Prelude to Glory, Vol. 5

by Ron Carter

  Suddenly something spontaneous and powerful was happening between the two. Caleb straightened, staring intently at the man seated across the fire from him. Never had an older man thrown his life open to him as Dorman had. Dorman sat motionless, unable to speak. It was as though a door in his heart that had been sealed had suddenly opened far enough to reveal emotions he had never admitted to anyone. He yearned to reach out to Caleb, touch him, plead with him, Stop the hate—it will only bring bad, but he could not because he did not know how.

  After a time, Dorman spoke again. “You’re divided inside. Part of you still loves your home and family, and part of you hates the British so bad you left it all to get revenge. Hate. Revenge. They’ve been my study in life.” He lowered his face and for a time worked bark from the twig with his thumbnail while a look of deep, wistful regret clouded his eyes. He drew and released a great sigh, then raised his head once more.

  “Until you’ve settled which way you’re going, you won’t be worth much to yourself or anyone else.”

  Caleb could not move, nor speak. He felt Dorman had seen completely through him, stripped his life so completely that he felt defenseless, unable to hide his feelings, as if he were standing exposed in the hot light of truth.

  Dorman rubbed weary eyes, then concluded. “If I teach you boxing, how will you use it? For good or bad? I won’t teach a bully.”

  The momentous revelations and the surging emotions of the past few minutes washed over Caleb like a wave, leaving him confounded, confused, unable to answer. He opened his mouth to speak, but could not, and he licked at dry lips and dropped his eyes.

  Dorman rose to his feet. “I’ll come by in the morning.”

  Dawn found Dorman approaching Caleb, seated cross-legged by the ashes of a dying fire, a blanket wrapped about his shoulders. The boy turned weary eyes upward to the aging fighter, and it was obvious he had had little sleep. Dorman dropped to his haunches and waited.

  Caleb looked him squarely in the eyes. “I’m no bully. I will not do wrong things with what you teach me.” The boy’s gaze was steady.

  Dorman nodded. “I’ll see you after evening mess.”

  * * * * *

  General Washington’s command headquarters, Middlebrook

  July 1777

  “Sir, that French gentleman is here to keep his appointment. The one Benjamin Franklin and John Adams wrote about. He has three in his party.”

  General Washington raised his head from studying the map on his worktable and reached for two letters near his right hand. “You mean the Marquis de Lafayette?”

  Hamilton could not suppress a smile. “I’m sure that was somewhere in the names he recited.”

  “Have them wait just a few moments while I review the letters, then I’ll have you show him in.”

  “Yes, sir.” Major Hamilton backed out the door of the small library and closed it, smiling again as he walked back down the hall to the tiny reception room. The Marquis de Lafayette. I’ll bet he had six other names before he got to that one.

  Seated in the small, austere library of a home he had rented from a citizen on the outskirts of Middlebrook, Washington quickly reread the letter signed by Benjamin Franklin. Lafayette, nineteen years old—born into privilege and nobility—one of the wealthiest men in France—well connected in all French courts—has immediate access to King Louis XVI and his prime minister, Vergennes—unusually gifted in spite of his youth—fully committed to the success of the American cause—I judge him to be a natural leader—most of all he can be of immeasurable help in bringing the French into the revolution in support of America—critically important he be given due consideration—recommend him to become a major general earliest—keep him close to you.

  Washington leaned back in his chair, reflecting on the content of the letter. Benjamin Franklin—shrewd—unusual judge of human nature—sees this young Lafayette as critical to his efforts to gain French support.

  He laid the Franklin letter aside and reread the brief note from John Adams. The Marquis de Lafayette a tremendous surprise—dresses like a peacock—Doctor Franklin highly impressed—the American Congress recommended Lafayette return to France, but he responded in writing, saying, and I quote, “After the sacrifices I have made in this cause, I have the right to ask two favors at your hands: the one, is to serve without pay, at my own expense, and the other, that I be allowed to serve at first as a volunteer in the ranks”—Absolutely unprecedented—recommend you give Lafayette every consideration. Please forward your decision earliest.

  Washington turned the two letters face down and thoughtfully rose. Congressman John Adams—the man who nominated me to become commander in chief—unusual for him to give such a recommendation for a Frenchman. If Franklin and Adams agree on this, there must be something worth looking at. We shall see. We shall see.

  He opened the library door and spoke to Major Hamilton, waiting just outside. “Bring Mr. Lafayette in.” Washington returned to his seat at the worktable to wait. The sound of approaching boot heels echoed in the hallway before Hamilton rapped on the door.

  “Enter.” Washington rose to his full height as the door swung open. Flanked by a young man, Hamilton strode three steps into the room, stopped at full attention, and announced, “General Washington, may I present the Marquis de Lafayette.” He turned on his heel and closed the door as he left.

  Washington took in the man at a glance. Just over six feet—tall for a Frenchman—reddish brown hair, very close to the color of Washington’s, a chin that thrust ever so slightly forward, long triangular nose, forehead that sloped back to a receding hairline. His face could not be called handsome but was intriguing. His hair, like Washington’s, was unpowdered, and he had on his face an expression that was at once respectful and confident. His uniform was resplendent, flawlessly tailored of blue fabric, trimmed in gold.

  Washington did not move from behind the worktable. Instead, he bowed slightly from the waist. “Sir, it is my honor.”

  Lafayette’s heels snapped together as he stiffly returned the bow, betraying a slight aura of awkwardness in his movements. He found himself in the unusual position of looking upward at a man taller than himself. “Sir, I am your humble servant.” His English was colored by a French accent.

  Washington gestured to a chair. “Would you be seated?”

  Lafayette sat across the table, his posture erect, facing Washington and waiting in silence.

  “I am embarrassed that I do not know your full name, sir.”

  “I am Marie Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert du Morier de Lafayette. My father was the Marquis Gilbert de Lafayette, my mother, Julie de La Rivere. My father lost his life at the battle of Minden in 1759.”

  “I am sorry to hear it. May I inquire your age?”

  “Certainly. I am nineteen years of age. I was born September 6, 1757. I will be twenty years of age in less than two months.”

  “I trust your sea voyage was pleasant.”

  “Acceptable. We were fifty-nine days on the water. I became a bit melancholy as time wore on. I found it necessary to busy myself with exercise, writing letters, and the study of military tactics.”

  “You arrived in Boston?”

  “We anchored near Charleston, in the state of South Carolina on June fifteenth. From there we traveled overland to Philadelphia, where it was my honor to present myself to the American Congress. I bore papers from the Honorable Benjamin Franklin. Congress was reluctant. I was told the American Minister Silas Deane had exceeded his authority in offering me rank and position. I volunteered whatever services I might tender, at no compensation. They accepted and recommended this visit with yourself.”

  “Has your ship returned to France?”

  “No. The French government was insistent that I remain in France. The governor of Bordeaux sought to arrest me as a means of holding me there. I disguised myself, returned to Los Pasajes, bought a ship—the La Victoire—and set sail with my companions. They remain with me.”

  Washing
ton leaned forward. Bought a ship! “Do I understand, then, that you have volunteered your services in the American cause at no compensation?”

  “It is true. I have no need for money.”

  “You have resources in France?”

  “Yes. Inherited from the families of both my mother and father. My great-grandfather, the elder Comte de La Rivere, was appointed my legal guardian when my mother passed on. I was eleven years old at the time. He is most capable in matters of investments and money. I have no idea the size of my fortune, only that it is immense.”

  Washington’s expression remained formal, cordial. “May I ask, sir, do you have a wife? Family?”

  “It was my honor to marry Adrienne d’Ayen, the daughter of Marshal Duc d’Ayen, on April 11, 1774. We have one child. My wife and child remained in France.”

  “You have had military training?”

  A light came into the eyes of the young Frenchman, and he leaned forward. His voice rose, and his words came tumbling, reckless, filled with a fire that startled Washington, settled him back in his chair.

  “It has been my lifelong dream to serve the cause of justice for all humanity—both the privileged and the peasants. I know in my heart that Nature and the Almighty meant for all men—all races—to be free. Nothing has moved me so powerfully as the revolution now in progress in this country. I am committed to give all I possess—my life, my fortune—to it, if it will free the common people.”

  For long moments the two men sat in silence, eyes locked as each stared into the core of the other—the most powerful man in the Continental Army, five months past his forty-fifth birthday, and the Frenchman, just ten months beyond his nineteenth birthday and the wealthiest fugitive from a French arrest warrant in the world. One a colonial American, the other a European aristocrat. The older man never having had children, the younger never having known his father. In that silent, electric moment, age and circumstance became meaningless as each man recognized in the other an all-consuming passion for freedom. Neither knew, nor cared, how long they remained in silence, not moving, while a powerful, unspoken bond formed between them.

  Washington broke the silence. “You hardly knew your father, and I’ve never been blessed with a son. Has nature wrought something here?” He continued, “You received military training?”

  “I apologize for failing to answer your question. My early education was from the Ignasius Loyola Jesuits. They were banished by the Papacy, and my later education was at the feet of Abbe Fayon. It was he who taught me mathematics, spelling, literature, and English. I read much of Voltaire. My mother later took me to Paris where I was enrolled in the College du Plessis and enlisted in the king’s Musketeers. I learned fencing, firearms, riding, military history, and science. From there it was my honor to be accepted into the king’s Black Musketeers. I discovered I was not skilled at politics—could not control my passion for freedom and justice for all men. I spoke too freely of my feelings and was transferred. Then I learned of the revolution in this country and was captivated by it. I purchased my ship, and I am here.”

  For two full seconds Washington did not move while his thoughts settled. The Black Musketeers! The king’s select! The best of the best!

  “You have companions with you?”

  “Yes. Among them, Baron Jean de Kalb, a trained officer. He shares my feelings in being here.”

  Washington leaned forward, carefully selected his next words, and came to the pivotal question. “Do you have a preference where you serve or the rank you will bear?”

  The answer was instant. “Those considerations are of no consequence. Use us according to your need. I and Baron de Kalb stand ready to obey your orders without compensation.”

  Washington settled back in his chair and carefully covered his astonishment. He could not remember one officer among the multitude who came from Europe seeking to join the American revolutionary forces who had not demanded high rank and high salary.

  “Is there anything else you wish to discuss?”

  Lafayette considered for a moment. “I think not, sir.”

  Both men rose. “I will have Major Hamilton settle you and your companions in suitable quarters. You will be notified of the outcome of all this as soon as possible. In the meantime, you have immediate access to this office at any time. Should you need or desire anything, notify my aides. Thank you for your appearance here.”

  Lafayette bowed from the waist. “Sir, it has been my honor.” He turned on his heel, and Washington followed him to the door, where he gave orders to the waiting Major Hamilton. Washington watched the two men march down the hallway to the ante room before he stepped back into the small library and closed the door.

  Remarkable! Wealth, position, education—every reason to become a wastrel—and he turned his back on it all! He’s a rebel in the finest sense of the word! A born rebel!

  The chair creaked as Washington sat down at the worktable. For a time he remained in reflective silence.

  Franklin and Adams—I understand now—and I agree. Adams wants my recommendations at once, and he shall have them. Must be careful of the politics Congress has to deal with—can’t thrust young Lafayette to the top in one stroke—must take this one short step at a time—recommend him to become a major general, but only honorary for now until he proves himself—de Kalb with him on the same terms—no salary for either until they’ve earned it.

  He reached for quill and paper, thought for a moment, then began his usual careful, artistic drafting of a letter.

  “Congressman John Adams . . .”

  Notes

  This chapter is intended to be a foundation for what is to come, and therefore includes some information that has appeared in prior volumes.

  The events depicted at Princeton are taken from volume 3, To Decide Our Destiny, chapter XVI.

  The war council at Morristown in early May 1777 is taken from volume 4, The Hand of Providence, chapter III.

  General Sir William Howe was ordered to take Philadelphia, since taking the capital city of the enemy was deemed tantamount to winning a war. Higginbotham, The War of American Independence, pp. 180–83.

  Sending the fictional characters Billy Weems and Eli Stroud north to deal with Joseph Bryant, great leader of the Iroquois and Mohawk who had joined the British, is described in volume 3, To Decide Our Destiny, chapter XIX.

  British General John Burgoyne rose to fame by leading his cavalry to victories at Valencia de Alcantara and at Villa Velha, in the British war with Spain. Leckie, George Washington’s War, pp. 366–76.

  The French built Fort Ticonderoga to resist the British approaching from the south; hence the cannon faced south, covering Lake Champlain and Lake George. To take the fort, Burgoyne was expected to come from the north. See volume 4, The Hand of Providence, chapter VII.

  George Washington refused to commit his inferior army to any battle in which the British could destroy it altogether. Ketchum, Saratoga, p. 48.

  From Fort Ticonderoga, there were two possible routes for Burgoyne to take his army south to Albany and on to New York. Either the Hudson River, which would expose his boats to American cannon nearly the entire distance, or marching his army overland. See Mackesy, The War for America, 1775–1783, p. 132.

  From Morristown, where General Washington wintered his army in 1776–1777, he marched to Middlebrook, at the foot of the Watchung Mountains. The area and the strong attitude of the American army with the coming of spring is described. See Ketchum, Saratoga, p. 46; Leckie, George Washington’s War, p. 344.

  The events described concerning the fictional character Caleb Dunson were presented in volume 4, The Hand of Providence, chapter XX. Charles Dorman is also a fictional character.

  Spears, sometimes called spontoons, were a weapon regularly used by soldiers in the Revolutionary War. See Wilbur, The Revolutionary Soldier 1775–1783, pp. 12, 35, 49, 52.

  The reflections of Caleb Dunson regarding his father, Tom Sievers, and others, as well as his family descriptio
ns, are based on events depicted in volume 1, Our Sacred Honor, chapters I and X–XV.

  The information regarding the French General Lafayette is found in Leckie, George Washington’s War, pp. 336–44.

  Staten Island, New York

  Thursday, July 3, 1777

  CHAPTER II

  * * *

  General Sir William Howe was not a politician. As a member of the British Parliament his blunt, sparing use of words quickly convinced those in London’s high political whirl that his talents were immeasurably more useful on the battlefield than in the halls of government. To stand in the hallowed chambers of Whitehall to argue before British parliamentarians required wit, lucidity, and a fluid command of thought and language, as well as a measure of dramatic flair. To stand tall at the head of a regiment of charging redcoated British regulars required a few well chosen words, courage, and the nerves to face a hail of enemy musketballs and cannonshot. Howe’s spectacular rise to success as a combat officer was equaled only by his failure to rise as a parliamentarian. When he had something to say, he said it with as few words as possible and usually with an abruptness that was at least unsettling. Decidedly, he was a warrior, not a politician.

  Tall and laconic, the commander of all British forces in the United States had been born in 1729, the son of the second Viscount Howe of Ireland and Mary Sophia, daughter of Baroness Kielmansegge, known in the court of King George I. The family was blessed with two other sons, and the three were named William, George Augustus, and Richard. True to their Hanovarian heritage, all three brothers early committed their lives to the military—William and George to the army, Richard to the navy.