The Marquis

by Laura Auricchio

  Not only was Lafayette concerned that internal bickering would hurt America’s prospects for freedom, but he was also dismayed at the effect it was having on Washington’s reputation. Expressing himself frankly, Lafayette raged to Washington against the “stupid men who without knowing a single word about war undertake to judge you, to make Ridiculous Comparisons.” The comparisons Lafayette found so insulting were being made by a handful of congressmen and officers who considered Washington less capable than General Horatio Gates, who had earned praise for his engagement with British forces in the vicinity of Saratoga, New York, which had ended in victory on October 17, 1777, about a month after Washington’s defeat at Brandywine. But Gates had faced forces considerably smaller than his own, while Washington had been outnumbered by troops fighting under no less a figure than the commander in chief of the British Army in America. Gates was a key player in the so-called Conway Cabal—a loose conspiracy, named after General Thomas Conway, that aimed to topple Washington. Both Lafayette and Washington believed that the English-born Gates was maneuvering himself into the position of heir apparent. What Lafayette didn’t know was that Gates and his allies perceived Lafayette himself to be the weakest link in Washington’s chain of command. Young, credulous, and eager to please, he was an easy mark for men with years of experience in military politics and intrigue. It didn’t take long for these men to lure Lafayette with custom-made bait, embroiling him in machinations that would vex, if not offend, his esteemed commander.

  The first hint of trouble came in a letter from Lafayette to Washington dated January 20, 1778. Lafayette reported hearing from Conway’s aide-de-camp that Conway would soon lead an invasion of France’s former Canadian colonies, but as Lafayette saw it, the selection of Conway over himself was not merely a personal slight but also a mistake that would jeopardize the success of the mission and besmirch the honor of France. He insisted to Washington that “they will laugh in France when they’l hear that [Conway] is choosen upon such a commission out of the same army where I am.” The principal problem was that although Conway had served in the French military, he was “an irishman … when the project should be to show to the frenchmen of that country a man of their nation, who by his rank in France could inspire with them some confidence.” Not wishing to seem too forward, Lafayette added a disclaimer, noting that “I mention that only as a remark (of their folly, Sir).” As he avowed, he had no “idea of leaving your army neither my Virginian division.” He merely wanted Washington to know about the plan lest it prove to be part of “some much worse scheme against yourself or your army.”

  A scheme is, indeed, what it turned out to be. On January 24, Horatio Gates wrote a letter on behalf of the Board of War notifying Lafayette of an unexpected appointment: having observed “your Ardent Desire to signalize yourself in the Service of these States,” Congress has decided “to appoint you to the Command of an Expedition meditated against Montreal.” Lafayette was to “lose no Time in repairing to the Northward.” Albany was to be his destination. Conway, who apparently was to be his second-in-command, would meet him there with further instructions. Presumably, by spending some time with the impressionable young man, Conway hoped to coax Lafayette over to his way of thinking and persuade him to abandon his allegiance to Washington. The wealthy Frenchman with the ear of Louis XVI’s court could surely be a valuable ally.

  Nearly everything about Gates’s letter to Lafayette posed a direct challenge to Washington’s authority. Not only had the Board of War neglected to consult the commander in chief for advice on the Canadian expedition, but they had not so much as notified him before ordering Lafayette—an officer under Washington’s command—to leave Valley Forge. Even the method of the letter’s delivery was a slap in the face to Washington. It turned up in a batch of Washington’s mail. Although he knew nothing of its contents, Washington would be the one to deliver it to Lafayette. On January 27, Washington sent a reply to the Board of War that couched his displeasure in the cool and measured tones that characterized his masterful leadership in both war and peacetime. “As I neither know the extent of the Objects in view, nor the means to be employed to effect them, it is not in my power to pass any judgment upon the subject,” he wrote. But a sharp warning followed: “I can only sincerely wish, that success may attend it,” not only in the interest of the public good but also “on account of the personal Honor of the Marquis de la Fayette, for whom I have a very particular esteem and regard.”

  For his part, Lafayette was delighted but wary. Writing to Laurens in terms overflowing with gratitude, he expressed deep appreciation for the faith Congress placed in him and promised that “every thing nature could have granted to me, all my exertions, and the last drop of my blood, schall be employed in showing my acknowledgment for such a favor and how I wish to deserve it.” But out of “love and friendship” for Washington—and perhaps coached by Washington himself—Lafayette refused to accept Conway as his second-in-command. “How can I support the society of a man who has spoken of my friend in the most insolent and abusive terms, who has done, and does every day all his power to ruin him … ?” He would not accept the commission if it meant taking Conway. If Conway was not removed, Lafayette threatened, he would return to France and, he added in a letter of January 31, he would take all of the other French officers with him. Clearly, Lafayette was not quite so easily manipulated as Gates and Conway might have hoped.

  On February 2, a resolution of Congress removed Conway from the project and assented to most of Lafayette’s other requests. On February 3, Lafayette put pen to paper to share his news with Adrienne. Exuding enthusiasm, he explained that he had been ordered to “see if some harm can be done to the English” fleet and forts north of the border. But he added that “the idea of liberating all of New France and delivering it from a heavy yoke is too brilliant to stop there.” Lafayette seemed to believe that his dreams were coming true—he had “a large number of French officers” under his command, and he found it “very glorious being their head.”

  At the same time, Lafayette admitted to feelings of self-doubt. Most of Lafayette’s letters to Adrienne had been filled with platitudes about America and praise for its people. On the rare occasions when he described his disappointments, he generally wrapped them in self-deprecating humor, lessening any sense of fear or regret. But in this letter, Lafayette let down his guard. “I am undertaking a terrifying task,” he confessed. “At twenty, one is not prepared to be at the head of an army, responsible for all the numberless details that devolve upon a general, and having under my direct orders a great expanse of country.” Beneath the veil of self-assurance that he had donned in America, Lafayette remained a largely untested youth straining to make his mark and frightened that he might fail.

  When Lafayette arrived in Albany on February 17, he found a disastrous state of affairs. Instead of the 2,500 troops he had been promised, only 1,200 were on hand. Albany was even colder than Valley Forge, and its soldiers were clothed just as poorly as those in Pennsylvania. Food, arms, ammunition—everything was lacking. Lafayette saw no option but to spend his own funds to acquire necessities. He wrote to Washington that he didn’t know whether “blunders of madness or treachery” were responsible for this sorry situation—although, in all fairness, more prosaic problems, including logistical snags and overextended resources, were mostly to blame. Whatever the root of these problems, a winter incursion into Canada was clearly impossible under the circumstances, and so, with a heavy heart, Lafayette soon resolved to abandon the plan.

  In an anguished letter to Henry Laurens on February 19, Lafayette confessed that, after crossing an ocean in search of honor, he now felt personally humiliated. How could he possibly descend “from a precipice where I embarked myself out of my love for your country, my desire of distinguishing myself in doing good to America?” he asked in his earnest but still choppy English. “My situation,” he wrote, “is such that I am reduced to wish to have never put the foot in America.” Having already sh
ared news of his impending expedition with the French court, he now realized that “men will have [a] right to laugh at me, and I’ll be almost ashamed to appear before some.” His letter to Washington was more personal. “Why am I so far from you,” he lamented, “and what business had that board of war to hurry me through the ice and snow without knowing what I should do, neither what they were doing themselves?” Perhaps, Lafayette mused, he should seek a new campaign to cover the smirch of a failure.

  Washington replied with the reassuring words of an older and more experienced friend who understood a young man’s pain and doubts. “However sensibly your ardour for Glory may make you feel this disappointment,” he wrote, “you may be assured that your Character stands as fair as it ever did, and that no new Enterprise is necessary to wipe off this imaginary stain.” In offering this advice, Washington was abiding by one of the 110 items listed in “The Rules of Civility and Decent Behaviour in Company and Conversation,” which he had copied into his schoolbook as a youth: “When a man does all he can though it Succeeds not well blame not him that did it.” Lafayette had indeed done all he could. And when he began the long trek back to Valley Forge on March 31, 1778, he was marching back to Washington’s side. Never again would he be lured away by empty promises.

  Like most people, Lafayette learned by trial and error. But he did not have the luxury of erring in private, even at this early point in his career. Few of the men involved with the military struggle for America’s independence were granted so much autonomous responsibility with so little life experience. Hailing from a sheltered background with little more than idealism to guide him, Lafayette was a stranger in a strange land. Although he adapted with remarkable speed, his inevitable missteps came with the whole world watching. A less determined man might have been discouraged, but Lafayette was nothing if not determined.

  CHAPTER 6

  ALLIANCES

  On May 1, 1778, George Washington wrote “with infinite pleasure” to congratulate Congress on a set of long-awaited “good tidings.” He was referring to news that the Franco-American Treaty of Alliance and Treaty of Amity and Commerce had both been signed on February 6 in Paris. Now that the charade of neutrality was over, French ships would soon be sailing to America’s aid. As Washington reported, “I have mentioned the matter to such Officers as I have seen, and I believe no event was ever received with a more heart felt joy.”

  Lafayette’s response was particularly demonstrative. According to the early chronicler David Ramsay, whose History of the American Revolution was published in 1789, Lafayette broke with both military protocol and American convention when, swept up “in a transport of joy, mingled with an effusion of tears, he embraced General Washington, exclaiming ‘The king my master has acknowledged your independence.’ ” With the enthusiasm of a twenty-year-old whose dream has come true, Lafayette sent his own letter to Congress, declaring, “I am myself fit to receive as well as to offer congratulations in this happy circumstance,” and predicting that “immortality” would reward America’s leaders. As he explained to Adrienne in June, he had always believed “that in serving the cause of humanity and that of America, I was fighting for the interests of France.” Now that the three causes were formally united, his belief had been vindicated.

  Congress’s ratification of the treaties meant a day of celebration for the troops at Valley Forge. Cannon and musket fire filled the air on May 6, as did “huzzas” for the French king, the “friendly European powers,” and “the American States.” Under the watchful eye of Baron Friedrich Wilhelm von Steuben—the Prussian-born adviser whose relentless drilling had transformed the Continental Army into a disciplined fighting force of the highest caliber—ten thousand men took to the parade ground for a display of military exercises carried out with unprecedented precision. Lafayette donned the colors of the Bourbon monarchy for the occasion, wrapping a white kerchief around his neck before leading the French troops through the assembly. When the official events ended, less formal festivities began. Washington was willing to relax the usual rules of behavior for the evening, declaring that the men “must have more than the common quantity of liquor and perhaps there will be some little drunkenness among them.”

  It was clear that the French-American treaties heralded a new role for Lafayette, but it was less clear what that role would be. For a time, rumor circulated that Lafayette had been appointed France’s minister to the United States. So seemingly credible was this report that, on May 23, the executive council of Pennsylvania asked Washington to clarify when, precisely, Lafayette could be expected to pass through the state. They hoped to receive advance notice “in order that due honour might be done to so respectable a personage” as the new ambassador. Henry Laurens, for one, was relieved when the rumor proved to be false. Much as Laurens liked and admired Lafayette, he found the young Frenchman’s boyish enthusiasm and utter refusal to participate in what we might today call Realpolitik distinctly enervating.

  Conrad Alexandre Gérard, the man actually named to the post, was considerably more pragmatic. A career diplomat who had played a crucial role in negotiating the treaties of alliance with Deane, Franklin, and Lee, he was uniquely well versed in the intricacies of these important documents. At his first meeting with Laurens, in July 1778, Gérard assured the American that he had “refused to listen” to the droves of Frenchmen wanting places in the Continental Army who had called on him since he arrived. They all hoped that he might recommend them, but Gérard was adamant that “Congress would never be troubled with Petitions under his auspices.” Laurens praised this “sensible declaration” in a letter to Washington, adding, “I most earnestly wish our noble friend the Marquis could be persuaded to adopt the [same] determinations.”

  Having no interest in Gérard’s position, Lafayette had no need for the diplomat’s circumspection. His hope was that the Franco-American alliance would provide the opportunity he had craved all his life— a chance to serve in the French army. Writing on May 14 to Lazare-Jean Théveneau de Francy, a French agent in America, Lafayette proclaimed that “if my compatriots make war in any corner of the world, I will fly to their colors.” In fact, he insisted that he would not wait for orders from the king but would “leave on the spot” with the first French ship headed for the Caribbean. If no action could be found against British forces in the islands, he would return to Europe and fight there. Regardless of the arena, Lafayette felt confident that he would be in the French fight, and equally confident that France would emerge triumphant. As he explained to Théveneau de Francy, France’s finances were strong and its army “invincible.” Moreover, he added, “we are Frenchmen, a matter of no small weight in the balance of advantages.”

  With the French on the way, Washington began preparing Lafayette for a turn in the spotlight. On May 18, he sent Lafayette on his most important mission to date. The British seemed to be readying for an evacuation of Philadelphia, but Washington wanted to be sure that the redcoats’ apparent departure was not a ruse intended to disguise an attack on his men. He assigned Lafayette to find out.

  From Washington’s standpoint, the mission gave Lafayette a chance to hone his craft as a budding general without sending him too far afield. But it was nonetheless a genuinely sensitive task that required careful coordination across languages, cultures, and chains of command, as Lafayette would lead not only the soldiers he had come to know during his time at Valley Forge but also hundreds of Pennsylvania militiamen and forty-seven Oneida warriors who had recently arrived from Fort Stanwix, near Albany, where Lafayette had recruited them in March. With more than two thousand men involved, success would require clear and effective communications on all sides, and failure could have lasting repercussions.

  Everyone understood that this was a delicate coalition, and sound advice was freely distributed on all sides. Before leaving Fort Stanwix on April 24, the Oneida men had received instruction from a sachem known, according to the New Haven–based Connecticut Journal, as “Ojistalale, alias Grass
hopper.” Samuel Kirkland, a Presbyterian missionary who lived among the Oneidas, translated the sachem’s speech for the Anglophone press. “Young warriors often need advice,” began Grasshopper. “You are undertaking a long march, you will be exposed to fatigue and many temptations, and many will be your observers.” The men were told to “beware of strong liquors” and to abjure both “private revenge” and the “abuse and plunder” of innocent families. “Nephews,” the sachem implored, “keep in mind you are bound to the grand army of America, and will be introduced to General Washington, the chief warrior; to a great officer of our Father the French King, the Marquis de la Fayette, at whose particular application you go.” Finally, the warriors were to “be all of one mind, have one object in view,” and “yield implicit obedience to Major de Tousard,” one of Lafayette’s aides-de-camp, “who will conduct you in the march and fight with you.”

  Lafayette was likewise prepared by his mentor. Notably, the instructions Washington issued on May 18 featured little of the clipped language or matter-of-fact tone typical of his orders. Instead, he took the time to spell out his reasoning and elucidate his goals. “The detachment under your command,” Washington explained to Lafayette, should endeavor to provide “security to this camp,” to disrupt British communications with Philadelphia, to “obstruct the incursions of the enemies parties, and obtain intelligence of their motions and designs.” “This last,” Washington emphasized, “is a matter of very interesting moment, and ought to claim your particular attention.” To achieve this goal, Lafayette was “to procure trusty and intelligent spies, who will advise you faithfully of whatever may be passing in the city,” and to “communicate to me every piece of material information you obtain.”

  Well aware that Lafayette’s zeal sometimes outpaced his wisdom, Washington hoped to temper the young man’s enthusiasm with a measure of circumspection. Acknowledging that it would be “very desirable” to attack the last British troops as they withdrew from Philadelphia, Washington warned that “this will be a matter of no small difficulty and will require the greatest caution and prudence in the execution.” Washington reminded Lafayette “that your detachment is a very valuable one, and that any accident happening to it would be a severe blow to this army” and admonished him to “use every possible precaution for its security and to guard against surprise. No attempt should be made nor any thing risked without the greatest prospect of success, and with every reasonable advantage on your side.” Like any good teacher, Washington described the parameters of the assignment but ultimately expected Lafayette to make his own decisions. He refrained from directing Lafayette to any “precise position,” choosing instead to “leave it to your discretion to take such posts occasionally as shall appear to you best adapted to the purposes of your detachment.” To this, Washington added simply that “in general … a stationary post is unadvisable, as it gives the enemy an opportunity of knowing your situation and concerting [plans] successfully against you.”