Lafayette (41 page)

From Hartford, Lafayette went to Boston, where his old comrade, General Henry Knox, the commander of the American artillery, waited at the edge of the city with a smartly uniformed military escort and fife and drum corps. America was celebrating the third anniversary of the victory at Yorktown, and a huge crowd formed behind the Conqueror of Cornwallis. Aware of the importance of symbolism, Lafayette left his carriage and mounted a tall white horse for the triumphant ride through the city where the Revolution began. Church bells rang and harbor cannons boomed the traditional thirteen salvos as he rode through the main streets of Boston before the cheering crowds.

The bells rang until dark and resumed their song at dawn the next day and the following one, as Lafayette rode and tramped good-naturedly in an endless succession of parades, presentations, and banquets. Boston’s newspapers carried poems eulogizing him; Governor John Hancock hosted a banquet in his honor, and city merchants sponsored an even bigger one—for five hundred guests, in Faneuil Hall. The state assembly made him a citizen of the state, and Harvard College awarded him a doctorate, which he accepted, appropriately, in Latin.

While in Boston, he was the target of requests for endless special favors. Independence had ended duty-free entry of American goods into England, which now taxed American products as foreign goods. Nantucket whalers asked Lafayette to help them gain duty-free entry for whale oil into France. Boston merchants asked for similar privileges for furs and lumber. He pledged to help them all.

After a week in Boston, Lafayette went to Providence for more parades, salutes, and receptions and a visit with Nathanael Greene. At a banquet with members of the General Assembly, he toasted unity among the states:
“May these rising states unite in every measure, as they have united in their struggles.”
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Fortunately, he gave his toast early; by the end of the evening, the sixty assemblymen and their guests had absorbed fifty-one bottles of Madeira, thirty-two bottles of claret, nine bottles of punch, and thirty-two bowls of rum punch—an average of a bottle and one-half (then five pints) of wine and a half-bottle of rum each.

Lafayette traveled two more weeks through New England. Then, with his faithful companion de Caraman and the bewildered twelve-year-old Indian boy, he boarded the French frigate
Nymphe
in Boston harbor and began a restful sail to Virginia and a belated reunion with Washington, who was to meet him in Richmond. After two weeks, the
Nymphe
put into Yorktown, where the twenty-seven-year-old Lafayette disembarked and took a nostalgic stroll along the little street he had traveled three years earlier—a lifetime earlier—as a victorious American major general.

After an hour of quiet contemplation, Lafayette resumed his frenetic pace, with a banquet at Williamsburg and a huge reception at Richmond, where he once again embraced his “dear general.” Arm in arm, they entered Trower’s Tavern to the cheers of the state’s leading citizens, including Governor-elect Patrick Henry, who announced he would name his next son Fayette. Virginians quipped that Henry’s seventeen children and sixty grandchildren made him, not Washington, the father of his country.

By unanimous vote, the Virginia House of Delegates declared Lafayette a citizen of Virginia and commissioned two busts each of Washington and Lafayette, one pair for the city of Richmond and the second pair for Paris. For three days, Richmond erupted with fireworks, cannon fire, illuminations, feasting, and balls to celebrate the nation’s two great heroes, together once again, as they had been at Yorktown. When Lafayette chanced upon a Richmond slave who had served him as a spy in the Virginia campaign, Lafayette gave him a letter attesting to his “essential service to me while I had the honour to command in this state. His intelligence from the ennemy’s [
sic]
camp were industriously collected and most faithfully delivered. He perfectly acquitted himself with some important commissions I gave him and appears to me entitled to every reward his situation can admit of.”
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Lafayette’s testimonial won the slave his freedom—and a pension. He adopted the name James Armistead Lafayette, his middle name being that of his former Virginia owner.

On November 22, Lafayette and Washington left Richmond for Mount Vernon, arriving there after two days of intimate camaraderie and conversation. They talked of their families, homes, and gardens, but touched on political and social issues—especially the need for a strong federal union under a constitution that promotes “a way of life that guarantees personal freedom, the enjoyment of private property, and equal justice for individuals.”
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Four days in the intimacy of Washington’s family ended in torrents of tearful farewells—to the endearing little Squire Tub and his sisters, their mother and stepfather; to George Augustine Washington, the general’s nephew; to the beloved Martha Washington—and to all the other relatives, friends, and neighbors who came to say good-bye. Washington could not bring himself to do the same and chose to accompany Lafayette, de Caraman, and Kayenlaha to New York, where they were to sail to France. They
arrived in Annapolis the next day to the usual clangs, booms, and clatter of church bells, cannons, and fireworks—the governor’s welcome, the General Assembly speeches, and the governor’s ball. By unanimous resolution, the Maryland General Assembly voted that Lafayette “and his heirs male for ever, shall be, and they and each of them are hereby deemed, adjudged, and taken to be, natural born citizens of this state, and shall henceforth be entitled to all the immunities, rights and privileges, of natural born citizens thereof.”
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Washington’s unexpected presence made the festivities more boisterous and so tired him that he decided to forego visiting Philadelphia and New York, where more exhausting celebrations awaited. And so, on December 1, 1784, Lafayette and Washington embraced each other and parted. Neither could speak; Washington pressed a letter into Lafayette’s hand. It was for Adrienne: “The pleasure I received in once more embracing my friend could only have been increased by your presence. . . . The Marquis returns to you with all the warmth and ardour of a newly inspired lover. We restore him to you in good health with wreaths of love and respect from every part of the Union.” He sent his thanks to Anastasie for her letter—and “a kiss.”
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The two soldiers mounted separate carriages that rumbled along together to the outskirts of Annapolis and a fork in the road, where, as each peered out to wave at the other, Washington’s carriage turned south and Lafayette’s rolled off in the opposite direction.

Two weeks later, Lafayette said farewell to Congress. Most members were old friends—President Richard Henry Lee, Virginia’s James Monroe, New York’s Alexander Hamilton, and others—who greeted him with unrestrained cheers and applause. His speech was short, reiterating his love for the United States and liberty and his hopes for a strong federal union. He had traveled nearly two thousand miles, visited ten states, and addressed the legislatures in six of them. “In unbounded wishes to America, Sir, I am happy to observe the prevailing disposition of the people to strengthen the confederation,” he told Congress. “May this immense temple of freedom ever stand a lesson to oppressors, an example to the oppressed, a sanctuary for the rights of mankind! and may these happy United States attain that complete splendor and prosperity that will illustrate the blessings of their government, and for ages to come rejoice the departed souls of its founders.”
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As a parting gift, Congress presented him one of the standards surrendered by Cornwallis at Yorktown.

When Lafayette reached New York, the
Nymphe
had run aground and repairs delayed his departure for a week. General Greene and Henry Knox had come to see him off, and the three spent long hours together reminiscing with Alexander Hamilton. Lafayette urged Greene, Hamilton, and Knox to send their boys to him in Paris for several years of European education.
He promised that he, in turn, would send his own boy, George-Washington, to them. All agreed, with Lafayette saying he wanted his son educated at Harvard. When other former officers learned of the plan, they asked Lafayette to take fourteen-year-old John Edwards Caldwell, the orphan of a Continental Army chaplain, to France to complete his education, and he agreed.

On December 21, 1784, New York governor George Clinton, French consul Jean de Crèvecoeur,
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and a large crowd of dignitaries escorted Lafayette on a lavishly decorated barge to the frigate
Nymphe
. Greene, Hamilton, and Knox took turns embracing him, and, with Clinton, the American, on one side, and the Frenchman Crèvecoeur on the other, Lafayette boarded. The French ship saluted the American flag with thirteen cannon blasts, and the battery responded in kind. The bewildered Indian boy, already unnerved by the stares he provoked, shuddered at the cannon roars; his newfound companion, the orphaned chaplain’s son, comforted him.

Before parting, Governor Clinton slipped a letter into Lafayette’s hand. It was from Washington, who had written it on his return to Mount Vernon:

In the moment of our separation upon the road as I travelled, & every hour since—I felt all that love, respect & attachment for you, with which length of years, close connexion and your merits, have inspired me. I often asked myself as our carriages distended, whether that was the last sight I ever should have of you? And tho’ I wished to say no—my fears answered yes. I called to mind the days of my youth, & found they had long since fled to return no more; that I was now descending the hill, I had been fifty-two years climbing—& that tho’ I was blessed with a good constitution, I was of a short-lived family—and might soon expect to be entombed in the dreary mansions of my father’s. These things darkened the shades & gave gloom to the picture, consequently to my prospects of seeing you again: but I will not repine. I have had my day. . . .

It is unnecessary, I persuade myself to repeat to you my D[ea]r. Marqs. the sincerity of my regards and friendship—nor have I the words which could express my affection for you, were I to attempt it. My fervent prayers are offered for your safe & pleasant passage—happy meeting with Madame la Fayette & family, & the completion of every wish of your heart—in all of which Mrs. Washington joins me. . . .

With every sentimt. wch. is propitious & endearing—I am &c. &c. &c.

G. Washington
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The
Nymphe
did not leave its mooring until the following day, and Lafayette had time to send Washington a hurried note of protest:

No, my dear General, our recent separation will not be a last adieu. My soul revolts at this idea, and, if for an instant, I could entertain such an idea, in truth it would make me miserable. I realize that you will never come to France. I cannot hope to have the inexpressible pleasure to embrace you in my house, to receive you in a family where your name is adored; but I will return, again and often, under the roof of Mt. Vernon; we will talk of old times. It is my firm intention to visit from time to time my friends on this side of the Atlantic, and the best loved of all friends I have ever had, or ever shall have anywhere. . . . Adieu, Adieu, my dear General, it is with inexpressible pain that I feel I am going to be separated from you by the Atlantic. Everything that admiration, respect, gratitude, friendship, and filial love can inspire, is combined in my affectionate heart to devote me most tenderly to you. In your friendship I find a delight which words cannot express. Adieu, my dear General; it is not without emotion that I write this word, altho’ I know I shall visit you again. Be attentive to your health. Let me hear from you every month. Adieu, Adieu.
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But Lafayette was wrong, and Washington was right. They had said their last adieux. Lafayette would never see his beloved general again.