During that time, the commissioners had made many addresses and proclamations. By endeavouring to gain over one member, Johnstone had displeased the congress, who refused to treat with him. In a public letter, signed Carlisle, the French nation was taxed with a perfidy too universally acknowledged to require any new proof. With the effervescence of youth and patriotism, M. de Lafayette seized this opportunity of opposing the commission; and the first impulse of M. d'Estaing was to approve of his conduct. A haughty challenge was sent from head-quarters to Lord Carlisle: the answer was an ill-explained refusal; and the impetuosity of M. de Lafayette was attended with a good result, whilst the prudence of the president was ridiculed in every public paper.~{34}
Soon afterwards, during M. de Lafayette's residence at Philadelphia, the commission received its death-blow; whilst he was breakfasting with the members of congress, the different measures proper to be pursued were frankly and cheerfully discussed. The correspondence which took place at that time is generally known; the congress remained ever noble; firm, and faithful to its allies: secretary Thomson, in his last letter to Sir Henry Clinton, informs him, that "the congress does not answer impertinent letters." To conceal nothing from the people, all the proposals were invariably printed; but able writers were employed in pointing out the errors they contained. In that happy country, where each man understood and attended to public affairs, the newspapers became powerful instruments to aid the revolution. The same spirit was also breathed from the pulpit, for the Bible in many places favours republicanism. M. de Lafayette, having once reproached an Anglican minister with speaking only of heaven, went to hear him preach the following Sunday, and the words, the execrable house of Hanover, proved the docility of the minister.
M. de Lafayette addressed a polite letter to the French minister, and wrote also to the congress, that, "whilst he believed himself free, he had supported the cause under the American banner; that his country was now at war, and that his services were first due to her; that he hoped to return; and that he should always retain his zealous interest for the United States." The congress not only granted him an unlimited leave of absence, but added to it the most flattering expressions of gratitude. It was resolved that a sword, covered with emblems, should be presented to him, in the name of the United States, by their minister in France; they wrote to the king; and the Alliance, of thirty-six guns, their finest ship, was chosen to carry him back to Europe. M. de Lafayette would neither receive from them anything farther, nor allow them to ask any favour for him at the court of France. But the congress, when proposing a co-operation in Canada, expressed its wish of seeing the arrangement of the affair confided to him: this project was afterwards deferred from the general's not entertaining hopes Of its ultimate success. But although old prejudices were much softened,—although the conduct of the admiral and the squadron had excited universal approbation,—the congress, the general, and, in short, every one, told M. de Lafayette that, in the whole circuit of the thirteen states, vessels only were required, and that the appearance of a French corps would alarm the nation. As M. de Lafayette was obliged to embark at Boston, he set out again on this journey of four hundred miles; he hoped, also, that he should be able to take leave of M. d'Estaing, who had offered to accompany him to the islands; and whose friendship and misfortunes affected him as deeply as his active genius and patriotic courage excited his admiration. Heated by fatiguing journeys and over exertion, and still more by the grief he had experienced at Rhode Island; and having afterwards laboured hard, drank freely, and passed several sleepless nights at Philadelphia, M. de Lafayette proceeded on horseback, in a high state of fever, and during a pelting autumnal rain. Fetes were given in compliment to him throughout his journey, and he endeavoured to strengthen himself with wine, tea, and rum: but at Fishkill, eight miles from head-quarters, he was obliged to yield to the violence of an inflammatory fever. He was soon reduced to the last extremity, and the report of his approaching death distressed the army, by whom he was called the soldier's friend, and the whole nation were unanimous in expressing their good wishes and regrets for the marquis, the name by which he was exclusively designated. From the first moment, Cockran, director of the hospitals, left all his other occupations to attend to him alone. General Washington came every day to inquire after his friend; but, fearing to agitate him, he only conversed with the physician, and returned home with tearful eyes, and a heart oppressed with grief.~{35} Suffering acutely from a raging fever and violent head-ache, M. de Lafayette felt convinced that he was dying, but did not lose for a moment the clearness of his understanding: having taken measures to be apprised of the approach of death, he regretted that he could not hope again to see his country and the dearest objects of his affection. Far from foreseeing the happy fate that awaited him, he would willingly have exchanged his future chance of life, in spite of his one and twenty years, for the certainty of living but for three months, on the condition of again seeing his friends, and witnessing the happy termination of the American war. But to the assistance of medical art, and the assiduous care of Dr. Cockran, nature added the alarming though salutary remedy of an hemorrhage. At the expiration of three months, M. de Lafayette's life was no longer in danger: he was at length allowed to see the general, and think of public affairs. By decyphering a letter from M. d'Estaing, he learnt that, in spite of twenty-one English vessels, the squadron had set out for la Martinique. After having spent some days together, and spoken of their past labours, present situations, and future projects, General Washington and he took a tender and painful leave of each other. At the same time that the enemies of this great man have accused him of insensibility, they have acknowledged his tenderness for M. de Lafayette; and how is it possible that he should not have been warmly cherished by his disciple, he who, uniting all that is good to all that is great, is even more sublime from his virtues than from his talents? Had he been a common soldier, he would have been the bravest in the ranks; had he been an obscure citizen, all his neighbours would have respected him. With a heart and mind equally correctly formed, he judged both of himself and circumstances with strict impartiality. Nature, whilst creating him expressly for that revolution, conferred an honour upon herself; and, to show her work to the greatest possible advantage, she constituted it in such a peculiar manner, that each distinct quality would have failed in producing the end required, had it not been sustained by all the others.
In spite of his extreme debility, M. de Lafayette, accompanied by his physician, repaired, on horseback, to Boston, where Madeira wine effectually restored his health. The crew of the Alliance was not complete, and the council offered to institute a press, but M. de Lafayette would not consent to this method of obtaining sailors, and it was at length resolved to make up the required number by embarking some English deserters, together with some volunteers from among the prisoners. After he had written to Canada, and sent some necklaces to a few of the savage tribes, Brice and Nevil, his aides-de-camp, bore his farewell addresses to the congress, the general, and his friends. The inhabitants of Boston, who had given him so many proofs of their kindness and attention, renewed their marks of affection at his departure; and the Alliance sailed on the 11th of January. A winter voyage is always boisterous in that latitude; but on approaching the banks of Newfoundland, the frigate experienced a violent storm: her main-top mast torn away, injured by a heavy sea, filling with water, during one long dark night she was in imminent danger; but a still greater peril awaited her, two hundred leagues from the coast of France. His British Majesty, encouraging, the mutiny of crews, had issued a somewhat immoral proclamation, promising them the value of every rebel vessel that they should bring into an English port; which exploit could only be performed by the massacre of the officers and those who opposed the mutiny. This proclamation gave rise to a plot which was formed by the English deserters and volunteers, who had most imprudently been admitted, in great numbers, on board the ship: not one American or Frenchman (for some French sailors had been found at Boston, after the departure of the squadron) took part in this conspiracy. The cry of Sail! was to be raised, and when the passengers and officers came on deck, four cannon, loaded with canister shot, prepared by the gunner's mate, were to blow them into atoms. An English serjeant had also contrived to get possession of some loaded arms. The hour first named was four in the morning, but was changed to four in the afternoon. During that interim, the conspirators, deceived by the accent of an American who had lived a long time in Ireland, and traded on its coast, disclosed the plot to him, and offered him the command of the frigate: the worthy man pretended to accept it, and was only able to inform the captain and M. de Lafayette of the conspiracy one hour before the time fixed for its execution. They rushed, sword in hand, upon deck, followed by the other passengers and officers, called upon their own sailors to assist them, and, seized thirty-one of the culprits, whom they placed in irons. Many others were accused in the depositions, but it was judged expedient to appear to rely upon the rest of the crew, although real confidence was only placed in the French and Americans. Eight days afterwards, the Alliance entered safely the port of Brest, February, 1779.
When I saw the port of Brest receive and salute the banner which floated on my frigate, I recalled to mind the state of my country and of America, and my peculiar situation when I quitted France. The conspirators were merely exchanged as English prisoners, and I only thought of rejoining my family and friends, of whom I had received no intelligence during the last eight months. When I repaired to a court which had hitherto only granted me lettres de cachet, M. de Poix made me acquainted with all the ministers. I was interrogated, complimented, and exiled, but to the good city of Paris; and the residence of the Hotel de Noailles was selected, instead of according me the horrors of the Bastille, which had been at first proposed. Some days afterwards, I wrote to the king to acknowledge an error of which the termination had been so fortunate: he permitted me to receive a gentle reprimand in person; and, when my liberty was restored to me, I was advised to avoid those places in which the public might consecrate my disobedience by its approbation. On my arrival, I had the honour of being consulted by all the ministers, and, what was far better, embraced by all the ladies. Those embraces lasted but one day; but I retained for a greater length of time the confidence of the cabinet, and I enjoyed both favour at the court of Versailles, and popularity at Paris. I was the theme of conversation in every circle, even after the queen's kind exertions had obtained for me the regiment of the king's dragoons. Times are widely changed; but I have retained all that I most valued—popular favour and the affection of those I love.
Amidst the various tumultuous scenes that occupied my mind, I did not forget our revolution, of which the ultimate success still appeared uncertain. Accustomed to see great interests supported by slender means, I often said to myself that the expense of one fête would have organized the army of the United States; and to clothe that army I would willingly, according to the expression of M. de Maurepas, have unfurnished the palace of Versailles. In the meantime, the principal object of the quarrel, American independence, and the advantage our government and reputation would derive from seizing the first favourable opportunity, did not appear to me sufficiently promoted by those immense preparations for trifling conquests, and those projects conceived in the expectation of peace; for no person seriously believed in war, not even when it was declared, after the hundredth injury had induced Spain to enter into those co-operations which finally terminated in nothing more than noisy exercises.
Endnotes:
1. Note by M. de Lafayette upon the Memoirs written by himself and his American correspondence.—Many papers relating to the first years of my public life have been destroyed during the reign of terror. An imperfect copy of these memoirs has been saved: this ought to have been re-written; I have preferred copying it precisely as it was originally composed.
Several letters written from America had been copied by my wife for Dr. Dubrucil, (physician to the king and to la Charité, at St. Germain-en-laza, deceased 1785,) whose friendship was the pride of one portion of my life, and who has filled the remainder of it with a deep and tender recollection. Those papers have been preserved; it would be necessary to suppress some repetitions and insignificant details, but I have left them almost all untouched, because, whilst forming this collection, I felt pleasure in recalling the sentiments that had animated me at various periods of my existence.
The Duke d'Ayen, my father-in-law, was not one of the least hasty and severe censurers of my departure for America but he restored to me his favour with all the kindness and sincerity which characterized him: his affectionate congratulations deeply touched my heart. The same feeling induces me at the present moment to repeat some details contained in the letters I addressed to him.