THE hope that potentates and governments might take up the cause of Lafayette began to fail and other plans were made. Chivalric dreams of going to seek the place where he was confined and effect what seemed the impossible—a personal rescue—began to haunt the minds of daring youths. A letter is on record from a young man who wrote to Washington to ask if he might not have permission to go and seek Lafayette, and, if possible, conduct him and his family to America. Washington told him that all was being done that could be done, and that personal attempts would only result in failure. But there was another enterprising soul who did not wait for permission—he acted upon his own initiative. The story of that splendid young American must now be told.

Francis Kinloch Huger was the first child that Lafayette saw after he landed in America. It will be remembered that the little company of adventurers first touched shore on the country estate of Major Benjamin Huger, at Prospect Hill, near Charleston, South Carolina. Here Lafayette was received hospitably and sent on in his host's carriage to Charleston.

The child Francis was then five years old and was the young representative of a remarkable family of Huguenot extraction. The first Daniel Huger came from Loudon, France, soon after the Edict of Nantes, and his descendants to-day number six thousand; among them are found a large number of distinguished names. Five Huger brothers held important positions in Revolutionary times. Three served in the war; Brigadier General Isaac Huger was second in command to General Greene at Guilford Court House; Lieutenant Colonel Frank Huger was promoted from Moultrie's Regiment to be Quartermaster General of the Southern Army of the Revolution; and Major Benjamin Huger, Lafayette's host and the father of the child Francis, was killed in 1780 before the lines at Charleston. Of the other two brothers in this remarkable family group, Daniel was one of Governor Rutledge's Privy Council and later a member of Congress, and John was on the Council of Safety and Secretary of State.

The boy Francis thus came from a stock of stalwart men. He was eight years old when his father was killed at Charleston. The pity of it was driven into his young soul when the ignominy of that defeat was accomplished.

Immediately after that event young Huger was sent to England to acquire a medical education. Later he, as the custom was, went on his travels and to hear lectures at great seats of learning. But the passion for chivalric action that was inspiring youth everywhere he could not quell. He dreamed of finding Lafayette.

Meantime, American, English, and French friends of the illustrious prisoner were busy in London, and they had commissioned the "Hanoverian doctor," known as Dr. Bollman, to make a search for him. This man made careful preparations. He traveled in a leisurely way through Germany in the guise of a wealthy and philanthropic physician. He let it be known that he was a sort of follower of Cagliostro, a notorious Italian whose ideas were popular at the time. He treated the poor free of charge and he showed a special interest in prisoners.

At last he reached OlmÜtz, a journey at that time something like going from New York to Nome. He made acquaintance with the attending physician of the garrison and was invited to dinner. He in return asked the surgeon to dine with him at his inn. The dinner was sumptuous. M. de Colombe, who tells this part of the story, says that the wine was especially excellent. No one could distrust a simple-hearted doctor, an unselfish student of mankind, and especially one who ordered such delicious wine! In time, conversation turned upon prisoners of note. It was rumored, hinted the artful and ingenious doctor, that there was such an one at OlmÜtz. Could this be true? It was even so, the unsuspecting surgeon admitted; the great Lafayette was under his close care. The doctor inquired for Lafayette's health and was told that it was fairly good. Dr. Bollman ventured to send his compliments to the prisoner with a message that he had lately left Lafayette's friends in England. The unsuspecting surgeon carried the innocent message.

On another occasion he brought word that Lafayette would like to know who those friends were. The doctor tried to speak the names, but could not pronounce them so that the Austrian could understand them. He felt in his pocket for a bit of paper (which he had carefully placed there beforehand) and on it wrote the names which he sent to Lafayette. These words also were written on the paper:

The reference was to a prisoner at Magdeburg who received a book which contained messages written on the flyleaves in lemon juice. He held the book to the fire and by doing this the written words came out in brown lines and could be read. Lafayette took the hint, and discovered the message written with this invisible ink on the bit of paper. After this Bollman was allowed to lend Lafayette a book to read. It came back with lemon-juice messages on its margins. Lafayette wrote that he was sometimes allowed to drive, and as he was unknown to Bollman, he suggested a signal by which he could be recognized. He said that his lieutenant was a sheepish dolt, and that his corporal was covetous, treacherous, and cowardly. He added that the rides were allowed for the sake of his health. It appears that the government did not wish to arouse the frenzy of indignation that would follow if Lafayette were allowed to die in prison, so he was occasionally taken out to ride a league or even two from the fortress gate. If a rescuer and a trusty helper should appear, they could surely effect the escape. Lafayette would agree to frighten the cowardly little corporal himself; they need not provide a sword for him, for he would take the corporal's. An extra horse, one or two horses along the road—it could easily be done. It was a bold plan, but the bolder the plan, the more unexpected it was, and the better chance of success. Every day he would watch for them along the road.

After securing this definite information, the doctor retired to Vienna to make further plans.

This account may be in some respects the later elaboration of a story many times retold. But it sounds probable. At any rate, in some such way Dr. Bollman gained communication with Lafayette's cell, and brought the welcome news that friends were working for him. Then they projected a plan.

The story is again taken up in a coffeehouse in Vienna where Bollman is accustomed to go. Lafayette has suggested an assistant, and Bollman realizes that he can do nothing without one. Therefore he is looking about to find one who shall have spirit and fitness for the work. We see him now at the supper table, eagerly conversing with a certain young American, like himself a medical student on his travels. Curiously enough, it is Francis Kinloch Huger, now twenty-one years old. They talk of America. Bollman, with elaborate inadvertence, touches on the personality of Lafayette. The young man relates his childish memory of the arrival of that enthusiastic youth when he first came ashore at his father's South Carolina country place. Bollman tests Huger in various ways and makes up his mind that this is the best possible person to help him. He broaches the subject. Young Huger is only too ready—this very enterprise has been his dearest thought and his dream. The danger does not daunt him. "He did not let the grass grow under his feet," said his daughter years later, "but accepted at once."

It was not, however, purely romantic sentiment with him; he did not accede on the impulse of a moment. "I felt it to be my duty to give him all the aid in my power," said Colonel Huger to Josiah Quincy many years later. And though he may not have been conscious of it at the time, there was still another reason, for he admitted, long afterwards, "I simply considered myself the representative of the young men of America and acted accordingly."

The story may here be taken up almost in the words of Colonel Huger's daughter who wrote it down exactly as her father related it.

In October, 1794, they set out from Vienna in a light traveling carriage and with two riding horses, one of them being strong enough to carry two persons if necessary. They intended to appear in the characters of a young Englishman and his traveling tutor, and they were provided with passes for the long journey. With assumed carelessness they proceeded toward OlmÜtz. The gentlemen were generally riding, while their servants and the baggage were in the carriage. They went to the same inn where Dr. Bollman had stayed on his former visit. Here they remained two days, while they secretly sent a note to Lafayette and received his answer. They paid their bill at the inn, sent their carriage on ahead to a village called Hoff, and directed their servants to await them there.

Now Bollman and Huger are riding leisurely along the level plain that surrounds the fortress. The huge, dark prison looms in the distance. Every portion of the wide plain is visible to the sentinels at the gates, and within reach of the cannon on the walls. It is market day and many persons are passing back and forth. The two foreign travelers look in every direction for the carriage which may bring Lafayette. Both are eager for his coming.

At last they notice a small phaËton being driven slowly along. In the carriage they see a prisoner in a blue greatcoat with an officer beside him and an armed soldier riding behind. They spur on, and, as they pass, the prisoner gives the sign agreed upon. He raises his hat and wipes his forehead. The feelings excited by the assurance that this was indeed Lafayette, Huger never to his dying day forgot. The riders look as indifferent as possible, bow slightly, and pass on.

The phaËton stops at the side of the road and Lafayette alights. He draws the officer toward a footpath that runs along the highroad at that point, and appears to be leaning on the officer as if scarcely able to walk.

"This must be the time," cries Bollman.

"He signs to us," says Huger in great excitement.

The two young men put spurs to their horses and dash up together. As they approach, Lafayette seizes the officer's sword. A struggle follows. Bollman leaps from his horse and throws the bridle to Huger. But the flash of the drawn sword has frightened the horse; he dashes aside and gallops away. Huger dismounts, passes his arm through his bridle, and he and Bollman seize the soldier and tear his hands from Lafayette's throat. The soldier runs toward the town, shouting and waving his cap to call the attention of the sentinels.

What was to be done? They had now but one horse. The alarm had been given. Not a minute could be lost.

Huger gave his horse to Lafayette and told him hurriedly to go to Hoff, the rendezvous agreed upon. Lafayette mounted the horse and started out. But he could not bear to leave his two rescuers in such a plight, so he came back to ask if he could not do something for them.

"No, no!" they cried. "Go to Hoff! Go to Hoff!" they repeated. "We will follow."

Now if they had said this in French, if they had said "Allez À Hoff," Lafayette would have understood the direction. But not knowing the name of this near-by village, he misunderstood. He thought the English words meant only "Go off!" A fatal misunderstanding!

Huger and Bollman soon released their officer and both mounted the remaining horse. He was not used to "carrying double." The insulted creature set his feet in a ditch and threw them both. Bollman was stunned. Huger lifted him up and then started off to recover the horse. On the way he was thinking what course he should take in this critical and dangerous juncture.

When he came back he had decided. He said that Bollman should take the horse and follow Lafayette, for Bollman knew German and could give more help than he could. Alarm guns were beginning to be fired from the battlements, and trains of soldiers were seen issuing from the gates; but these portentous signs did not influence him. Bollman was persuaded; he mounted, put spurs to his horse, and was soon out of sight. Young America stood alone on this wide, dangerous plain; the shadow of that ominous fortress fell gloomily on its border. The guards came down. Between two rows of fixed bayonets Huger passed into the fortress.

The bold plan was doomed to complete failure! Lafayette rode twenty miles; but the blood on his greatcoat awakened suspicion; he was arrested and carried back to OlmÜtz where a heavier and gloomier imprisonment awaited him.

The same fate awaited Bollman; but Lafayette's despair was the deeper because he feared that his brave rescuers had been executed for their gallant attempt in his behalf.

The imprisonment accorded to the intrepid young American was as vile and cruel as any devised in the Dark Ages. He was put in a cell almost underground, with but one small slit near the top to let in a little light. A low bench and some straw formed the furnishings, while two chains linked him at ankle and wrist to the ceiling. To make things a trifle more cheerful for him, they showed him a prisoner in a cell which was only a walled hole in the ground! The prisoner had been there for many years and his name and residence were now utterly forgotten. The jailers also exhibited their expert method of swift decapitation and acted out the method with a large two-bladed sword. Daily questionings of a cruel kind were used in order to force him to confess the truth—or rather what they wished to believe was the truth—that he had been the agent of a widespread plot. He stated that it was no man's plot but his own. They threatened torture, but he did not flinch or change his statement.

At last the officers were convinced that there had been no concerted plot. They then softened the rigors of Huger's imprisonment, gave him a cell with a window where a star could sometimes be seen, and lengthened his chains so that he could take as many as three whole steps. After a time he managed to get into communication with Bollman who was in the room above. With a knotted handkerchief Bollman lowered a little ink in a walnut shell from his window, together with a scrap of dingy paper. Huger then wrote a letter of a few lines only to General Thomas Pinckney, then American Minister at London. His entreaty was to let his mother know that he was still alive; also to let Lafayette's friends know that he would certainly have escaped but that he had been recognized as an OlmÜtz prisoner in a small town where he changed his horse; and that he had already mounted a fresh one when stopped. Huger's letter ended with the words, "Don't forget us. F.K.H. OlmÜtz, Jan. 5th, 1795." By bribery and cajolery they started this letter off.

Suffice it to say at present that, through the intervention of General Pinckney, the two young men were finally released and made their way swiftly out of the country. It was well that they hurried, for the emperor decided they had been released too soon and sent an edict for their rearrest. They had, however, by that time crossed the line and were out of his domain.

After a short stay in London, Huger started for America. The passengers on his ship discussed the story of Lafayette's attempted rescue through the entire six weeks of the voyage, and they never dreamed that their quiet young fellow-passenger was one of the rescuers until he received an ovation on landing. This is related by the only member of the Huger family living to-day (1916) who heard the story of the attempted rescue from the lips of "Colonel Frank" himself, as the family affectionately call him. She says that Colonel Frank was the most silent of men. He was the kind that do more than they talk.

When Huger reached Philadelphia, he called at once on President Washington and told him of the effort he had made. The President said that he had followed the whole course of events with the greatest solicitude and had wished that it might have met with the success it deserved.

In time Colonel Huger married the second daughter of General Thomas Pinckney who had effected his release from OlmÜtz and under whom he fought in the war of 1812; he had eleven children and made his home on a large estate in the highlands of South Carolina. When Congress presented Lafayette with an extensive section of land, he asked Huger to share it with him. Colonel Huger thanked him for the generous offer, but sturdily announced that he himself was able to provide for his daughters and that his sons should look out for themselves. His faith in his sons was justified, for they made good their father's opinion of their ability. Among his children and grandchildren were many who not only amassed goodly fortunes but held honored positions in public and military affairs.

When Lafayette made his memorable visit to America in 1824, he said that the one man in the country whom he most wished to see was the one who when a youth had attempted to rescue him from OlmÜtz. Colonel Huger had a corresponding desire to see Lafayette. On the General's arrival he started north at once, reached New York, and sought out the lodgings of Lafayette early in the morning, in order that their first meeting might be entirely without interruption. No account of that meeting has ever been made public, but the rescuer and his champion were together most of the time during that patriotic journey. Josiah Quincy once had the privilege of driving Colonel Huger in his coach through the suburbs of Boston and of calling with him upon many distinguished personages. Huger charmed and delighted every one. Josiah Quincy said that he had that "charm of a high-bred southerner which wrought with such peculiar fascination upon those inheriting Puritan blood." Besides his attractive personality, there was the romantic association with the attempted rescue. Scott's novels were then in the full blossom of popularity; but there was no hero in all those brave tales whose adventures appeared more chivalrous and thrilling.

To be sure, the effort at rescue had resulted in failure. Lafayette remained in prison. But it was known where he was, and, what was better, word had been conveyed to him that he was not forgotten. Yet the conditions of his imprisonment were now more severe than before, and his mind must have suffered intensely from being thrown back upon itself after that one hour's prospect of liberty.

On the way from Wesel to Magdeburg Lafayette had had a moment's conversation with a stranger who told him something of what was happening in Paris, and of the lawlessness and carnage of the Reign of Terror. Lafayette saw to what lengths an unregulated mob might go, even when originally inspired by a noble passion for liberty. He heard of the death of Louis XVI, and called it an assassination. He realized that these things were being done in France by the people in whom he had so blindly, so persistently, believed. He was deeply disappointed. Yet he did not quite lose faith. The cause of the people was still sacred to him; they might destroy for him whatever charm there had been in what he called the "delicious sensation of the smile of the multitude"; but his belief in the ultimate outcome for democratic government, as the best form of government for the whole world, remained unchanged.

And in the prison at OlmÜtz he celebrated our great holiday, the Fourth of July, as usual.