The Continental Congress was then sitting at Philadelphia, and, without stopping for rest, the sea-worn voyager hastened to report himself there. Most of the way on horseback, for nine hundred miles, he journeyed on, enjoying the country in its native freshness, and the simple, cordial welcome which greeted him everywhere on the road. “The further North I advance,” thus he wrote to his wife, “the more I like this country and its people.”[58] He had already been struck by what to him were “black domestics who came to ask his orders.”[59] Then for the first time he looked upon a slave. His well-known sentiments, so constantly declared, show clearly how his candid nature must have been troubled. He had forsaken France, where, amidst gross inequalities of condition, this grossest was unknown,—where, in the descending ranks of the feudal hierarchy, there was no place for this degradation,—where, amidst unjust taxes and injurious privileges without number, every man had a right at least to his child, to his wife, and to himself,—and where the boast went forth, as in England, and was repeated by judicial tribunals, that the air was too pure for a slave. With heavenly generosity he had turned away from his own country to help the cause of Freedom in another hemisphere, and here he found man despoiled of all personal rights, and even degraded to be property, by those whose own struggles merely for political rights had thrilled the fibres of his being. Youthful, and little schooled as yet in the world, he must have recoiled instinctively, as this most dismal and incomprehensible inconsistency appeared before him. How faithfully he battled with the demon his life will show.
Arrived in Philadelphia, he announced that he had come to serve at his own expense and as volunteer. The Continental Congress, touched by the magnanimous devotion of the youthful stranger, and apprised of his distinguished connections at home, appointed him without delay Major-General in the army of the United States, where he took rank by the side of Gates and Greene, Lincoln and Lee. Born to exalted condition in an ancient monarchy, he found himself welcomed to the highest place in the military councils of a struggling republic, and this while still a youth under twenty,—younger than Fox, younger than Pitt, when they astonished the world by their precocious parliamentary powers,—younger than Condé, in his own beautiful France, on the field of Rocroi. And his modesty was not less eminent than his post. To Washington, who made apologies for exhibiting his troops before a French officer, he replied with interesting simplicity, “I have come to learn, and not to teach.”[60] The Commander-in-Chief, usually so grave, was won at once to that perpetual friendship which endured unbroken as long as life,—showing itself now in tears of joy and then in tears of grief,—watching the youthful stranger with paternal care,—sharing with him table, tent, and on the field of Monmouth the same cloak for a couch,—following his transcendent fortunes, now on giddiest heights and then in gloom, with constant, unabated attachment,—corresponding with him at all times,—addressing him in terms of unwonted endearment as “the man he loved,”[61] and saying again that he “had not words to express his affection, were he to attempt it,”[62]—sending kindly sympathy to that devoted wife in her unparalleled affliction, and pleading across sea and continent with the Austrian despot for his release from the dungeons of Olmütz.
It is much to have inspired the most tender friendship which history records in the life of Washington. There were with us other strangers, scarcely less brilliant than Lafayette. There was Kosciusko, the Pole, who afterwards played so great a part in his own country—Steuben, the German, who did so much for the discipline of our troops,—De Kalb, the gallant soldier, who died for us at Camden,—Rochambeau, the distinguished commander of the French forces, compeer with Washington at Yorktown,—Lauzun, the sparkling courtier, whose fascinations were acknowledged by Marie Antoinette,—Ségur, the high-bred youthful soldier and future diplomatist,—Montesquieu, grandson of the immortal author of the “Spirit of Laws,”—Saint-Simon, whose military and ancestral honors are now lost in his fame as social reformer,—also the unfortunate Count de Loménie, with the Prince de Broglie of the old monarchy, and Berthier, afterwards a prince of the Empire. All these were in our revolutionary contest gathered about Washington; but Lafayette alone obtained place in his heart. Friendship is always a solace and delight; but such a friendship was a testimony. Let it ever be said that Washington chose Lafayette as friend, while Lafayette was to him always pupil, disciple, son.
His intrepidity found early occasion for display at the Battle of the Brandywine, where, attempting to rally our unlucky troops, he was severely wounded in the leg, and thus at once, by suffering for us, increased his titles to regard. As he became known, his simple and bountiful nature awakened the attachment of officers and men, so that in writing to his wife he was able to relieve her anxieties by saying that he had “the friendship of the army in gross and in detail,” and also what he calls “a tender union with the most respectable, the most admirable of men, General Washington.”[63] Nor was this unnatural, when we consider how completely he became American in dress, food, and habits, as he was already American in heart. Avoiding no privation or fatigue, this juvenile patrician, educated to indulgence in all the forms that wealth and privilege could supply, showed himself more frugal and more austere even than his republican associates, living sometimes for months on a single ration. The confidence of Congress soon followed, and by special resolution Washington was requested to place him at the head of an independent command.
Meanwhile France openly enlisted on our side. Turgot, the philosopher, and Necker, the financier, counselled, as far-sighted ministers, against this step, which launched the ancient monarchy in a dangerous career. Jealous of a rival power, smarting under recent reverses, and brooding over the accumulated rancors of long generations, the Court was willing to embarrass England, yet covertly and without the hazard of open war. The King himself never sympathized with the American cause. But public opinion, which in that nation inclines to generous ideas, was moved by the news of a distant people waging a contest for Human Rights, at first doubtful, and then suddenly illumined by the victory of Saratoga,—while Franklin, the philosopher and diplomatist, our unequalled representative at Paris, challenged the admiration alike of grave and gay, and the example of Lafayette touched the heart of France. These wrought so far, that Court and King were obliged to bend before the popular will, and then came the Treaty of Alliance with the Colonies by which their place in the Family of Nations was assured. The Treaty was communicated to the British Court, with a note referring Independence to the Declaration of the 4th of July, on which Lafayette, with constant instinct for popular rights, exclaimed, “Here is a principle of national sovereignty which will some day be recalled at home.”[64] Of course, if Americans could become independent by a Declaration, so could Frenchmen.
The duties of Frenchman were now superadded to the duties Lafayette had assumed toward our cause. “As long,” said he, in a letter to Congress, “as I thought I could dispose of myself, I made it my pride and pleasure to fight under American colors in defence of a cause which I dare more particularly call ours because I had the good luck to bleed for it. Now that France is involved in a war, I am urged by a sense of duty, as well as by patriotic love, to present myself before the King, and know in what manner he judges proper to employ my services. The most agreeable of all will always be such as may enable me to serve the common cause among those whose friendship I have had the happiness to obtain, and whose fortune I have had the honor to follow in less smiling times.” Congress responded by unlimited leave of absence, with permission to return at his own convenient time, and by a vote of grateful thanks and a sword, together with a letter to the French King, where they said, “We recommend this young nobleman to your Majesty’s notice, as one whom we know to be wise in council, gallant in the field, and patient under the hardships of war.”[65] Never before did Frenchman return from service abroad with such a letter to his king.
On his way to embark at Boston, he was attacked by a fever, which in its violence seemed about to prevail, so that Washington dwelt on the daily tidings of the physician “with tears in his eyes,” and it was reported at one time that “the soldier’s friend,” as he was called, had died.[66] Happily he was spared to his two countries, and to the affection of his commander. Always true to Liberty, he would not let the crew of the frigate waiting for him at Boston be recruited by impressment,—thus in all things guarding the rights of the people.[67]
If the sensation in Europe caused by his departure had been great, that caused by his return, after two years of brilliant service, with eminent military rank, with the thanks of Congress and the friendship of Washington, was greater far. He could not appear anywhere without greetings of admiration which knew no bounds, while, to borrow his own account, he was “consulted by all the ministers, and, what is much better, kissed by all the women.”[68] In a journey to his estate, the towns through which he passed honored him with processions and civic pomp. But his distant friends, struggling for the Great Declaration, were never out of mind. Accustomed to large interests sustained by small means, he regretted each fête even in his own honor as a diversion of supplies, while his zeal went so far as to make the Prime-Minister, M. de Maurepas, declare that for this cause Lafayette would strip Versailles of its furniture. Such an influence, so sincere and so constant, from one who spoke not only as a French noble, but as a Major-General of the American army, was not without result. The papers of Lafayette attest the ability with which he pressed upon the French Government an active participation in the contest, and especially prompted the decisive expedition of Rochambeau.
But he did not loiter at home. Soon he turned from country and family. Again he crossed the sea, and this time landed at Boston, for which, at a later day, he recorded a “predilection,”[69] chiefly, it appears, because there were no slaves there, and all were equal. The hearts of the people everywhere throbbed with welcome; the army partook of this delight, and Washington now “shed tears of joy.”[70] The republican sentiments which animated him appear in the present of a flag to one of our battalions, with a simple wreath of laurel blending with a civic crown, and the words beneath, “No other.”[71] Farewell to crowns and coronets, to kings and nobles! Such was the great lesson of the flag. Then commenced the second part of his American career,—his active military service,—his command in Virginia,—his campaign against Cornwallis, when the latter said triumphantly, “The boy shall not escape me,”—and his coöperation in the final assault at Yorktown, ending in the capitulation of the British commander to the combined forces of America and France,—all of which belongs to the history of both countries.
The campaign in Virginia redounded to the praise of Lafayette in no common measure. After announcing his designation for this service, and saying that “the command of the troops in that State cannot be in better hands,” Washington proceeds:—