited Harpagon
himself, to my long epistle, to tell you that I am become very
reasonable as relates to expenses. Now that I have my own establishment,
I shall spend still less, and I really act very prudently, when you
consider the exorbitant price of every thing, principally with paper
money.
I shall write by another opportunity, perhaps a more speedy one, to
Madame de Tessé. I entreat you to present her with my tender respects.
If M. de Tessé, M. de Mun, M. de Neiailly, M. Senac~[1] retain a kind
remembrance of me, deign to present my compliments to them. If M. de
Comte le Broglie does not receive news from this country, as he has
always expressed great interest in me, be so good as to give him an
account of our proceedings when you see him.
May I flatter myself that I still possess your good opinion? I should
not doubt it, if I could but convince you how much I value it; I will do
everything in my power to deserve it, and I should be miserable if you
doubted for an instant how very deeply this feeling is engraven in my
breast. If I have ever erred in the path I am pursuing, forgive the
illusions of my head in favour of the good intentions and rectitude
of my heart, which is filled with feelings of the deepest, gratitude,
affection, and respect for you; and these it will ever retain, in all
countries, and under all circumstances, until my latest breath.
LAFAYETTE,
Footnote:
1. M. de Tesse, first squire to the Queen, had married Mademoiselle de
Noailles, daughter of the Marshal, and aunt to Madame de Lafayette; M.
de Neuilly was attached, under the Marshal's orders, to the stables of
the Queen; M. de Mun, father to M. de Mun, peer of France, was intimate
with the whole family; M. Senac de Meilhan has been named comptroller
general.
TO MADAME DE LAFAYETTE.
Bristol, near Rhode Island, Sept. 13th, 1778.
If any thing could lessen my pleasure in writing to you, my dearest
love, it would be the painful idea that I am writing to you from a
corner of America, and that all I love is two thousand leagues from me.
But I have reason to hope that the actual state of things cannot subsist
for any length of time, and that the moment appointed for our meeting
is not very far removed. War, which so often causes separation, must
reunite us; it even secures my return by bringing French vessels here,
and the fear of being taken will soon completely vanish; we shall be at
least two to play at the game, and if the English attempt to interrupt
my course, we shall be able to answer them. How delightful it would
be for me to congratulate myself upon having heard from you; but that
happiness has not been granted me. Your last letter arrived at the same
time as the fleet; since that very distant day, since two months, I have
been expecting letters, and none have reached me. It is true that
the admiral, and the King's minister, have not been better treated
by fortune; it is true that several vessels are expected, one in
particular, every day: this gives me hope; and it is upon hope, that
void and meagre food, that I must even subsist. Do not leave me in such
a painful state of uncertainty, and although I do not expect to be here
to receive an answer to the letter I am now writing, yet I entreat you
to send me a very long one immediately, as if I were only waiting for
your letter to depart; when you read this, therefore, call instantly for
pen and ink, and write to me by every opportunity that you love me, and
that you will be glad to see me again, not but that I am well convinced
of this; my affection does not permit me to make use of any compliments
with you, and there would be more vanity in telling you that I doubt
your love, than in assuring you that I depend fully upon it, and for the
remainder of my life. But every repetition of this truth always gives me
pleasure. The feeling itself is so dear to me, and is so very necessary
to my happiness, that I cannot but rejoice in your sweet expressions of
it. It is not my reason (for I do not doubt your love) but my heart that
you delight by repeating a thousand times what gives me more pleasure,
if possible, each time you utter it. O, when shall I be with you, my
love; when shall I embrace you a hundred times?
I flattered myself that the declaration of war would recall me
immediately to France: independent of the ties which draw my heart
towards those most dear to me, the love of my country, and my wish
to serve her, are powerful motives for my return. I feared even that
people, who did not know me, might imagine that ambition, a taste for
the command I am entrusted with, and the confidence with which I am
honoured, would induce me to remain here some time longer. I own that I
felt some satisfaction in making these sacrifices to my country, and in
quitting everything to fly to her assistance, without saying one word
about the service I was giving up. This would have been a source of the
purest gratification to me, and I had resolved to set out the moment the
news of war arrived. You shall now learn what has delayed me, and I may
venture to say you will approve of my conduct.
The news was brought by a French fleet, who came to co-operate with
the American troops; new operations were just commencing; it was in the
midst of a campaign; this was not a moment to quit the army. I was also
assured, from good authority, that nothing would take place this year in
France, and that I lost, therefore, nothing by remaining here. I ran the
risk, on the contrary, of passing the whole autumn in a vessel, and with
a strong desire to fight everywhere, to fight in truth nowhere, I was
flattered in this country with the hope of undertaking some enterprise
in concert with M. d'Estaing; and persons like himself charged with the
affairs of France, told me my quitting America would be prejudicial, and
my remaining in it useful, to my country. I was forced to sacrifice my
delightful hopes, and delay the execution of my most agreeable projects.
But at length the happy moment of rejoining you will arrive, and next
winter will see me united to all I love best in the world.
You will hear so much said about war, naval combats, projected
expeditions, and military operations, made and to be made, in America,
that I will spare you the ennui of a gazette. I have, besides, related
to you the few events that have taken place since the commencement of
the campaign. I have been so fortunate as to be constantly employed, and
I have never made an unlucky encounter with balls or bullets, to arrest
me in my path. It is now more than a year since I dragged about, at
Brandywine, a leg that had been somewhat rudely handled, but since that
time it has quite recovered, and my left leg is now almost as strong as
the other one. This is the only scratch I have received, or ever shall
receive, I can safely promise you, my love. I had a presentiment that
I should be wounded at the first affair, and I have now a presentiment
that I shall not be wounded again. I wrote to you after our success at
Monmouth, and I scrawled my letter almost on the field of battle, and
still surrounded with slashed faces. Since that period, the only events
that have taken place, are the arrival and operations of the French
fleet, joined to our enterprise on Rhode Island. I have sent a full
detail of them to your father. Half the Americans say that I am
passionately fond of my country, and the other half say that since the
arrival of the French ships, I have become mad, and that I neither eat,
nor drink, nor sleep, but according to the winds that blow. Betwixt
ourselves, they are a little in the right; I never felt so strongly
what may be called national pride. Conceive the joy I experienced on
beholding the whole English fleet flying full sail before ours, in
presence of the English and American armies, stationed upon Rhode
Island. M. d'Estaing having unfortunately lost some masts, has been
obliged to put into the Boston harbour. He is a man whose talents,
genius, and great qualities of the heart I admire as much as I love his
virtues, patriotism, and agreeable manners. He has experienced every
possible difficulty; he has not been able to do all he wished to do; but
he appears to me a man formed to advance the interests of such a nation
as ours. Whatever may be the private feeling of friendship that unites
me to him, I separate all partiality from the high opinion I entertain
of our admiral. The Americans place great confidence in him, and the
English fear him. As to the Rhode Island expedition, I shall content
myself with saying that General Washington was not there, and that he
sent me to conduct a reinforcement to the commanding officer, my senior
in service. We exchanged, for several days, some cannon balls, which
did no great harm on either side, and General Clinton having brought
succours to his party, we evacuated the island, not without danger, but
without any accident. We are all in a state of inaction, from which we
shall soon awaken.
Whilst we were on the Island, an officer, who has passed the winter with
me, named Touzard, of the regiment of _La Fère_, seeing an opportunity
of snatching a piece of cannon from the enemy, threw himself amongst
them with the utmost bravery. This action attracted the fire of his
antagonists, which killed his horse, and carried off part of his right
arm, which has since been amputated. If he were in France, such an
action, followed by such an accident, would have been the means of
his receiving the cross of St. Louis and a pension. I should feel the
greatest pleasure if, through you and my friends, I could obtain for him
any recompence.
I entreat you to present my respectful and affectionate compliments to
the Marshal de Noailles; he must have received the trees I sent him. I
will take advantage of the month of September, the most favourable
time, to send him a still larger quantity. Do not forget me to Madame
la Maréchale de Noailles; embrace my sisters a thousand and a thousand
times. If you see the Chevalier de Chastellux, present to him my
compliments and assurances of affection.