Though the celebration at Bunker Hill was the crowning moment of
Lafayette's stay in America, he remained three months longer, sailing
home in September, 1825. The last weeks were spent in and near
Washington. Here he had fitted so perfectly into the scheme of life
that his comings and goings had ceased to cause remark, except as a
pleasant detail of the daily routine. Perhaps this is the subtlest
compliment Americans paid him. One of the mottoes in a hall decorated
in his honor had read, "_Où peut-on être mieux qu'au sein de sa
famille?_" "Where can a man feel more at home than in the bosom of his
family?"--and this attitude of Washingtonians toward him showed how
completely he had been adopted as one of themselves.
He had made himself one in thought and spirit with the most
aggressively American of them all. A witty speech of his proves this.
A bill had been introduced in Congress to present him with two hundred
thousand dollars in money and "twenty-four thousand acres of fertile
land in Florida" to right a wrong unintentionally done him years
[Pg 270]before. He had been entitled at the time of our Revolution to
the pay of an officer of his rank and to a grant of public land to be
located wherever he chose. He refused to accept either until after the
Revolution in France had swept away his fortune. Then his agent in the
United States chose for him a tract of land near New Orleans which
Jefferson thought would be of great value. Congress was not informed
and granted this same land to the city. Lafayette had a prior claim,
but flatly refused to contest the matter, saying he could have no
quarrel with the American people. Everybody wanted the bill concerning
this reparation in the way of money and Florida land to pass, and it
was certain to go through, but there were twenty-six members of the
House and Senate who, for one reason and another, felt constrained
to vote against it. Some voted consistently and persistently against
unusual appropriations of any kind; some argued that it was an insult
to translate Lafayette's services into terms of cold cash. The struggle
between private friendship and public duty was so hard that some of
them came to make a personal explanation. "My dear friends!" he cried,
grasping their hands, "I assure you it would have been different had
I been a member of Congress. There would not have been twenty-six
objectors--there would have been twenty-seven! " During this American
visit he renewed old ties with, or made the acquaintance of, nine
men who had been or were to become Presidents of the United States:
John Adams and his son John Quincy Adams, Jefferson, Madison, Monroe,
[Pg 271]William Henry Harrison, Andrew Jackson, Zachary Taylor, and
Franklin Pierce. Perhaps there were others. He broke the rules of the
Puritan Sabbath by driving out to dine on that day with the venerable
John Adams at his home near Boston; but there was only one white horse
to draw his carriage instead of the customary four, and not a hurrah
broke the orderly quiet. Had it been a week-day the crowds would have
shouted themselves hoarse. Jefferson, ill and feeble, welcomed him
on the lawn at Monticello, the estate so dear to him which had been
ravaged by the British about the time Lafayette began his part in
driving Cornwallis to Yorktown.
As was quite fitting, Lafayette was the guest of President John Quincy
Adams at the White House during the last days of his stay. One incident
must be told, because it is so very American and so amusing from
the foreign point of view. He expressed a desire to make a visit of
farewell to his old friend James Monroe, who had been President the
year before. He was now living on his estate of Oak Hill, thirty-seven
miles away. President Adams offered to accompany him, and on an August
day they set out by carriage after an early dinner. Mr. Adams, both
Lafayettes, and a friend rode in the presidential carriage. Colonel
Lavasseur and the son of the President followed in a "tilbury," a
kind of uncovered gig fashionable then on both sides of the Atlantic.
Servants and luggage brought up the rear.
Lafayette had been passed free over thousands of miles of toll-road
[Pg 272]since he landed in the United States, but when they reached the
bridge across the Potomac the little procession halted and Mr. Adams
paid toll like an ordinary mortal. Scarcely had his carriage started
again when a plaintive, "Mr. President! Mr. President!" brought it to
a standstill. The gatekeeper came running up with a coin in his hand.
"Mr. President," he panted, "you've done made a mistake. I reckon yo'
thought this was two bits, but it's only a levy. You owe me another
twelve and a half cents." The President listened, gravely examined
the coin, counted the noses of men and horses, and agreed that he was
at fault. He was just reaching down into the presidential pocket when
he was arrested by a new exclamation. The gatekeeper had recognized
Lafayette and was thoroughly crestfallen. "I reckon the joke's on me,"
he said, apologetically. "All the toll-roads has orders to pass the
general free, so I owe you something instid of you owin' me money. I
reckon I ought to pass you-all as the general's bodyguard." But to
this Adams demurred. He was not anybody's bodyguard. He was President
of the United States, and, though it was true that toll-roads passed
the guest of the nation free, General Lafayette was riding that day in
his private capacity, as a friend of Mr. Adams. There was no reason
at all why the company should be cheated out of any of its toll. The
gatekeeper considered this and acknowledged the superiority of Yankee
logic. "That sounds fair," he admitted. "I reckon you-all do owe me
twelve and a half cents." In the tilbury young Adams grinned and
[Pg 273]Colonel Lavasseur chuckled his appreciation. "The one time
General Lafayette does not pass free over your roads," he said, "is
when he rides with the ruler of the country. In any other land he could
not pay, for that very reason."
When the day of farewell came Washington streets were filled with men
and women come out to see the last of the nation's guest. Stores and
public buildings were closed and surrounding regions poured their
crowds into the city. Everybody was sad. The cavalry escort which for a
year had gathered at unholy hours to speed Lafayette on his way or to
meet him on his return, whenever he could be persuaded to take it into
his confidence, met for the last time on such pleasant duty, taking its
station near the White House, where as many citizens as possible had
congregated. The hour set for departure was early afternoon. Officials
had begun to gather before eleven o'clock. At noon the President
appeared and took his place with them in a circle of chairs in the
large vestibule, whose outside doors had been opened wide to permit all
who could see to witness the public leave-taking.
After a brief interval of silence an inner door opened and Lafayette
came forward with the President's son and the marshal of the District.
Mr. Adams rose and made a short address. Lafayette attempted to reply,
but was overcome with feeling, and it was several moments before he
regained control of his voice. At the end of his little speech he
cried, "God bless you!" and opened his arms wide with a gesture that
included everybody. Then the crowd pressed forward and surrounded him
[Pg 274]until he retired to Mrs. Adams's sitting-room for the real
farewell with the President's household. After that Mr. Adams and he
appeared upon the portico. Lafayette stepped into a waiting carriage.
Flags dipped, cannon boomed, and the procession took up its march to
the wharf where a little steamer waited to carry the travelers down the
Potomac to the new government frigate Brandywine, on which they were
to sail. At the river's edge he reviewed the militia of the District
of Columbia, standing with some relatives of Washington's during
this final ceremony. It is said that a cheer that was like a cry of
bereavement rose from the crowd and mingled with the last boom of the
military salute as the boat swung out into the stream.
The sun had dropped below the horizon when they neared Mount Vernon.
The company was at dinner, everybody, even George Lafayette, working
hard to overcome the sadness that threatened to engulf the company.
The marshal came and bent over Lafayette, who pushed back his plate
and bowed his head upon his breast. Then he rose and hurried to the
deck for a parting look, at the home of his friend most of the company
following him. The eyes of both father and son sought out the stately
house set on a hill, which held so many associations for both of them.
The younger man had found the beautiful place less well cared for than
during the lifetime of its owner. Lafayette had returned to it only to
visit a tomb.
The trees near the mansion were already beginning to blur in the short
[Pg 275]September twilight. Silently, with his head a little bent and a
little turned to the right, as was his habit, he watched it as the boat
slipped by. The afterglow behind the house had deepened to molten gold
when a bend in the river blotted it from his sight. He turned like a
man coming out of a dream and hurried to his cabin without a word.
"Only then," says Lavasseur, "did he fully realize the sacrifice made
to France in leaving America."
[Pg 276]XXIX