LAFAYETTE SAID WHEN OFFERING HIS SERVICES TO CONGRESS

JOHN QUINCY ADAMS, TO LAFAYETTE
On Bidding Him Farewell, in 1825

I WILL JOIN THE AMERICANS!

One night, in 1776, the old Marshal, Commander of the French forces at Strasburg, was giving a dinner party in honour of the Duke of Gloucester.

This light-hearted English Duke was in disgrace with his royal brother King George the Third of England; so he was taking a little trip abroad. At the Marshal’s dinner he was maliciously regaling the guests with a humorous account of how the Americans had flouted King George and had flung his chests of tea into Boston Harbour, and had declared their Independence.

The Duke’s sympathies were all with the Americans, and he dwelt on their need of volunteers. Amongst the guests—officers in blue and silver, Strasburg grandees in gold-lace and velvet, all exclaiming, laughing, and gesticulating—was one silent, solemn-faced young officer.

He was lean, red-haired, and hook-nosed, and very awkward. He kept his eager eyes fixed on the Duke’s face. Nobody noticed him.

After dinner, he strode across the room to the Duke, and opened his lips for the first time.

“I will join the Americans—I will help them fight for Freedom!” he cried; and as he spoke his face was illuminated. “Tell me how to set about it!”

The young man was the Marquis de Lafayette, nineteen years old, a rich French noble, the adoring husband of a sweet young wife, and the father of one little child.

Edith Sichel (Retold)

IN AMERICA

Accompanied by Baron de Kalb, Lafayette safely reached America, and presented his credentials to Congress.

Washington met him first at a dinner in Philadelphia. He was so pleased with Lafayette’s eager, brave spirit, and with his unselfish offer of sword and fortune for the American cause, that he invited him to become a member of his family, and to make Headquarters his home.

Lafayette was delighted, and immediately had his luggage taken to the camp. And from that time on, he was always a welcome guest both at camp and at Mount Vernon.

ON THE FIELD NEAR CAMDEN

What became of Lafayette’s companion, the Baron de Kalb?

He served his adopted country, the United States, until at the battle near Camden, he fell, still fighting though pierced by eleven wounds.

“The rebel General! the rebel General!” shouted the British soldiers who saw him fall. And they rushed forward to transfix him with their bayonets.

But his faithful adjutant tried to throw himself on the Baron’s body to shield it, crying out at the same time, “Spare the Baron de Kalb!”

The rough soldiers raised the wounded Baron to his feet, and, leaning him against a wagon, began to strip him.

Just then the British General, Lord Cornwallis, rode up. He saw his valiant enemy stripped to his shirt, the blood pouring from his eleven wounds. Immediately, he gave orders that the Baron should be treated with respect and care.

“I regret to see you so badly wounded,” he said, “but am glad to have defeated you.”

The Baron was carried to a bed. He was given every care. His devoted adjutant watched by his bedside, and the British officers came to express their sympathy and regret. But the brave Baron lingered three days only, then he died. Almost his last thoughts were with the men of his command. He charged his adjutant to thank them for their valour, and to bid them an affectionate farewell from him.

The people of Camden erected a monument in memory of the Baron de Kalb.

THE BANNER OF THE MORAVIAN NUNS

It was the young and gallant Marquis de Lafayette, who during the terrible rout on the field of Brandywine, leaped from his horse, and sword in hand tried to rally the fleeing American soldiers. But a musket ball passing through his leg, he fell wounded to the ground.

His brave aide-de-camp placed Lafayette on his own horse, thus saving his life. Lafayette then tried to rejoin Washington, but his wound bled so badly that he had to stop and have his leg bandaged.

Meanwhile, it was growing dark. All was fear and confusion around him. The American soldiers were fleeing from every direction toward the village of Chester. They were rushing on in headlong flight, with cannon and baggage-wagons. The thunder of the enemy’s guns, the clouds of dust, the shouts and cries, the general panic, were terrific.

Lafayette was forced to retreat with the Army, but in spite of his wound, he retained presence of mind enough to station a guard at the bridge before Chester, with commands to keep all retreating soldiers from crossing it. So, when Washington and General Greene rode up, they were able to rally the soldiers and restore something like order.

As for Lafayette, he was soon after carried to the town of Bethlehem in Pennsylvania, and left with the Moravian Nuns.

These good women nursed him, and bestowed every kindly care upon him, until his wound was healed and he was able to rejoin the Army. He had been serving without a command, but after his gallant action at Brandywine, he was made head of a division.

It was while Lafayette was still at Bethlehem, that a brilliant officer from the American Army came to see him. He was the Lithuanian-Polish Patriot, Count Casimir Pulaski.

All the Nuns, and in fact every one in Bethlehem, knew Count Pulaski’s romantic history, how while in Poland he had fought for the Independence of his Country, and had been sent into exile. He was now fighting for America’s Liberty.

And when the Nuns learned that Count Pulaski was raising a corps in Baltimore, they were eager to honour him. With their own hands they made a banner of crimson silk, embroidering it beautifully. This they sent to him with their blessing.

He carried the crimson banner through battle and danger, until at last he fell so badly wounded that he died.

The crimson banner was rescued, and carried back to Baltimore.

LOYAL TO THE CHIEF

It was during that terrible Winter at Valley Forge, that Generals Gates and Conway “with malice and duplicity,” were plotting against Washington.

They wanted to win the young and influential Marquis de Lafayette to their conspiracy. They planned to do so by separating him from Washington. So they used their influence to have him appointed to an independent command, with Conway as his chief lieutenant. And this they did without consulting Washington.

But they reckoned without their host. The gallant young Frenchman was loyal. He was incapable of a dastardly act. Though scarcely twenty years old, he had a mind of his own. He refused to take command without Washington’s consent; and insisted on having Baron de Kalb, not Conway, for his lieutenant.

Then he set out for York, to get his papers.

He had left Washington with the soldiers, starving and shivering at Valley Forge; he found General Gates and his officers in York, comfortably seated at dinner, the table laden with food and drink. They were flushed and noisy with wine, and greeted Lafayette with shouts of welcome.

They fawned upon him; they complimented and toasted him. He listened to them quietly; and, as soon as he received his papers, rose as if to make a speech.

There was a breathless silence. All eyes were fixed upon him.

In politest tones, he reminded them there was one toast that they had forgotten, and which he now proposed:—

There was silence. There was consternation and embarrassment. No one dared refuse to drink. Some merely touched the glasses to their lips, others set them down scarcely tasted.

Then, bowing with mock politeness and shrugging his shoulders, Lafayette left the dining-hall, and mounting his horse rode away.

John Fiske and Other Sources (Retold)

WE ARE GRATEFUL, LAFAYETTE!

During the War for Independence, Lafayette served without pay. He also cheerfully expended one hundred and forty thousand dollars out of his own fortune, purchasing a ship to bring him to America, and raising, equipping, arming, and clothing a regiment. And when he landed in America, he brought with him munitions of war, which he presented to our Army. He gave shoes, clothes, and food to our naked suffering American soldiers.

After the War was over, some small recognition was offered him by our Government. But while on his visit here in 1825, to show appreciation of his unselfish aid to us in time of need, and in compensation for his expenditures, Congress passed a bill presenting him with two hundred thousand dollars and a grant of land.

There were, however, a few members of Congress who violently opposed the bill, much to the shame of all grateful citizens. And one member of Congress, humiliated at this opposition, tried to apologize delicately to Lafayette.

“I, Sir, am one of the opposition!” exclaimed Lafayette. “The gift is so munificent, so far exceeding the services of the individual, that, had I been a member of Congress, I must have voted against it!”

And to Congress itself, Lafayette, deeply touched said:—

“The immense and unexpected gift which in addition to former and considerable bounties, it has pleased Congress to confer upon me, calls for the warmest acknowledgments of an old American soldier, an adopted son of the United States—two titles dearer to my heart than all the treasures in the world.”

SOME OF WASHINGTON’S HAIR

Cordial ties bound the land of Washington to the land of Bolivar one hundred years ago.

Then the South American Liberator was held in such high esteem here, that after the death of Washington his family sent Bolivar several relics of the national hero of the United States, including locks of Washington’s hair.

The gift was transmitted through Lafayette, who had it presented to Bolivar by a French officer. And the latter bore back to the noble French comrade of Washington, an eloquent letter of thanks from Bolivar.

The South American Liberator professed throughout his life ardent admiration for the United States, and once in conversation with an American officer in Peru, prophesied that within one hundred years, the land of Washington would stand first in the world.

T. R. Ybarra

WELCOME! FRIEND OF AMERICA!
1824-25

It was twenty-five years after the death of Washington. It was 1824. In New York City, joy bells were ringing, bands playing, cannon saluting, flags waving, and two hundred thousand people wildly cheering.

The Marquis de Lafayette was visiting America. He was landing at the Battery. He was no longer the slender, debonair, young French officer who, afire with ardent courage, had served under Washington, but a man of sixty-seven, large, massive, almost six feet tall, his rugged face expressing a strong noble character, his fine hazel eyes beaming with pleasure and affection. But his manner was the same courtly, gracious one of the young man of nineteen who so long ago had exclaimed, “I will join the Americans—I will help them fight for Freedom!”

Since the American War for Independence, Lafayette had been through the terrible French Revolution, and had spent five years in an Austrian prison. Now, as he landed once more on American soil, he was the honoured and idolized guest of millions of grateful citizens of the United States.

As he stepped from a gayly decorated boat, and stood among the throngs of cheering New York folk, his eyes filled with tears. He had expected only a little welcome; instead he found the whole Nation waiting expectant and eager to do him honour.

His tour of the country in a barouche drawn by four white horses, was one continuous procession. Enormous crowds gathered everywhere to greet him as he went from city to city, town to town, and village to village. He passed beneath arches of flowers and arbours of evergreens. Children and young girls welcomed him with songs, and officials with addresses. He was banqueted and fÊted. “Lafayette! Lafayette!” was the roar that went up from millions of throats.

At Fort McHenry, he was conducted into the tent that had been Washington’s during the War for Independence. There, some of Lafayette’s old comrades-in-arms, veteran members of the Society of the Cincinnati, were awaiting him.

Lafayette embraced them with tears of joy. Then looking around the tent, and seeing some of Washington’s equipment, he exclaimed in a subdued voice:—

“I remember! I remember!”

Later in the day, a procession was formed, which as it passed through the streets of Baltimore, displayed in a place of honour the crimson silk banner of Count Pulaski, embroidered for him by the Moravian Nuns of Bethlehem, Pennsylvania.

In Boston, Lafayette in a barouche drawn by four beautiful white horses, was escorted by a brilliant procession through the streets. At the Common, he passed between two lines of school-children, girls in white, and boys in blue and white; and a lovely little girl crowned him with a wreath of blossoms.

Across Washington Street, were thrown two arches decorated with flags, and inscribed with the words:—

WELCOME, LAFAYETTE!

And when he entered Lexington, he passed beneath an arch on which was written in flowers: