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“I am now fixed to your fate.”
The Marquis de Lafayette to George Washington, 1777.
----Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, August 5, 1777.
All things considered, the commander of the Continental Army was not looking forward to the dinner at hand. The city seemed to be on edge, and rightly so; the British crept closer every day, and Washington dreaded what was to come. He had no doubt the men of Congress hosting this meeting would press and prod him with questions, anxious for reassurances that the army had the strength to win this perilous fight. Many of the men looked to him as a God - What would it take for them to realize he was anything but?
News of a foreign guest had reached him earlier as well, only adding to his reluctance. Congress had seen fit to make this French visitor a major general in his army, which Washington understood to simply be an honorary gesture. The man in question was more of a boy, aged nineteen and apparently close to King Louis. Those wishing to fight from overseas could rarely be trusted, as they only wished for fame and glory. Washington doubted this Marquis had any idea what the notion of freedom meant to the country.
“Sir? We’re nearly there,” Hamilton suddenly spoke from his side. Washington offered him a solemn smile, the young aide seeming to understand his agitation.
“Yes, it seems we are,” Washington replied as the city tavern slid into view. “Mr. Hamilton, I must say this meeting is not one I am anxious to attend.”
Hamilton gave the commander a wry look, his sharp eyes amused.
“Is it the promise of French arrogance or Congressional banter, sir? I must say the two are quite the combination,” The aide commented slyly. Washington did not get the chance to answer, his guise of anonymity out of the bag when a passerby praised him loudly outside the tavern.
He and Hamilton were ushered in quickly, greeted by civilians and Congressmen alike. Washington soon found himself surrounded by food and drink, the conversation flowing like the wine. Seated across from him was perhaps the best-dressed soldier he had seen in Philadelphia, the well-tailored uniform undoubtedly French. The young man was slight in stature and build, tall forehead topped with red hair. He was unabashedly staring straight at the commanding general, wide eyes decidedly both amazed and curious.
“Ah! Sir, this here is the charming man who came all the way from France,” Robert Morris spoke up, his face ruddy from wine. He gave the boy a clap on the back and the Marquis stood at once, bowing low and sincerely.
“It is the greatest pleasure of my life to meet your acquaintance, sir. I am Marie-Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert du Motier, the Marquis de Lafayette.”
The Marquis spoke with a heavy French accent, his words clearly well-practiced yet shaky. Washington studied the young man carefully, seeing no vainglorious gleam to his eye and no pomp to his words. Instead there was an open trust there, something so rare to find in a high-born foreigner’s gaze.
“The pleasure is all mine, Marquis,” Washington finally answered, and it seemed as though Lafayette’s shoulders slumped in relief from the acknowledgment.
“I have a letter here, sir - Forgive me, my English is not well..” The Marquis fumbled with the paper in his hand, and Washington could not help but to notice his trembling fingers. Quickly he scanned the page, roughly making out ‘major general’ and ‘volunteer’. The former he was aware of, but the latter was a surprise.
“I am humbled to have one so generous to our cause,” Washington spoke, smiling with a kind edge to relieve the young man of his evident nervousness. “What do you hope to contribute to our army?”
Lafayette looked at him square in the eyes - again Washington saw the honesty there, and strangely felt as though he had stumbled upon a man worthy of his trust.
“Mon Général, I have come here to learn, not to teach.”
-----
Brandywine, Pennsylvania, September 11, 1777.
The battle had been one disaster after another, and Washington counted the army blessed to have survived this day. There was little hope in preventing the British from taking Philadelphia, but the keeping the Continentals in tact for another fight was far more important.
“Sir!” A cry of an officer he did not know broke his thoughts, and Washington dimly wondered what else had gone wrong.
“Yes, officer?”
“The Marquis has been wounded in aiding the retreat, we thought you ought to know, they’ve taken him to the church in Chester-”
The man hardly needed to say anymore, for Washington had saddled his horse and was off with a start. He had wondered where the young general had gotten off to - General Greene mentioned he had seen him on the sidelines of Sullivan’s flank, but there had been no word he was injured until now. “A father and friend you shall be to me,” Lafayette had said not long ago, and over the course of the past month, Washington had taken the words to heart. He saw how much the Frenchman wished to prove himself, and Washington only wished he had not put himself in danger because of it.
The church was full of men crying for their mothers and wives, and Washington yearned to give each of them the reassurances they deserved. His duty could not permit, and so he gave each man a stoic nod as he passed. Captain Monroe found him shortly after and led him to the makeshift cot where the Marquis sat, his cheeks flushed and face screwed up in pain. Washington quickly observed he had caught a musket ball in the leg and allowed himself to breathe a sigh of relief - He, much like the army, would thankfully live to fight another day.
“Mon Général-,” Lafayette greeted through clenched teeth, clearly struggling to smile. Washington held up a silencing hand and motioned for Monroe to hand him a rag, which he pressed to the young man’s sweat-soaked brow.
“Make arrangements for General Lafayette to be taken to Philadelphia hospital with the rest of the wounded,” Washington ordered, taking another look at the Marquis’ bloodied boot. He thought of the the man’s unexpected unwavering loyalty since his arrival, his eager wishes to please. There would be stories of Lafayette’s heroism later, he was sure, but for now Washington only felt a surge of fatherly affection and concern for his well-being.
“Send for my private physician and instruct him to take care of him as if he were my son,” He spoke, feeling Lafayette’s gaze land on him and brighten with admiration - perhaps even love. “For I love him the same.”
-----
Valley Forge, January 1778.
A deep chill had settled over Valley Forge, the soldiers of the Continental Army nearly frozen over. Washington had taken to performing his rounds with Lafayette at his heels, and it pained him to see the conditions that Congress had seen fit to go unaided. He, at least, was unable to show any outwards despair. Instead his men saw a tall and solemn Virginian in their midst, thanking the sick for their sacrifice and commending the well for their service. There was little he could do for the food rations and the biting cold, and prayed his faith in them would inspire the soldiers to stay even after their enlistments ended.
"Such suffering..," Lafayette murmured sadly as they made their way up the slope, warm headquarters looming in the distance.
"Yes, they have endured much," Washington replied, slowing his tread to allow for the young man to meet his stride. His wound had not yet had the chance to fully heal and although the Marquis insisted there had been no lasting effect, the limp was still there.
"My countrymen would surely not stand for similar conditions," Lafayette said, turning his face against the bitter cold. "They would have sooner..abandoned such hardships."
Washington was surprised at his statement, knowing how highly he held his homeland. But he sensed the Marquis had more to say, and so listened.
"Here, they fight for freedom. For a cause. I am no such experienced soldier, yet I do not believe the world has ever seen such determination," Lafayette finished, and Washington took the observation with quiet pride. He knew for a fact the Marquis was an optimist, and yet his tone conveyed pure amazement and nothing less.
"And in France, what do they fight for?"
"Duty. Honor," Lafayette paused, tilting his head to the side. He struggled with words for a moment, and Washington was unsure whether it was due to his skills in English or emotion. “My mother told me as a child...my father had given his life for France. A country, not a foreseeable purpose.”
He nodded, and marveled at this man of twenty years whom his men called 'the soldier's friend'. So far away he was, from his wife, his children, his home, an orphan who had lived much in such a short time. Lafayette’s zeal reminded Washington much of himself in the earlier years, and perhaps that was why he had taken to the Marquis so. His care had not gone unnoticed by the camp, certainly not by his own wife - Martha had teased him in her letters, expressed an excitement at the prospect of meeting this young boy who was so unexpectedly coddled by her husband.
"I believe he would be proud to see you take part in our cause," Washington told him, laying a gloved hand briefly on the Marquis‘ shoulder. "As am I."
Lafayette flushed, glowing with the compliment.
"If I may be so bold, sir-," Lafayette began to ask, "What is it you fight for?"
Washington pondered the question carefully, knowing there was no solid answer to the question.
"During the coldest nights, I think of Mount Vernon. The Potomac, the apple orchards, Mrs. Washington - I wish to live in a free country, Mr. Lafayette. I wish for this land and its people to prosper."
"And I believe it shall," Lafayette said confidently, an air of certainty in his tone. "Even in this awful, awful cold, Spring will one day come."
Washington allowed himself to feel Lafayette’s hope if just for a moment, the headquarters in reach now. Hamilton and Laurens moved aside from their guard at the doorway, cheeks flushed from cold and laughter.
"Dinner will be readied shortly, sir," Hamilton spoke with a short nod, and Washington allowed himself to step into the warmed farmhouse. The door shut and Lafayette moved towards his assigned room, stopped by Washington’s halting gesture.
"I must thank you for your kind counsel, Marquis. Your words come at a great value to me." Washington spoke nothing but the truth, and Lafayette bowed low.
"Knowing I can provide some happiness to you is but an honor, sir." The young man said, smiling genuinely. Washington allowed for the Marquis to briefly take his hand and press it before leaving him alone in the hallway, the cold in his heart slowly beginning to melt.
-----
Monmouth, New Jersey, June 28, 1778.
The stench of musket fire and death was rampant, and Washington wiped the sweat from his brow. It was safe to say the day had been a draw - and yet with Charles Lee’s incompetence, he felt a greater loss than necessary. The man had once been respected in his eyes, even admired. But Lee had changed since his escapades with his British captors, had assumed a more arrogant air, had adopted a discerning lack of faith in the American army. And Washington would not - could not - deal with such an attitude.
The commanding general surveyed the camp his wearied soldiers had made for the night, the cries of the wounded echoing painfully through the valley. The heat was unbearable and Washington could hear Hamilton fanning himself and cursing, Tilghman shushing him. Washington nodded in their direction and indicated for solitude, watched while his aides faded into the background. There was someone he knew who needed his counsel now, and it was not long until Washington had found the man he was looking for. Lafayette stood against a tall willow, staring out over the camp while the dawn broke through the sky.
"General Lee's defiance of your orders is unforgivable, sir," Lafayette said after sensing the General's arrival. "I cannot say I understand."
Washington sighed. He knew Lafayette should have kept the command, but his duty had forced him to hand it over to Lee, who outranked the Marquis. God knew Lafayette had proved himself in the past year, his loyalty to Washington going above and beyond duty. He had proven himself time and time again and there was no question of the mistake, though the General knew now there was simply no going back.
But the memory itself - discovering Lee had pulled the troops back from a fight they could have won - was no less painful. Clinton had pulled back up towards New York and in this heat, Washington knew he would lose more men from heat stroke during the march than the actual battle if they hastened in pursuit.
"I believe the British coddled Lee into believing our army is not capable," He said, sidelining a glance to the young man beside him. Washington, as always, found the Marquis incredibly easy to read - the frustration was coming off of him in waves, and he supposed he leaked the same disappointment.
"He is wrong," Lafayette replied with a bite of anger, calmed by Washington's hand laid upon his shoulder.
"Indeed he is. Lee, however, was not here to witness our men's resilience Valley Forge or Mr. Von Steuben's training. We must at least forgive his ignorance, or at the very least pity it."
"Oui." Lafayette took in a breath, exhaling wearily. "If only negotiations with my King would hasten. Perhaps this day would have been won had my countrymen joined us."
"The day will come," Washington assured, spreading his cloak out beneath the tree. Lafayette's brows rose with surprise, but Washington could tell his temperament had been soothed.
"You will sleep here?"
"Yes," Washington said, squinting up at the fading stars above. "There's room enough for two, as long as you aren't known for snoring."
Lafayette's eyes brightened with amusement, and it lightened Washington's heart to hear him laugh.
"Non, you are in no danger of that," Lafayette replied, settling himself down at Washington's side. They were silent for a long time, the trials of the day giving way to weariness.
"I never knew my father," Lafayette spoke up suddenly after his eyes had given in and shut. "But in you, mon général, I believe I have found one."
Washington was not one for displays of open affections or expressions of joy, but now he felt his solemnity give way to a smile.
"And you, my dear Marquis-," Washington began, feeling his heart warm with unexpected pleasure. "Are the son I have always longed for."
-----
Yorktown, Virginia, October 17, 1781.
The siege had been won.
Washington could barely believe how everything had come around in their favor, as if God’s own grace had touched them all. Somewhere behind him Hamilton and Laurens were clasping each other, exclaiming euphoric congratulations in their happiness. He could not fault their lack of military decorum, nearly felt like bursting out into song himself. What had been started so far up the colonies had finally come to the conclusion in his own state - he knew there was still many to mourn and much to come, yes, and yet this battle marked the beginning of something entirely new. The drummer and the officer waving the handkerchief had been led into a tent not long ago, and conditions for the surrender - the surrender - were already being laid out.
"We gave them a damned good fight, sir," Anthony Wayne said, giving the commanding general a swift shake of the hand. Washington nodded and found he could not speak, eyes misting gratitude and relief he could not convey. They had won, by God, they had won.
There was a short shout ahead of him and Washington could see a blur of auburn hair and the sharp blue of a uniform before the Marquis had propelled himself straight into the General’s arms, kissing him soundly on both cheeks.
"Vive le Général!," Lafayette shouted hoarsely, and Washington heard his men cry out with agreement in reply. He could not hold back now, embraced the younger man (he was safe despite all his worst fears, yes, safe) without care of who saw the great Washington soften, could not hold the tears back now -
At long last the engagement was at near-end, the years of toil and trouble boiling down down to this. For once he allowed himself to think only of the here and now, tossing all thoughts of the future aside as the Marquis pressed his face into his stiff uniform. The men cheered again and Washington let his eyes slip shut, breathing in the man in his embrace, the smoke, the sorrow, the joy - but most of all, victory.