Lafayette_Courtier to Crown Fugitive, 1757-1777

by S. P. Grogan

  His uncle, the Ambassador, gingerly representing as best he could, the uneasy peace between world powers since the Seven Years War ended, went forward with the proper protocol to introduce to the British Monarch, King George III, two gentlemen who were noble subjects and ‘ close friends’ to the young King and Queen of France.

  King George was in his 17th year on the throne and at this time was most disturbed, as he reflected on his Ministers’ reports, concerning the few rebels who gave pinpricks to his army. His anger was towards beating them down where they would come back into the fold of colonies under a generous Mother Great Britain, but doing only so with humble penitence and remorse.

  So, this King who Gilbert formally met was at this time in a mood of intractability, meaning he was stubborn and would not listen to any further reason at meeting halfway with these American criminals. Only their full defeat would now satisfy what he considered their betrayal of his benevolence and this frame of mind and this course was the government’s present policy position.

  Gilbert offered upon his introduction to the King a nod of the head and a sweeping bow before backing up and stepping behind the Ambassador and his more gregarious cousin, the Prince de Poix, The party did not exchange words, accepting a responding nod of recognition from the King. Gilbert, in his own moods, would relish such a debate on the issues but it would be far outside the realms of decorum and impossible with His Majesty. Yet two nights later he and the Prince had an unusual opportunity to hear all about the campaigns in America—from Gilbert’s sworn enemies, the British army generals.

  LORD GERMAIN, WHO AT the end of 1775 had been appointed to North’s cabinet as Secretary of State for America, decided to hold a ball to honor the return of the victorious officers of General Henry Clinton’s staff. With other commitments Clinton would not make an appearance this night. He had returned to London on March 1st, most recently from participating in the Battle of New York, and among his priorities was to seek an audience with Lord Germain, Prime Minister North and the King. Accompanying him was a recognized hero of Breed’s Hill [first hill up before reaching Bunker Hill], Clinton’s Aide-de-camp, and Captain [Lord] Rawdon who would attend the ball.

  Gilbert attended this late night dinner-ball along with the Ambassador, the Prince de Poix and with a fellow traveler, a Monsieur de la Rochette, a friend of the Duc d’Ayen, who had been offered up as a translator, who spent much of his time during the down times of formal functions off on his own touring. Gilbert saw through the masquerade and knew his father-in-law remained suspicious and had sent along a chaperone-spy [to guard against either Gilbert’s recent motives or even the Prince de Poix’s art of over-the-top flirtations with the ladies, regardless of nationalities].

  What goes unreported, by anyone, was how historically centered this ball was in context to decisions that would bear upon the next several years of the conflict in North America, basically the end of February to the end of March. To that, in attendance at the ball that night and recently returned from America, but a month earlier, was General John Burgoyne (as a playwright and playboy; he was known as ‘Gentleman Johnny’). With him, his face in a dour mood, of not being at ease in social settings, was Major-General William Phillips, attached to Burgoyne’s command as Head of Artillery and to be noted, shortly, the same young artilleryman whom had fought with distinction at the Battle of Minden.

  General Burgoyne was in a buoyant mood. Secretary of State Germain had just approved, on February 28th, Burgoyne’s written proposal on the 1777 summer campaign the substance being to launch an attack down from Canada to Albany, New York to split New England away from the rest of the Colonies and by such action end the war.

  General Clinton, barely off his ship, only two days earlier on hearing of General Burgoyne’s coup. Gentleman Johnny with flourished skill had sold the plan to the King to gain command over the planned invasion. Clinton was in a high lather and had hurried home to lobby for that exact command. To carve New England off from the southern colonies had been originally been proposed by Clinton himself as second-in-command to General Howe in a strategy planning session months earlier. To him, Burgoyne had usurped his idea, the man be damned. This new command to be highly visible to the public and no longer his, disappointed, General Clinton had made the sudden rash decision to submit his resignation to the King. Clinton was not in attendance this night but Gilbert would meet the General a short time later among further swirls in the social scene.

  Finally, as to all the players milling the large ballroom, or stepping to the outside patio for private tête–à–tête, there overlay within this musical and conversational evening a stressed atmosphere brought by sail of battlefield news, disconcerting, but not dismal tidings. In General Clinton’s arrival the dispatches – recorded in the British Army’s point of view – reported battles between opposing forces at year end. That in a blinding snowstorm on Christmas Day a regiment of the mercenary Hessians had been surprised at Trenton, New Jersey and were soundly defeated by the motley and frozen troops of General Washington; and, that a few days later on January 2nd, the same rebel army had escaped a presumed trap set by General Cornwallis at Trenton and had raced to Prince-town to attack that place before escaping back over the Delaware River. Continental Army Brigadier General, Hugh Mercer [formerly a British officer] had been killed.

  Gilbert felt vindicated. Such news bolstered his decision to go to America. Regardless of all educated opinion, including members of Parliament he had met, the war had not been brought to a conclusion by Washington’s New York defeats. With the Hessian’s defeat the colonial war would continue, so there would be plenty fighting left for him. He could take stock that British officers were not reeling from this ‘minor skirmish’, not calling Washington’s Trenton actions as a defeat, for it had been the Hessians, brutal mercenaries hired by King George III, to assist the ground forces. There existed low opinion of the Hessians spirit de corps compared against the British army’s élan. Had it been the King’s own imperial troops in the first Trenton fight, they would have made a better showing, so agreed the socializing officers and generals. Gilbert could only see it as an American insurgent victory, and from this frame of mind he wandered, with his translator, among Lord Germain’s guests.

  GILBERT FOUND HIMSELF IN conversation with his Ambassador and Lord Germain.

  Lord Germain, in complete art of political politeness, was saying, “I hear from our Ambassador Lord Stormont that the Americans are making mischief with your Department of State.”

  Ambassador Noailles, the ever tactful gentleman, responded, “Only that we listen to any delegation, licensed or not, who might wish to petition for felicitations of mutual commerce.”

  “But they are rebels,” said Germain a little stern expressing his government’s position, “And about to be defeated, as anyone can see, they represent no real government.”

  “And so it is, as you might surmise, we have talked with them only, listened, but have proceeded no further.”

  With his translator at his side, Gilbert sought to put out one his opinions.

  “Would it be so bad that their cause finds friends both in high and low places?”

  “Young sir,” replied the British Secretary of State for America, “Friends, we all need, but making allies runs a grave risk of offending other friends.”

  “I would think it would be wise to be friends with those who seek freedom.”

  Germain, laughing lightly to the Ambassador, seeking a mutual understanding that they were to kindly tolerate Gilbert. “Your nephew here believes that one man’s idea of freedom must be the voice of the majority. In America, if that is which he refers to, I believe the majority still seek reconciliation with us, but cannot do so for fear of intimidation, and if spoken aloud then violence much worse might be exacted.”

  The Ambassador sought to move the conversation back to the neutral center. “The freedom we all seek is merely the tapestry called peace, woven from many sources. One thread is not strong, b
ut when woven with others strands can sustain great wear. We are two magnificent tapestries with great heritage and it would be a pity that merely one man’s idea of freedom begins a process of un-raveling fabric carefully woven.”

  “Well said, your honored sir.”

  Lafayette saw the conversation with skill move away from his interest, and after listening to innocuous small talk, most of it a ballet of compliments to each diplomat; he made his excuse and continued a slow stroll within the room. Soon, he found himself near a small crowd of admirers of General Burgoyne.

  Being the center of attention, Gentleman Johnny was the best speaker for his own ears.

  “And do you think the Americans are defeated?”

  “For certain, at least they are back on their haunches,” affirmed General Burgoyne. “As I have stated here tonight and elsewhere in the past, if given only 5,000 soldiers I could conquer all of North America. Granted, I may have to modify that to 10,000 soldiers now required.” The gentlemen and genteel ladies surrounding him gave approving smiles and laughs. He continued,

  “For it seems my dear comrade, General Clinton, recently returned from the Southern colonies, without much success. It is certain we must return to that battlefield quite soon,” he paused. No one here knew of his secret plans, now approved to begin the summer campaign with the attack down from Canada, to recapture Fort Ticonderoga. And who knew what ears were about to perk, especially, as he noted, the three Frenchmen, two definitely of noble bloodstock, one certainly a lively and friendly sort, the other more demure and a servant-like, or as a tradesman might seem whispering to the young aristocrat, turning English into French. He smiled at the young noble, condescending in expression. Beware of a loose tongue, thought the General to himself, for he must return to America and bring about the crowning victory, and end all this usurpation.

  Caring little for war talk a lady, heavy with bosom and jewelry, had to ask if there was any particular play the General had seen since his arrival.

  “Too soon upon shore, madam, for I am still writing reports and re-gaining my land legs. However, I do hear the playwright Richard Sheridan of Drury Lane, has a new play in production called School for Scandal which might open sometime in April, hopefully before my departure back to another theatre, the theatre of war.”

  There then arose faked cries of sad invocations that he might leave their presence, not have the enjoyment of his company, and to return to that horrid war by those ungrateful traitors.

  This discussion soon shifted to comments and criticism on plays and musical entertainments, and Gilbert once more drifted away.

  Before he had walked but only a few paces, the Prince de Poix barred his way. The Prince had in tow a bevy of three young ladies, full of giddy smiles and powdered décolletage more discreet in view than one found in the French court dress, but still offered on display as the tulip draws the bee. With the Prince was a British military officer, and it was to this, the Prince made the introduction.

  “Marquis, let me make to you the acquaintance of Major-General William Phillips. He is the Commander of all Royal Artillery in Canada. And recently has been assigned to the new army being formed around General Burgoyne, so say these attractive gossips bubbling forth as it were.” The Prince returned a full teeth tease at the gaggle of young women, who tittered in giggles. “I do think General Phillips wanted to be introduced all proper to you.”

  British General Phillips, spoke with a broken French accent, and annunciation that Gilbert immediately guessed was French-Canadian brogue in origin.

  “Marquis, I wanted to pay my respects. For some time I had heard you were in the French Court. And I recalled the name of La Fayette many years before the present.”

  Gilbert’s face went open, eyes wide, a slow descending of shock of recognition.

  Phillips, then Captain, and back so far, and there in an artillery battalion. At the Battle of Minden. The man who slew my father stands before me!

  Gilbert tried to recover, but could not. He had been raised on this one terrible act, the loss of his father, and now before him is the man most associated with the ‘crime’, that robbed him of a parent.

  The Marquis de la Fayette, could only stutter,

  ‘You... murdered... my father... at Minden.’

  The Prince de Poix did not hear the accusation for he had previously turned back to his female fans who paid him more uncivil attention. Monsieur de la Rochette who heard the sentence, did not understand the context, and instead translated into English, what he thought the Marquis was trying to get across.

  “You knew my father who was killed at the Battle Minden.”

  General Phillips knew little of French, his own attempts were always a bastardization of the language, that he did not listen closely to what Gilbert had said in his tongue, but accepted the translator’s response, and to that answered, in English, for the translator’s benefit.

  “Yes, but I did not know him directly, but heard of him only afterwards. He died a brave man, I am sure.”

  The translator felt he could get across the meaning more than all content of the sentence, and told Gilbert in French, that the General had said:

  “Yes. He died bravely.”

  Gilbert accepted that the General had admitted to slaying his father. That it was a crime for Gilbert did not consider two opposing men wherever they might stand, one with a cannon, another, only waving a sword was in any fight was hardly a fair one. All his years of putting a face to the enemy, in this moment, he did so. But what to do? I cannot provoke a duel to the officer’s admission of murder, Gilbert thought. The distance in time too far separated. He could not strike out in any fashion, for he was a gentleman, and officer, and more importantly, a ward of his uncle in this set of circumstances. He could not stoop to anything dishonorable. In utter void of a response that would salve his desire for revenge, he could only, grit his teeth, and respond, his face flushed cold,

  “There may an opportunity soon enough that we might meet on a battlefield, where I can return a favor, and gain justice for my departed, beloved father.”

  Gilbert bowed sharply and turned away, with the General realizing that perhaps he had said something wrong, or since this was a Frenchman, and they had lost Canada, still there might be a resentment of being on the losing side. A military man such as he could understand such feelings in this young man.

  Translator de la Rochette saw no reason in trying for a hurried explanation of the Marquis’s words, and merely said,

  “The Marquis is glad to have met your acquaintances and hopes to meet you soon in North America. Excuse me, General Phillips.” Rochette moved quickly to catch up to the young noble who definitely seemed out of sorts. That he could understand. As Gilbert being a French military officer, [though Gilbert was dressed in evening supper/ball formal attire] to Rochette it was apparent the Marquis found it hard to be among so many British officers, who boasted in arrogance of their military skills, and shone upon their expressions and tone of voice. Monsieur de la Rochette understood the Duc d’Ayen’s private command. He would write later to the Duc, ‘the Marquis performed well, so far.’

  General Phillips, felt some confusion, especially at the translator’s words... “To meet soon in North America”. What was that about? The General went to seek out his new superior, General Burgoyne. They had a staff planning session tomorrow and more meetings on requisitioning troops and artillery to be ferried to Canada.

  Major General William Phillips, British Royal Artillery

  "Where a goat can go, a man can go. And where a man can go, he can drag a gun."

  60.

  BEFORE GILBERT COULD rush out of the house to catch a deep breath of night air, he found himself pulled into another round of introductions and conversations, and again with British Officers.

  It was Lord Rawdon who politely asked the all encompassing question that many had an opinion on: “Marquis, you are a soldier. Do you think we will again see a war between our two countries?”
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  Gilbert, feeling himself about ready to foam at the mouth, wanted to yell to all: ‘Yes, and quite soon, and we shall beat you and your Hessian lackeys quite soundly.’

  Again, and luckily, his breeding bore reason.

  “I would certainly hope not. Most wars of course end in peace for opposing sides but not necessarily achieve the victories they started the contest with in the first place.” Monsieur de la Rochette went back at work this time seeking to get both intent and sentences correct.

  Gilbert, believing he said what was wanted to be heard then asked a question, he had been seeking, and this might be the right person to put it to:

  “Lord Rawdon, as I have heard, you were at the Battle of Breed’s Hill in Boston. How well did the Americans fight? Do they have a capability that can match your own trained troops?”

  “They were and many times before and since they seem to only be a rabble under arms. There, they fought from behind barricades, as they started it all at the Lexington skirmish. They are best at hiding behind stone walls and trees. Very much like the savages that live around them. In irregular formations they can and did do damage on our troops. As General Clinton said of the battle, ‘A dear bought victory; another such would have ruined us.’ To your question, I am of the opinion that these Continental troops cannot stand up to disciplined forces on an open battlefield and will run into the steel of our bayonets.”

  “Both sides fought with distinction, though many casualties, as I have read.” Gilbert was prying for information, for his own understanding of what he might himself face.

  “On our side, brave men lost by rebel ignobility,” said Lord Rawdon, reminiscing uncomfortably, “Commands were given to the rebel sharp shooters to seek out our officers. They use home-forged long rifles, Pennslyvanias they called them with a spiral grooved barrel. They load slower than our Brown Bess muskets but these rebel long land rifles can be accurate at 300 yards, where our Brown Bess works best in mass fire, devastating at 50 yards, less at 100 yards. My superior, Captain Harris, was wounded in the second assault, and I wounded in the third assault when we carried the redoubts and forced their retreat or capture. It was there their General Warren, the doctor, was killed.”