He chose one made up entirely of Virginians, though it was weak "even in proportion to the weakness of the entire army," and very sadly in need of clothing. "I am given hope of cloth out of which I must make coats and recruits out of which I must make soldiers in almost the same space of time. Alas! the one is harder than the other, even for men more skilled than I," he wrote, just before the army went into its melancholy winter quarters at Valley Forge. "We shall be in huts there all winter," Lafayette explained. "It is there that the American army will try to clothe itself, because it is naked with an entire nakedness; to form itself, because it is in need of instruction; and to recruit its numbers, because it is very weak. But the thirteen states are going to exert themselves and send us men," he added, cheerfully. "I hope my division will be one of the strongest, and I shall do all in my power to make it one of the best."

He was striving to make the most of his opportunity. "I read, I study, I examine, I listen, I reflect, and upon the result of all this I endeavor to form my opinion and to put into it as much common sense as I can. I am cautious about talking too much, lest I should say some foolish thing; and still more cautious in my actions lest I should do some foolish thing; for I do not want to disappoint the confidence the Americans have so kindly placed in me."

There was not much to do after the army went into winter quarters; and France seemed very far away. "What is the use of writing news in a letter destined to travel for years and to reach you finally in tatters?" he wrote Adrienne on November 6th. "You may receive this letter, dear heart, in the course of five or six years, for I write by a crooked chance, of which I have no great opinion. See the route it will take. An officer of the army carries it to Fort Pitt, three hundred miles toward the back of the continent. There it will embark on the Ohio and float through a region inhabited by savages. When it reaches New Orleans a little boat will transport it to the Spanish Isles, from which a vessel of that nation will take it (Lord knows when!) when it returns to Europe. But it will still be far from you, and only after having passed through all the grimy hands of Spanish postal officials will it be allowed to cross the Pyrenees. It may be unsealed and resealed five or six times before reaching you. So it will be proof that I neglect not a single chance, even the remotest, to send you news of me and to repeat how much I love you.... It is cruel to think ... that my true happiness is two hundred leagues distant, across an immense ocean infested by scoundrelly English vessels. They make me very unhappy, those villainous ships. Only one letter from you, one single letter, dear heart, has reached me as yet. The others are lost, captured, lying at the bottom of the sea, to all appearances. I can only blame our enemies for this horrible privation; for you surely would not neglect to write me from every port and by every packet sent out by Doctor Franklin and Mr. Deane."

On his part, he neglected not a single opportunity. On one occasion he even sent her a letter by the hand of an English officer, a Mr. Fitzpatrick, with whom he had begun a friendship during his visit to London. This gentleman had come to Philadelphia with General Howe, and Lafayette learned in some way that he was about to return to England. "I could not resist the desire to embrace him before his departure. We arranged a rendezvous in this town (Germantown). It is the first time that we have met without arms in our hands, and it pleases us both much better than the enemy airs we have heretofore given ourselves ... there is no news of interest. Besides, it would not do for Mr. Fitzpatrick to transport political news written by a hand at present engaged against his army."

It was this friendly enemy, Mr. Fitzpatrick, who lifted his voice in the British House of Commons in Lafayette's behalf, when the latter was a prisoner in Germany.

XI
A FOOL'S ERRAND

Such admiration seemed unlikely ground upon which to work for Washington's undoing, but this was what his enemies attempted. Part of their plan was to win away Washington's trusted friends, and Lafayette's good will would be particularly valuable, because he was looked upon in a way as representing France. The winter proved unusually severe, and when the sufferings of the soldiers at Valley Forge began to be noised abroad criticism of Washington increased. It was pointed out that Burgoyne's captured army was being fed at American expense, that General Clinton's forces were comfortably housed in New York, while General Howe and his officers were enjoying a brilliant social season at Philadelphia; but at Valley Forge there was only misery. General Conway was there himself, working up his plot.

Lafayette was so kindly disposed that it was hard for him to believe others evil-minded. Also he was frankly ambitious. Thomas Jefferson once said of him that he had "a canine appetite" for fame. Conway played skilfully on both these traits, professing great friendship for Lafayette and throwing out hints of glory to be gained in service under General Gates, to whom he knew Lafayette had written a polite note of congratulation after Saratoga. Lafayette appears to have taken it all at its face value until an incriminating letter from Conway to Gates fell into hands for which it was never intended. Then Lafayette went directly to Washington, meaning to unburden his heart, but the general was engaged and could not see him. He returned to his quarters and wrote him a long letter, breathing solicitude in every line. Washington answered with his usual calm dignity, but in a way to show that the young man's devotion was balm to his spirit.

Conway had played upon Lafayette's homesickness also. Family news came to him very slowly. It was not until Christmas was being celebrated at Valley Forge with such sorry festivities as the camp could afford that he learned of the birth of his little daughter, Anastasie, which had occurred in the previous July. All the camp rejoiced with him, but the news increased his desire to be with his wife and children, if only for a short time. If he had really contemplated a journey across the sea, however, he gave up the idea at once, believing that loyalty to his friend now made it his duty to "stand by."

"The bearer of this letter will describe to you the attractive surroundings of the place I have chosen to stay in rather than to enjoy the happiness of being with you," he wrote Adrienne. "After you know in detail all the circumstances of my present position ... you will approve of my course. I almost dare to say you will applaud me.... Besides the reason that I have given you, I have still another which I should not mention to everybody, because it might appear that I was assuming an air of ridiculous importance. My presence is more necessary to the American cause at this moment than you may imagine. Many foreigners who have failed to obtain commissions, or whose ambitious schemes after having obtained them could not be countenanced, have entered into powerful conspiracies; they have used every artifice to turn me against this Revolution and against him who is its leader; and they have taken every opportunity to spread the report that I am about to leave the continent. The British have openly declared this to be so. I cannot with good conscience play into the hands of these people. If I were to go, many Frenchmen who are useful here would follow my example."

So he stayed at Valley Forge, which was indeed a place of icy torment. The men suffered horribly for lack of coats and caps and shoes. Their feet froze until they were black. Sometimes they had to be amputated. There was not enough food. Even colonels rarely had more than two meals a day, often only one, while the rank and file frequently went for several days without a distribution of rations. Enlistments ceased, and desertion was very easy with a wide-open country back of the camp and Howe's sleek, well-fed army only two marches away down the Lancaster Pike. It was small wonder that Washington's numbers dwindled until he could count only five or six thousand. Lafayette called the endurance of the wretched little army that held on "a miracle which every day served to renew." It was a miracle explained by the character of the Commander-in-chief, and of the remarkable group of officers he had gathered around him. As for Lafayette, he strove to live as frugally and be as self-denying as any of them. More than forty years later some of his American friends had proof of how well he succeeded; for an old soldier came up and reminded him how one snowy night at Valley Forge he had taken a gun from a shivering sentry and stood guard himself while he sent the man to his own quarters for a pair of stockings and his only blanket; and when these things were brought how he had cut the blanket in two and given him half. Though there was cruel suffering in that winter camp, there was much of such high-spirited gallantry to meet it; and there were also pleasant hours, for several of the officers had been joined by their wives, who did everything in their power to make the dull days brighter.

Washington's enemies, not yet having exhausted their wiles, hit upon a clever plan to remove Lafayette from his side. They succeeded in getting Congress to appoint a new War Board with General Gates at its head. This body exercised authority, though Washington remained Commander-in-chief. Without consulting him, the board decided, or pretended to decide, to send a winter expedition into Canada, with Lafayette at its head and Conway second in command. Conway had offered his resignation at the time his letter was discovered, but it had not been accepted. To emphasize the slight put upon Washington, Lafayette's new commission was inclosed in a letter to the Commander-in-chief, with the request that he hand it to the younger man. This Washington did with admirable self-control, saying, as he gave Lafayette the paper, "I would rather they had selected you for this than any other man."

It is not often that such important duty falls to a soldier of twenty-one. Naturally enough, he was elated, and this duty was particularly tempting because it offered him, a Frenchman, the chance to go into a French province to reconquer a region which had been taken from his own people by Britain in the Seven Years' War. But he also was capable of exercising self-control, and he answered that he could accept it only on the understanding that he remained subordinate to Washington, as an officer of his army detailed for special duty, with the privilege of making reports directly to him and of sending duplicates to Congress. A committee of Congress happened to be visiting Valley Forge that day, and he went impetuously before them and declared that he would rather serve as a mere aide under Washington than accept any separate command the War Board could give him. His conditions being agreed to, he departed happily enough for York, Pennsylvania, where Congress was still holding its sittings, in order to receive his instructions.

There, in General Gates's own house, at another dinner memorable in his personal history, he got his first intimation of the kind of campaign the War Board wished him to carry on. Toast after toast was drunk—to the success of the northern expedition—to Lafayette and his brilliant prospects—and on through a long list, to which he listened in growing amazement, for he missed the most important of them all. "Gentlemen!" he cried, finally, springing to his feet, "I propose the health of General Washington!" and the others drank it in silence.

He refused to have Conway for his second in command, and asked that De Kalb be detailed to accompany him instead. He proved so intractable, in short, that even before he set out for Albany, where he was to assume command, the conspirators saw it was useless to continue the farce; but they allowed him to depart on his cold journey as the easiest way of letting the matter end. The four hundred miles occupied two weeks by sleigh and horseback, a most discouraging sample of what he must expect farther north. "Lake Champlain is too cold for producing the least bit of laurel," he wrote Washington. "I go very slowly, sometimes drenched by rain, sometimes covered by snow, and not entertaining many handsome thoughts about the projected incursion into Canada."

At Albany he found creature comforts, a bed, for one thing, with a supply of quilts and blankets that made it entirely possible to sleep without lying down in his clothes, which was a luxury he had scarcely enjoyed since leaving Bethlehem; but of preparations for invading Canada he found not one. The plans and orders that looked so well on paper, and which he had been assured were well under way, had not been heard of in Albany, or else had not been executed, for the best of reasons; because they could not be. General Conway was there ahead of him to represent the War Board, and told him curtly that the expedition was not to be thought of. Astounded, the young general refused to believe him until interviews with General Schuyler and others experienced in northern campaigning convinced him that this at least was not treachery, but cold, hard fact.

The discovery was a great blow to Lafayette's pride. Members of Congress had urged him to write about the expedition to his friends in France. He was frankly afraid that he would be laughed at "unless Congress offers the means of mending this ugly business by some glorious operation." But he was in no mood to ask favors of Congress. "For you, dear General," he wrote Washington, "I know very well that you will do everything to procure me the one thing I am ambitious of—glory. I think your Excellency will approve of my staying on here until further orders."

March found him still at Albany, awaiting the orders which the War Board was in no haste to send, having already accomplished its purpose. He tried to retrieve something out of the hopeless situation, but with fewer men than he had been promised, and these clamoring for pay long overdue, he had little success. "Everybody is after me for monney," he wrote General Gates, "and monney will be spoken of by me till I will be enabled to pay our poor soldiers. Not only justice and humanity, but even prudence obliges us to satisfy them soon." As he had already done, and would do again, he drew upon his private credit to meet the most pressing public needs; but he could work against the enemy only in an indirect way by sending supplies to Fort Schuyler, where they were sorely needed.

One interesting experience, unusual for a French nobleman, came to him during this tedious waiting. The Indians on the frontier became restless, and General Schuyler called a council of many tribes to meet "at Johnson Town" in the Mohawk Valley. He invited Lafayette to attend, hoping by his presence to reawaken the Indians' old partiality for the French. Five hundred men, women, and children attended this council, and very picturesque they must have looked with their tents and their trappings against the snowy winter landscape. The warriors were as gorgeous as macaws in their feathered war-bonnets, nose-jewels, and brilliant paint, but Lafayette noted that they talked politics with the skill of veterans, as the pipe passed from hand to hand.

He appears to have exercised his usual personal charm for Americans upon these original children of the soil as he had already exercised it upon the whites who came to supplant them. But he says of it only that they "showed an equal regard for his words and his necklaces." Before the council was over he was adopted into one of the tribes, and returned to Albany the richer by another name to add to his long collection—"Kayewla," which had belonged to a respected chief of a bygone day. The new Kayewla was so well liked that a band of Iroquois followed him south and became part of his military division.

On his return to Albany an unexpected duty awaited him. A new form of oath of office, forever forswearing allegiance to George III and acknowledging the sovereignty and independence of the United States, had come, with the order that all must subscribe to it. So, to use the picturesque phrase of the Middle Ages, it was "between" his French hands that the officers of the northern military department swore fealty to the new United States of America.

As spring advanced the influence of Gates and Conway waned and Washington regained his old place in public esteem. Conway himself left the country. Lafayette and De Kalb were ordered back to the main army; and in doing this Congress took pains to express by resolution its belief that the young general was in no way to blame for the failure of the winter expedition to Canada. When he reached Washington's headquarters in April he found Valley Forge much less melancholy than when he left it; a change due not only to the more cheerful season of the year, but to wonders in the way of improved discipline that General von Steuben had brought about in a few short weeks. This officer of much experience had been trained under Frederick the Great, and, having served as his aide, was equipped in fullest measure with the knowledge and skill in military routine that Washington's volunteers so lacked. When he took up his duties he found a confusion almost unbelievable to one of his orderly military mind. Military terms meant nothing. A regiment might contain only thirty men, or it might be larger than another officer's brigade. It might be formed of three platoons or of twenty-one. There was one company that consisted of only a single corporal. Each colonel drilled his men after a system of his own; and the arms in the hands of these go-as-you-please soldiers "were in a horrible condition—covered with rust, half of them without bayonets," while there were many from which not a single shot could be fired. Yet this was the main army of the revolutionists who had set out to oppose England! Fortunately Baron von Steuben was no mere drillmaster. He had the invaluable gift of inspiring confidence and imparting knowledge. Between March, when he began his "intensive" training, and the opening of the summer campaign, he made of that band of lean and tattered patriots a real army, though it still lacked much of having a holiday appearance. The men's coats gave no indication of their rank, or indeed that they were in the army at all. They were of many colors, including red, and it was not impossible to see an officer mounting guard at grand parade clad "in a sort of dressing-gown made of an old blanket or woolen bedcover." But the man inside the coat was competent for his job.

It was a compatriot of Lafayette's, the French Minister of War, St.-Germain, who had persuaded General Steuben to go to America; so to France is due part of our gratitude for the services of this efficient German. Perhaps, going back farther, the real person we should thank is General Burgoyne, since it was his surrender which undoubtedly quickened the interest of the French in the efficiency of our ragamuffin army. French official machinery, which had been strangely clogged before, began to revolve when news of Burgoyne's surrender reached Paris early in December, 1777. The king, who had not found it convenient to receive the American commissioners up to that time, sent them word that he had been friendly all along; and as soon as diplomatic formality permitted, a treaty of amity and commerce was signed between France and America. That meant that France was now formally an ally, and that the United States might count upon her influence and even upon her military help. It was a great point gained, but Franklin refused to allow his old eyes to be dazzled by mere glitter when he "and all the Americans in Paris" were received by the king and queen at Versailles in honor of the event. He was less impressed by the splendor of the palace than by the fact that it would be the better for a thorough cleaning. After the royal audience was over he and the other commissioners hastened to pay a visit of ceremony to young Madame Lafayette in order to testify to the part her husband had played in bringing about this happy occurrence.

When news of the signing of this treaty reached America about the 1st of May, 1778, Lafayette embraced his grave general in the exuberance of his joy, and even kissed him in French fashion. There was an official celebration in camp on the 7th of May, with much burning of gunpowder, reviewing of troops, "suitable" discoursing by chaplains, and many hearty cheers. Washington's orders prescribed in great detail just when and how each part of the celebration was to be carried out, and this is probably the only time in history that an American army en masse was ordered to cry, "Long live the king of France!"

Lafayette, with a white sash across his breast, commanded the left; but it was a heavy heart that he carried under his badge that gala-day. Letters which came to him immediately after news of the treaty had brought sad tidings. He learned of the death of a favorite nephew, loved by him like a son, and also that his oldest child, the little Henriette, to whom he had been sending messages in every letter, had died in the previous October. "My heart is full of my own grief, and of yours which I was not with you to share," he wrote Adrienne. "The distance from Europe to America never seemed so immense to me as it does now.... The news came to me immediately after that of the treaty, and while bowed down with grief I had to receive congratulations and take part in the public rejoicing." Had the letters come through without delay they would have arrived at the beginning of winter, at the moment when General Conway was fanning the flame of his homesickness. The desire to comfort his wife might have turned the scale and sent Lafayette across the sea instead of to Albany. Now, though he longed to go to her, he felt bound to remain for the campaign which was about to open.

XII
FARCE AND TREACHERY

He left camp on the 18th of May with about twenty-two hundred men, among them six hundred Pennsylvania militia and half a hundred Iroquois Indians. Crossing the Schuylkill, he established himself on high ground between that river and the Delaware, twelve miles from the city, at a hamlet called Barren Hill, whose chief ornament was a church with a graveyard. It was an excellent spot for purposes of observation; for roads ran in various directions, while the abrupt fall of the land toward the Schuylkill protected his right, and there were substantial stone buildings in a wood in front which could be used as forts in case of need. He guarded against surprise on his left, the direction from which any considerable body of British was likely to approach, by placing there his large detachment of Pennsylvania militia. He planted his five cannon in good positions, sent out his Indian scouts, who wormed themselves several miles nearer the city, had interviews with promising individuals who were to act as spies, and was well pleased with himself.

The British were also exceedingly well pleased when their spies brought in full information of Lafayette's position and numbers. They saw that he had separated himself from the American army and virtually placed himself in their hands; and short of Washington himself there was no officer they would so enjoy capturing. His prominence at home and his popularity in America made him a shining mark; moreover, he had fooled them in London before coming to America. It would be a great satisfaction to take him prisoner gently, without hurting him, treat him with mock courtesy, and send him back to England, a laughing-stock.

They had force enough to make his capture practically certain, and set out in great glee, so sure of the result that before leaving town Generals Howe and Clinton, both of whom were in Philadelphia, sent out invitations to a reception for the following day "to meet the Marquis de Lafayette." Although it was looked upon as something of a lark, the expedition was deemed sufficiently important for General Clinton to lead it in person, while General Howe accompanied him, and the admiral, General Howe's sailor brother, went along as a volunteer. Taking four men to Lafayette's one, and marching by night, they approached Barren Hill in a way to cut off the fords across the Schuylkill and also to intercept any assistance which might be sent from Valley Forge.

Unconscious that he was in danger, Lafayette was talking, early on the morning of May 20th, with a young woman who was going into the city as a spy, when word was brought him that dragoons in red coats had been seen on the Whitemarsh road. This did not disturb him, for he knew that among the coats of many colors worn by his Pennsylvania militia some were red; but he sent out to verify the information, merely as a matter of routine. Soon the truth was learned—and exaggerated—and his men set up a cry that they were surrounded by the British.

Fortunately Lafayette had a head which grew steadier in a crisis. Sending his aides flying in all directions, he found that while the way to Valley Forge was indeed cut off, one ford still remained open, though the British were rapidly advancing upon it. He quickly placed a small number of his men near the church, where the stone wall of the graveyard would serve as breastworks, stationed a few more near the woods as if they were heads of columns just appearing, and ordered all the rest to drop quietly down the steep side of the hill until they were out of sight, and then hurry to the ford. The attention of the enemy was held long enough by the decoy troops to enable the others to reach the ford or swim across, their heads dotting the water "like the corks of a floating seine," and Lafayette, who had stayed behind, brought the last of his men to safety just as two columns of the British, marching up two sides of Barren Hill, met each other, face to face, at the top. Lafayette, on the opposite bank of the river, prepared for defense, but the British were too disgusted to follow.

The real encounter of the serio-comic affair took place between the most gaudily dressed bands of fighters in the whole Revolution, Lafayette's Iroquois in their war regalia and Clinton's advance-guard of Hessian cavalry. As the latter advanced, the Indians rose from their hiding-places uttering their piercing war-whoops. The horses of the troopers were terrified by the brilliant, shrieking creatures, and bolted. But terror was not all upon one side. The Indians had never seen men like these Hessians, with their huge bearskin shakos and fierce dyed mustaches. They in their turn were seized with panic and rushed away, fleeing incontinently from "bad medicine."

Absurd as the affair proved, with little harm done to anything except the feelings of the British, its consequences might easily have been serious, both to the Revolution and to Lafayette. The loss of two thousand of his best men would have dangerously crippled Washington's little army; while the capture of Lafayette, on the very first occasion he was intrusted with a command of any size, must almost of necessity have ended his military usefulness forever. As it was, Barren Hill demonstrated that he was quick and resourceful in time of danger; and these were very valuable qualities in a war like the American Revolution, which was won largely through the skill of its generals in losing battles. To realize the truth of this and how well it was carried out, we have only to recall Washington's masterly work in the winter campaign in New Jersey, when he maneuvered and marched and gave way until the right moment came to stand; how General Schuyler lured Burgoyne to disaster; and how, in a later campaign in the South, General Greene was said to have "reduced the art of losing battles to a science." Years afterward, in talking with Napoleon, Lafayette called our Revolution "the grandest of contests, won by the skirmishes of sentinels and outposts." About a month after this affair at Barren Hill the English evacuated Philadelphia and moved slowly northward with a force of seventeen thousand men and a baggage-train nearly twelve miles long. The length of this train indicated that it was moving-day for the British army, which wanted to be nearer the Hudson, but certain other indications pointed to the opening of an active campaign in New Jersey. A majority of the American officers, including Gen. Charles Lee, who was second in command, argued against an attack because both in numbers and organization the British force was superior to their own. General Lee went so far as to say that, instead of trying to interfere with General Clinton's retreat, it ought to be aided in every possible way, "even with a bridge of gold." Subsequent developments proved that it was not fear of a British victory, but sympathy with British plans, which prompted this view. Several other officers, however, Washington himself, Gen. Anthony Wayne, who was always ready to fight, General Greene, General Cadwallader, and Lafayette, were in favor of following and attacking at the earliest opportunity. It was this course that Washington chose, in spite of the majority of votes against it. It seemed to him that the difficulty Clinton must experience in maneuvering his army over the roads of that region, and the fact that almost half of his force would need to be employed in guarding the unwieldy baggage-train, justified the expectation of success. His plan was to throw out a strong detachment ahead of the main army to harass the British flanks and rear and to follow this up so closely that the main army would be ready to go to its support in case Clinton turned to fight.

The command of the advanced detachment was the post of honor, and to this Lee was entitled because of his rank. He refused it and Washington offered it to Lafayette, who accepted joyously. He had already begun his march when Lee reconsidered and sent Washington word that he desired the command, after all, appealing at the same time to Lafayette with the words, "I place my fortune and my honor in your hands; you are too generous to destroy both the one and the other." Lee was one of the few men Lafayette did not like, though he had no suspicion of his loyalty. He thought him ugly in face and in spirit, full of avarice and ambition. But Lee was his superior officer, and Lafayette was a soldier as well as a gentleman. He relinquished the command at once and offered to serve under Lee as a volunteer.

It would have been better had he found it in his heart and in the military regulations to refuse, for on that sultry unhappy 28th of June when the two armies met and the battle of Monmouth Court House was fought, General Lee's indecision and confusion of orders, to give his conduct no harsher name, turned the advance of the Americans, who were in the best of spirits and eager to fight, into what their generals admitted was "a disgraceful rout." Officer after officer came to Lee beseeching him to let them carry out their original instructions and not to give orders to fall back; but he did everything to hinder success, answering stubbornly, "I know my business."

At Lafayette's first intimation that things were going wrong, he sent a message to Washington, who was with the main army, some miles in the rear. Whether he learned the news first from this messenger or from a very scared fifer running down the road, Washington could not believe his eyes or his ears. Hurrying forward, he found Lee in the midst of the retreating troops and a brief but terrible scene took place between them; Washington in a white heat of anger, though outwardly calm, Lee stammering and stuttering and finally bursting out with the statement that the whole movement had been made contrary to his advice. Washington's short and scorching answer ended Lee's military career. Then, turning away from him as though from a creature unworthy of further notice, the Commander-in-chief took up the serious task at hand. The soldiers responded to his presence instantly. With those on the field he and Lafayette were able to make a stand until reserves came up and a drawn battle was fought which lasted until nightfall. The conditions had been unusually trying, for the heat was so oppressive that men died of that alone, without receiving a wound. Both armies camped upon the field, Washington meaning to renew the contest next morning; but during the night the enemy retired to continue the march toward New York.

Since the British were able to continue their march as planned, they claimed Monmouth as a victory. Washington also continued northward and, crossing the Hudson, established himself near White Plains, which brought the British and American forces once more into the relative positions they had occupied two years earlier, after the battle of Long Island.

Monmouth proved to be the last engagement of consequence fought that year, and the last large battle of the Revolution to be fought in the Northern states. Very soon after this the British gave up their attempt to cut the rebellion in two by opening the Hudson, and substituted for it the plan of capturing the Southern states one by one, beginning with Georgia and working northward. They continued to keep a large force near New York, however, and that necessitated having an American army close by. These two forces were not idle; some of the most dramatic incidents of the whole war occurred here, though the main contest raged elsewhere, and in a larger sense, these armies were only marking time.

XIII
A LIAISON OFFICER

These ships had sailed in such secrecy that even their captains did not know whither they were bound until they had been at sea some days. Then, while a solemn Mass was being sung aboard the flagship, the signal was hoisted to break the seals upon their orders. When the full meaning of these orders dawned upon the sailors and the thousand soldiers who accompanied the expedition shouts of joy and cries of "Vive le Roi!" spread from ship to ship. But it was an expedition fated to ill luck. Storms and contrary winds delayed them five weeks in the Mediterranean, and seven more in crossing the Atlantic. Food and water were almost gone when they reached Delaware Bay, where the disappointing news awaited their commander that the British, fearing his blockade, had withdrawn to New York, taking the available food-supplies of the neighborhood with them. That was the explanation of Clinton's long wagon-train. He left little behind for hungry sailors.

D'Estaing landed Silas Deane, and the first minister sent from France to the United States, who had come over with; him sent messages announcing his arrival to Congress and to Washington, and proceeded up the coast. For eleven days he remained outside the bar at Sandy Hook in a position bad for his ships and worse for his temper; for inside the bar he could see many masts flying the British flag. But pilots were hard to find, most of them being in the service of his enemies; and without pilots he could not enter. When at last they were obtained it was only to tell him that the largest of his vessels drew too much water to enter without removing part of their guns, and this he could not afford to do with English ships lying inside. D'Estaing would not believe it until he himself had made soundings. "It is terrible to be within sight of your object and yet unable to attain it," he wrote. To add to his unhappiness he heard that an English fleet under Admiral Byron had sailed for American waters, and he knew that its arrival would raise the number of British ships and guns to a figure far exceeding his own. He put to sea again, his destination this time being Newport, where the British had a few ships and about six thousand men. Washington had suggested a combined attack here in case it was found impossible to accomplish anything at New York.

Admiral d'Estaing came from Auvergne, as did Lafayette. Indeed, their families were related by marriage, and to his first official communication Lafayette had added, at Washington's request, a long postscript giving personal and family details that the British could not possibly know, doing this to prove to the admiral that the proposed plans were genuine and not an invention of the enemy. The correspondence thus begun had continued with pleasure on both sides, and, after the fleet reached Newport, Lafayette spent a happy day on the flagship as the admiral's honored guest, though he was technically still a deserter, subject to arrest and deportation.

The American part of the combined attack on Newport was to be made by a detachment of Washington's army co-operating with state troops and militia raised by General Sullivan, near by. The command of the Continentals was offered to Lafayette, who wrote to D'Estaing in boyish glee: "Never have I realized the charm of my profession, M. le Comte, as I do now that I am to be allowed to practise it in company with Frenchmen. I have never wished so much for the ability that I have not, or for the experience that I shall obtain in the next twenty years if God spares my life and allows us to have war. No doubt it is amusing to you to see me presented as a general officer; I confess that I am forced myself to smile sometimes at the idea, even in this country where people do not smile so readily as we do at home."

Although scurvy had broken out with considerable violence on his ships, the French admiral held himself ready to carry out his part of a speedy attack. It was General Sullivan who had to ask a delay because so few of the militia responded to his summons. While expressing polite disappointment that so large a part of the American army was "still at home," D'Estaing tried to emphasize the need of haste. He believed in striking sudden, unexpected blows; and he had ever in mind the approach of that fleet of Admiral Byron's. Nine precious days passed, which the British commander at Newport utilized in preparing for defense and in sending messengers to New York.

Meanwhile Lafayette returned to camp and started with his detachment for Newport. On the march he received a letter from Washington which must have caused him keen disappointment, since it took away half his authority. General Greene was a native of Rhode Island, with special knowledge of the region where the fighting was to take place, and because of this it had been decided at the last moment to combine the Continental troops with the militia and to give General Greene joint command with Lafayette. The young man's answer was a model of cheerful acquiescence. "Dear General: I have received your Excellency's favor by General Greene, and have been much pleased with the arrival of a gentleman who, not only on account of his merit and the justness of his views, but also by his knowledge of the country and his popularity in this state, may be very serviceable to the expedition. I willingly part with half of my detachment, though I had a great dependence upon them, as you find it convenient for the good of the service. Anything, my dear General, you will order, or even wish, shall always be infinitely agreeable to me; and I will always feel happy in doing anything which may please you or forward the public good. I am of the same opinion as your Excellency that dividing our Continental troops among the militia will have a better effect than if we were to keep them together in one wing." Only a single sentence, near the end, in which he referred to himself as being with the expedition as "a man of war of the third class" betrayed his regret. Washington appears to have been much pleased and relieved by this reply, for he realized that he was drawing heavily upon Lafayette's store of patience.

As it turned out, neither Greene nor Lafayette had authority enough to quarrel over or any glory in the enterprise, for on the 10th of August, at the moment when the combined attack was about to begin, the relief expedition of Admiral Howe's ships loomed suddenly out of the fog. The French vessels had been placed only with a view to an attack upon land, and most of the sailors had been disembarked to take part in it. D'Estaing had to get them hurriedly back again and to prepare for a sea-fight. Before this was over a wind-storm of great fury arose. It separated the combatants, but left D'Estaing so crippled that he was obliged to put into Boston for repairs.

Some of these events were of a character no human foresight could prevent. All of them held possibilities of misunderstanding, and these misunderstandings were increased tenfold by differences in nationality, in temper, and in language. Some of the French thought General Sullivan deliberately and jealously tried to block success. He reproached the French admiral for going to Boston after the storm instead of returning to his aid. Lafayette's very eagerness subjected him to criticism, yet he was the one man involved who understood the temperament of both the French and the Americans. The burden of explaining, of soothing, of trying to arrange the thousand prickly details of the situation fell upon him. Twice he rode to Boston and back for conferences with D'Estaing, making the journey of seventy miles once by night in six and a half hours—unexampled speed for those days. Such work now would be called the work of a liaison officer. He had need of all his tact, and even his sweet temper grew acid under the strain. He was strongly moved to fight a duel with General Sullivan; and both Washington and Congress had to intervene before the French admiral was completely assured of America's belief in his "zeal and attachment," and before Lafayette could be thoroughly appeased.

Fond as he was of America, Lafayette was a Frenchman first of all. He had assured D'Estaing that he would rather fight as a common soldier under the French flag than as a general officer anywhere else. The coming of the French fleet had been to all intents a declaration of war by his country against England; and when the autumn was far enough advanced to make it certain there would be no more military activity in America before the next spring, he asked permission to return to France and offer his sword to his king.

Washington, who had more sympathy with the impulses of youth than we are apt to give him credit for, saw that after the trying experiences of the past few weeks a leave of absence would be the best thing for Lafayette and also for his American friends. The young man's nerves were completely on edge. He had not only wanted to fight General Sullivan and controlled the desire; he had actually sent a challenge, against the advice of Washington and Admiral d'Estaing, to the Earl of Carlisle, an Englishman in America on official business, because of some words the latter had used which Lafayette regarded as an insult to the French. Besides these grievances, his imagination was working overtime on a grand new scheme for the conquest of Canada which Washington could no more indorse than he could approve the desire to shed blood in private quarrels. The young man's friendship was too valuable to make it politic continually to thwart him. Undoubtedly this was a case where absence would make the heart grow fonder. Very possibly also the wise general foresaw how much good Lafayette might do in Paris as an advocate of American interests during the next few months.

Lafayette did not wish to sever his relations with the Continental army. All he asked was a leave of absence, and this Congress readily granted in a set of complimentary resolutions, adding for good measure a letter "To our great, faithful, and beloved friend and ally, Louis the Sixteenth, King of France and Navarre," telling what a very wise and gallant and patient and excellent young man he was. But it was weeks after this permission was given before Lafayette left America. Congress arranged, as a compliment, that he should sail from Boston on the frigate Alliance, one of the best of the nation's war-vessels. Lafayette made his visits of ceremony, wrote his notes of farewell, and set out from Philadelphia in a cold rain one day late in October. Ordinarily he would not have minded such a storm. He had endured the life at Valley Forge and discomforts of the winter trip to Canada with apparent ease; but to a year of such campaigning had been added several months of work and worry in connection with the French fleet. The two together had told upon his strength, and the storm added the finishing touch. He became really ill, but, suffering with fever, rode on, unwilling to delay his journey for mere weather, and unwilling, too, to fail in courtesy to the inhabitants of the many towns on his way who wished to do him honor. He fortified himself for the receptions and functions they had planned by frequent draughts of tea and spirits, which made his condition worse instead of better. By the time he reached Fishkill, New York, he was unable to proceed farther. His fever raged for three weeks, and the news spread that he would not recover. The concern manifested showed what a firm hold he had made for himself in American affection. Civilians spoke of him lovingly and sorrowfully as "the Marquis," while in the army, where he was known as "the soldier's friend," grief was even more sincere. Washington sent Surgeon-General Cochran, who had cared for him in Bethlehem, to take charge of the case, and rode himself almost daily the eight miles from headquarters to make inquiries, never entering the sick-room, and often turning away with tears in his eyes at the report given him. Lafayette, racked with fever and headache, was sure he would never live to reach France again. The idea of leaving the world at the early age of twenty-one did not trouble him; he felt that he would gladly compromise on three more months of life, provided he could see his family and be assured of the happy outcome of the American war.

After the fever left him and he slowly regained his strength he spent a few happy days as Washington's guest before proceeding on his journey to Boston. The elder man's farewell was "very tender, very sad," and Lafayette rode away in company with the good Doctor Cochran, who had orders to watch him like a hawk until he was safely on the ship. After this parting the young man was more than ever convinced that Washington was a great man and his own very warm personal friend. He wondered how anybody could accuse him of being cold and unsympathetic.

XIV
NEAR-MUTINY AND NEAR-IMPRISONMENT

Lafayette's own account explains that "by a rather immoral proclamation his Britannic Majesty encouraged revolt among crews," offering them the money value of ships captured and brought into English ports as "rebel" vessels—"a result which could only be obtained by the massacre of officers and those who objected." A plot of this nature was entered into by the English deserters and prisoners among the sailors on the Alliance. A cry of "A sail!" was to bring officers and passengers hurrying upon deck and shots from four cannon, carefully trained and loaded beforehand, were to blow them to bits. The time was fixed for four o'clock in the morning, but, fortunately, it was postponed until the same time in the afternoon, and in the interval the plot was disclosed to an American sailor who was mistaken by the conspirators for an Irishman on account of the fine brogue he had acquired through much sailing "in those latitudes." They offered him command of the frigate. He pretended to accept, but was able to warn the captain and Lafayette only one short hour before the time fixed for the deed. That was quite enough, however. The officers and passengers appeared upon deck ahead of time, sword in hand, and gathering the loyal sailors about them, called up the rest one by one. Thirty-three were put in irons. Evidence pointed to an even greater number of guilty men, but it was taken for granted that the rest might be relied upon, though only the Americans and French were really trusted. A week later the Alliance sailed happily into Brest floating the new American flag.

The last word Lafayette had received from his family was already eight months old. He hurried toward Paris, but the news of his arrival traveled faster, and he found the city on tiptoe to see him. "On my arrival," says the Memoirs, "I had the honor to be consulted by all the Ministers and, what was much better, embraced by all the ladies. The embraces ceased next day, but I enjoyed for a longer time the confidence of the Cabinet and favor at Versailles, and also celebrity in Paris." His father-in-law, who had been so very bitter at his departure, received him amiably, a friendliness which touched Lafayette. "I was well spoken of in all circles, even after the favor of the queen had secured for me command of the regiment of the King's Dragoons." This was no other than the old De Noailles Cavalry in which he had served as a boy.

Merely as a matter of form, however, he had to submit to a week's imprisonment because he had left the country against the wishes of the king. Instead of being shut in the Bastille, his prison was the beautiful home of his father-in-law, where Adrienne and the baby awaited him; and during that week its rooms were filled with distinguished visitors, come ostensibly to see the Duc d'Ayen. But even this delightful travesty of imprisonment did not begin until the prodigal had gone to Versailles for his first interview with the king's chief advisers. After a few days he wrote to Louis XVI, "acknowledging my happy fault." The king summoned him to his presence to receive "a gentle reprimand" which ended in smiles and compliments, and he was restored to liberty with the hint that it would be well for a time to avoid crowded places where the common people of Paris, who so dearly loved a hero, "might consecrate his disobedience."

For the next few months he led a busy life, a favorite in society, an unofficial adviser of the government, called here and there to give first-hand testimony about men and motives in far-off America, making up lost months in as many short minutes with Adrienne, winning the heart of his new little daughter, assuming command of his "crack" regiment, so different in appearance from the ragged ranks he had commanded under Washington; and last, but by no means least in his own estimation, laying plans to accomplish by one bold stroke two military purposes dear to his heart—discomfiting the English and securing money for the American cause.

He had seen such great results undertaken and accomplished in America with the slenderest means that the recklessness with which Europeans spent money for mere show seemed to him almost wicked. He used to tell himself that the cost of a single fête would equip an army in the United States. M. de Maurepas had once said that he was capable of stripping Versailles for the sake of his beloved Americans. It was much more in accordance with his will to seize the supplies for America from England herself. He planned a descent upon the English coast by two or three frigates under John Paul Jones and a land force of fifteen hundred men commanded by himself, to sail under the American flag, fall upon rich towns like Bristol and Liverpool, and levy tribute.

Lafayette's brain worked in two distinct ways. His tropic imagination stopped at nothing, and completely ran away with his common sense when once it got going, as, for instance, while he lay recovering from his wound at Bethlehem. Very different from this was the clever, quick wit with which he could take advantage of momentary chances in battle, as he had demonstrated when he and his little force dropped between the jaws of the trap closing upon them at Barren Hill. Fortunately in moments of danger it was usually his wit, not his imagination, that acted, and he took excellent care of the men under him; but when he had nothing in the way of hard facts to pin his mind to earth, and gave free rein to his desires, he was not practical. In this season of wild planning he not only invented the scheme for a bucaneering expedition in company with John Paul Jones; he mapped out an uprising in Ireland, but decided that the time was not yet ripe for that.

While his plan for a descent upon the English coast came to nothing, it may be said to have led to much, for it interested the Ministry, and was abandoned only in favor of a more ambitious scheme of attacking England with the help of Spain. That, too, passed after it was found that England was on the alert; but it had given Lafayette his opportunity to talk about America in and out of season, and to urge the necessity for helping the United States win independence as a means of crippling England, if not for her own sake. As the most popular social lion of the moment his words carried far, and as the most earnest advocate of America in France he was indeed what he called himself, the link that bound the two countries together. The outcome was that after the collapse of the project for an expedition against England nobody could see a better way of troubling his Britannic Majesty than by following Lafayette's advice; whereupon he redoubled his efforts and arguments.

Indeed, he exceeded the wishes of the Americans themselves. He wanted to send ships and soldiers as well as money and supplies, but with the fiasco of the attack upon Newport fresh in their minds Congress and our country were chary of asking for more help of that kind. He assured M. de Vergennes that it was characteristic of Americans to believe that in three months they would no longer need help of any kind. He wrote to Washington that he was insisting upon money with such stress that the Director of Finances looked upon him as a fiend; but he argued also in France that the Americans would be glad enough to see a French army by the time it got there.

A plan drawn up by him at the request of M. de Vergennes has been called the starting-point of the events that led to the surrender of Cornwallis, because without French help that event could not have occurred. In this view of the case, the work he did in Paris and at Versailles was his greatest contribution to the cause of American independence. Another general might easily have done all that he did in the way of winning battles on American soil, but no other man in France had his enthusiasm and his knowledge, or the persistence to fill men's ears and minds and hearts with thoughts of America as he did.

After it had been decided to send over another military force it was natural for him to hope that he might be given command of it, though nobody knew better than he that his rank did not entitle him to the honor since he was only a colonel in France, even if he did hold the commission of a major-general in the United States. Having become by this time really intimate with M. de Vergennes, he gave another proof of the sweet reasonableness of his disposition by frankly presenting the whole matter in writing to him. He worked out in detail two "suppositions," the first assuming that he was to be given command of the expedition, the second that he was not, stating in each case what he thought ought to be done. Quite frankly he announced his preference for the first supposition, but quite simply and unmistakably he made it plain that he would work just as earnestly for the success of the undertaking in one case as in the other.

It was the second of these plans that the Ministry preferred and adopted practically as he prepared it. After this had been decided he found himself, early one spring day in 1780, standing before Louis XVI, in his American uniform, taking his leave. He was to go ahead of the expedition and announce its coming; to work up a welcome for it, if he found lingering traces of distrust; and to resume command of his American division and do all he could to secure effective co-operation; in short, to take up his work of liaison officer again on a scale greater than before.

XV
HELP—AND DISAPPOINTMENT

When Lafayette sailed westward this time he owned two valued possessions, partly French, partly American, which had not been his when he landed at Brest. One was a sword, the gift Congress directed Franklin to have made by the best workmen in Paris and presented to him in recognition of his services. It was a wonderful sword, with his motto "Cur non?" and no end of compliments worked into the decorations of its gold-mounted hilt and scabbard. The other possession was a brand-new baby. "Our next one absolutely must be a boy!" Lafayette had written Adrienne when assuring her of his joy over the birth of Anastasie; and obligingly the next one came a boy, born on Christmas Eve, 1779. He had been immediately christened, as was the custom, but he was given a name that no man of the house of Motier had borne in all the seven hundred years of the family's consequential existence. Even the young mother's tongue may have tripped a bit as she whispered "George Washington" to the baby cuddled against her breast. But no other name was possible for that child, and the day came, before he was grown, when it served as a talisman to carry him out of danger.

Sailing westward on the Hermione, the father of this Franco-American baby reached Boston late in April after an uneventful voyage, to receive the heartiest welcome the staid old town could give him. The docks were black with people and the streets lined with hurrahing crowds as he rode to the governor's house where he was to be a guest.

Until the Hermione came to anchor he did not know where Washington was to be found, but he had a letter ready written to despatch at once, begging him, if he chanced to be north of Philadelphia, to await his arrival, since he brought news of importance. It took a week for this message to reach Washington's headquarters at Morristown, and three days later Lafayette was there himself, greeting and being greeted by his chief with a heartiness which showed their genuine delight at being together again. Having been absent for more than a year, he had much to learn about the progress of the war; and what he learned was not reassuring. He knew in a general way how things had gone, but the details showed how weak the American forces really were.

Most of the fighting had been in the South. Savannah had been taken before Lafayette sailed for France. The British had followed up this success by sending a large force to Georgia; Southern Tories had been roused, and civil war had spread throughout the entire region. At present the British were advancing upon Charleston. In the North the two armies still played their waiting game, the British actually in New York, and Washington in a position from which he could guard the Hudson, help Philadelphia in case of need, and occasionally do something to harass the enemy. Frequently the harassing was done by the other side, however. During the summer of 1779 the British had ravaged the Connecticut Valley. Washington refused to be tempted away from the Hudson, and the brightest spot in the annals of that year had been the capture of Stony Point while the British were thus engaged. Lafayette's acquaintance, "Mad Anthony" Wayne, had taken it in a most brilliant assault.

But that was only one episode and the history of the year could be summed up in eight words—discouragement, an empty treasury, unpaid troops, dwindling numbers. Washington's own army was reduced to about six thousand men, with half of these scarcely fit for duty. They were only partly clothed, and had been only partly fed for a long time. Their commander said of them, sadly, but with pride, that during their terms of service they had subsisted upon "every kind of horse-food except hay." Lafayette expected to find the army weak, but this was a state of exhaustion of which he had not dreamed. It was very hard to have to report such things to Paris; in truth, for some time after his return he avoided reporting details as much as possible.

His coming, with the news that ships and men and money were on the way, must have seemed little less than a happy miracle. But would the help come in time? To make it effective the country must renew its enthusiasm and meet assistance half-way. Washington frankly told a committee of Congress that unless this could be done the coming of the French would be a disaster instead of a benefit. In other words, the country was so weak that the next effort was almost sure to be the last one. If it failed, it would be too exhausted to rally again.

Lafayette left headquarters and went to Philadelphia to exert whatever personal influence he possessed upon Congress; but under the law Congress could raise neither men nor money. All it could do was to recommend such action to the thirteen different states. Their thirteen different legislatures had to deliberate and act, all of which took time when time was most urgent.

In France the proposed military expedition had roused much enthusiasm. Young men flocked to enlist, as eager to fight for liberty in America as our boys of 1918 were eager to reach France on a similar errand. Every available spot on the transports was crowded. The commanding general regretfully left behind his two favorite war-horses because he knew that twenty men could go in the space they would occupy. Even after the ships had left the harbor recruits came to him on the cutter that brought the last despatches, begging to be taken aboard, but had to be sent back because there was literally not room for another man.

Yet the numbers that came to America were, after all, disappointingly small: far less than originally planned. That was because the English managed to blockade all except the first division in the harbor of Brest. This first division sailed on the 2d of May with Admiral Ternay in command of the ships, and the gallant, cool-headed Rochambeau, who was already fighting at the time Lafayette was born, in command of the soldiers. He had five thousand effective men crowded into the transports that left Brest with their convoy on a sunny day, the many white sails filling to a breeze described as "joli frais." But in spite of this auspicious beginning it was a tedious crossing, longer in point of time than the first voyage of Columbus. The weary soldiers soon came to call their transports "sabots" (wooden shoes), and indeed some of them were scarcely larger. As our coast was neared they crawled along at three knots an hour, with drums beating every fifteen minutes to keep the ships in touch and prevent their drifting away from each other in the heavy, persistent fog.

Washington had hoped that before the arrival of the French he could gather sufficient force to justify him in attacking New York with their help, for he was convinced that one success here would end the war. His army was indeed "augmented more than one-half," as Lafayette wrote his wife, but before the ships made their slow way across the Atlantic the British had captured Charleston, and Clinton, who assisted Cornwallis in that undertaking, had returned to New York with a force that raised his strength there to twelve thousand regulars, in addition to Admiral Arbuthnot's fleet and several thousand militia and refugees. Not all the earnestness of Washington, the efforts of Congress, nor the enthusiasm of Lafayette had been able to raise men enough to attack under these circumstances; and the signals displayed on Point Judith and "the island of Block House" to guide the French directed them to go to Newport as a convenient place from which the attack might yet be made if events favored the allies.

Lafayette went to Newport to meet Rochambeau and plan co-operation. By the time he reached there the situation was still worse, for an English fleet which left home about the time Rochambeau sailed from France had appeared, giving the British superior force alike on sea and land.

Admiral Ternay, who was not aggressive by nature, saw a repetition of D'Estaing's failure looming ahead of him, and sent word to France that the American cause was doomed. Rochambeau, being a better soldier, did what he could; landed his men, freeing them from the confinement of the "sabots;" and, upon a rumor that the British were advancing to attack, helped several thousand militia prepare for defense. The rumor had a foundation of truth. An expedition actually left New York, but was no sooner started than Washington began threatening the city, whereupon Clinton recalled his men, for there was no doubt that New York was the more important place.

Having no knowledge of the country, and being thus hurried at the moment of landing, from the rôle of aggressor which he had expected to play to one of defense, the situation seemed very serious to the French general. Even after the recall of Clinton's expedition he felt it most unwise to lose touch with his ships, and he had small patience with Lafayette, who seemed inclined to talk about "advances." Rochambeau was sure that his duty lay in waiting for the second division of the French force, keeping strict discipline, meanwhile, in a model camp, and paying liberally for supplies. This he did so well that not an apple disappeared from the orchards in which the French tents were pitched, not a cornstalk was bent in the fields near by, and, as Lafayette assured Washington, the pigs and chickens of patriots wandered at will through the French camp "without being deranged." The French and Americans fraternized enthusiastically. "You would have been amused the other day," Lafayette reported to his chief, "had you seen two hundred and fifty of our recruits, who came to Connecticut without provisions and without tents, mixing so well with the French troops that each Frenchman, officer or soldier, took an American with him and amicably gave him a share of his bed and supper."

The French soldiers were anxious to get out of Newport and at the throats of the enemy, but Rochambeau was firm in his determination. He desired a personal interview with Washington and felt a little hurt, perhaps, that a youngster like Lafayette, who might easily have been his own son, was made the means of communication. There was some doubt whether Washington could enter into agreements with a representative of a foreign power until explicit authority had been given him by Congress. It was one of those absurd technical questions of no real importance that may cause a deal of trouble, and it was better not to have it raised. Lafayette continued, therefore, to be occupied in Newport with parleys and conferences and incidentally with meeting old friends. His brother-in-law, De Noailles, was one of the officers who had come out with the expedition.

Cross-purposes were bound to arise, and there were moments when Lafayette's optimism got decidedly upon the nerves of Rochambeau. The two came to the verge of quarrel, but both were too sensible to allow themselves to be pushed over the edge. The breach was soon healed by a letter of Rochambeau's in which he referred to himself as an old father and his "dear Marquis" as an affectionate son. In Lafayette's private account of this episode to his wife he wrote that "a slight excess of frankness got me into a little controversy with those generals. Seeing that I was not persuading them and that the public interest demanded we be good friends, I admitted at random that I had been mistaken and was to blame, and asked pardon in proper terms, which had such a magical effect that we are now better friends than ever." Lafayette's friends called him determined; his critics said that he was vain. Historians aver that he was never convinced by argument.

August brought the unwelcome news that there was to be no second division of the French army that year. This was the more disappointing because in addition to all else it meant the continued lack of arms and ammunition and of clothing for fifteen thousand American soldiers that Lafayette had caused to be manufactured in France, but which had been left behind to come with this second division. He confided to his cousin that the army was reduced to "a frugality, a poverty, and a nudity which will, I hope, be remembered in the next world, and counted, to our credit in purgatory." To his wife he wrote that the ladies of Philadelphia had started a subscription to aid the soldiers, and that he had put down her name for one hundred guineas; that he was very well; that the life of an American soldier was infinitely frugal; that "the fare of the general officers of the rebel army is very different from that of the French at Newport."