Lafayette_Courtier to Crown Fugitive, 1757-1777 Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Lafayette

  Author’s Forward

  Prologue

  Part One

  1.

  2.

  3.

  4.

  5.

  6.

  7.

  8.

  9.

  10.

  11.

  12.

  13.

  14.

  15.

  16.

  17.

  18.

  Part Two

  19.

  20.

  21.

  22.

  23.

  24.

  25.

  26.

  27.

  28.

  29.

  30.

  31

  32.

  Part Three

  33.

  34.

  35

  36

  38.

  39.

  40.

  41.

  42.

  43.

  44.

  45.

  46.

  47.

  47.

  47.

  48.

  49.

  50.

  51.

  52.

  53.

  54.

  55.

  56.

  Part Four

  57.

  58.

  59.

  60.

  61.

  62.

  63.

  64.

  65.

  66.

  67.

  68.

  69.

  70.

  71.

  72.

  Epilogue

  Bibliography

  About the Author

  Lafayette

  Courtier to Crown Fugitive

  1757-1777

  Histoires de Gloire, d’Amour et Révolution

  © 2018 by S.P.Grogan

  ISBN: 978-0-9801164-9-6

  eBook ISBN: 978-0-9801164-2-7

  From the author of:

  Captain Cooked

  Vegas Die

  With Revenge Comes Terror

  Atomic Dreams at the Red Tiki Lounge

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in any information on retrieval system, transmitted, in any form or any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the written permission of the author.

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the author is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  This is a work of historical fiction.

  Production Credits:

  Proof/Layout—Katie Salidas

  Cover Design—Willsin Rowe

  Website—Seva Kalashinikov

  For more information, visit: www.spgrogan.com and enjoy the author’s other works.

  www.spgrogan.com

  Author: [email protected]

  Addison & Highsmith Publishers

  840 S. Rancho Dr. #4-337

  Las Vegas, NV 89106

  [email protected]

  To the next history-making generation within our family-

  Olivia, Will, Jack and Riley

  Lafayette’s Baptism of Fire’, painting by E. Percy Moran, circa 1909

  Author’s Forward

  I PRESENT TO YOU A storied biography of the life of a remarkable man, Marquis, and later, Citizen Gilbert du Motier de la Fayette (1757-1834), known to us today as Lafayette. I write not so much for cataloguing factual events through the eyes of the meticulous historian, nor in glossing upon the rehashed mythical legends, but as the curious story-teller who seeks to understand the formation of a man’s character; to how this courtier-soldier-revolutionary-politician faced the tremendous challenges and terrors of the times in which he lived.

  It may come as no shock to readers that Lafayette the politician, later in life, told his own story as he might want history to view himself, to control public perception where his own letters acted as press releases and propaganda of his accomplishments, purposefully skipping over certain less than happy times including failed political situations. Thus, many gaps in telling his story required bridging the historical narrative with possible scenarios of what might have been.

  Here also, shall be an attempt at solving the great mystery on why in these days Lafayette is lionized as the warrior for liberty in America while all but disparaged by lyceum historians and forgotten in France, except for a name to a department store, when in fact he was more influential in imprinting on the soul of France the codification of the Rights of Man, and spent his life in uphill battles seeking to implement liberal ideals, finding as much a cross to bear as a target on his back. Even in Paris, his most prominent equestrian statue, once prominent in front of the Louvre, paid for by American not French school children, is hidden (discarded?) between trees off the Cours Albert 1er on the right bank of the Seine. In today’s culture Lafayette would be have been a ‘super star’ yet never ‘god-like’ as he was harassed by his critics for his short-comings, attacked at various career moments from both sides of the political spectrum. Here, exists a similarity to the life of Winston Churchill, in youth a glory-seeker of medals, conceited and complex, offset with career highs and lows, lost in the political wilderness, but as an elder statesman was called upon to help save a nation, the example of stalwart resistance. Lafayette in his travails found himself caught up in the politics of saving France at least four times! In the end he gained the sobriquet, Hero of Two Worlds. Readers can judge for themselves if such a title is true and well deserved.

  And so, if my undertaking of this historical biographical novel finds an audience, I envision at least additional writings to best portray the breadth of Lafayette’s life and adventures. His own correspondence and books written of him and his times have come to equal the weight of any other literary footprint of American Founding Fathers including Washington, while less of him is written to describe his tragic role as ‘flawed hero’, losing control to the French Revolution, an innocent in the dungeon of Omültz, as a lone voice in the legislative Chamber of Deputies and finally, the betrayed kingmaker in the Revolution of 1830.

  This novel of Lafayette* must be viewed more as the saga coming-of-age adventure than a biographical footnote in history; a Dantesque journey through major events of the 18th and 19th century, perfect for the popular masses accustom to snapshot entertainment or to those more serious, those seeking guidance of spirit as they face this current world of violent turmoil.

  ...grogan

  *This story follows his early youth to his departure to America. Within, we treat him as Gilbert de La Fayette as his friends knew him, and after 1777 as Marquis or General Lafayette as known by the Americans.

  Prologue

  JULY 13, 1824 NOON

  Those in power were always afraid of him, fearful that he would sway the people to his side and rule with a democratic scepter. Twice he had been offered the mantle of dictatorship, once by his king, the other time by the howling mob, nearly 35 years ago. Though as one of the authors of The Rights of Man he had tried to save the royal family, yet the king and queen went to the guillotine; and the mob rose against him to become The Terror, and the rabble politicians called him ‘traitor’ forcing him to flee for his life. Even when he returned to Paris after five years in Austria as the
famed ‘Prisoner of Olmütz’, he was asked why during those dark days of The Revolution had he not seized power, the question coming from the man of the times himself who had stepped into the vacuum, Napoleon Bonaparte. There was never an easy answer to explain his core beliefs, why he held true to the mystic ideal of Liberté, so often tarnished by those less scrupulous.

  As his carriage jostled down the cobblestone street to the harbor at Le Havre he somberly watched the pressing crowd, hemmed in by the new king’s secret police and mercenaries’, a show of muskets, with mounted saber-drawn cavalry, implying horrible violence if there was outpouring of emotion for this politician, now out of office, defeated by subterfuge in last year’s elections, frozen out of a future in the people’s Chamber of Deputies by the stacked manipulations of the majority in the royalty party camp.

  Even as the private citizen, they feared him. Into this uncharted political wilderness, his second banishment in his long public career, his fate could not be harnessed. From the President of the United States, his friend, James Monroe, came a timely letter attached to a resolution from the United States Congress, inviting the last living major general of the American Revolution to be feted as the ‘Nation’s Guest’ and receive the adulation and accolades from the citizens of his second home.

  And still there were political undercurrents. Perhaps, it was said by his political enemies, President Monroe would be able to promote this visit on the 40th anniversary of the overthrow of the British Crown’s ownership of its colonies to support his newly pronounced ‘Monroe Doctrine’; that such recognition of this hero would send a message to other foreign governments to keep their hands off the fledgling revolutionary governments in Central and South America, the acceptance of revolution against old regimes that this expectant Guest espoused so publicly. And to the military presence in Le Havre this day, King Louis XVIII saw the U.S. President’s invitation as an insult and those in power surrounding His Majesty felt America was plotting to overthrow the French West Indies and make this Frenchman, this master of intrigue survival, this ‘republican liberal’ who, as the malicious rumors went, would be chosen as the governor of a new American province. After all, he had been offered though refused the governorship of Louisiana Territory by President Jefferson.

  All this lay beneath the surface as the carriage pulled to a halt quayside in front of the U.S. Merchantman, The Cadmus, held dockside for weeks awaiting the arrival of this special private passenger. Among a throng of well-wishers and personal acquaintances came the handshake with the awaiting American Consul. This was too much for those held silent by police intimidation. And when in the ship’s rigging, the American sailors began shouting, Huzzah! Huzzah!—the crowds of thousands surged forward, the people of France, who could not forget all he had suffered for them, and spread their voices across the harbor waters for the world to hear.

  Lafayette! Lafayette! Lafayette!

  He climbed the gangway, turned, his hat raised with a silent, ‘Merci. Merci’. Throughout his life such recognition he had come to expect as his due.

  At sixty-one years old, he would be gone from his native country for two years. He would travel over 6,000 miles on a Grand Tour of his second home, the nascent United States of America, for which he held citizenship, and would visit each of the 24 states in that union. Over half the population of the country would turn out to greet him, and seven U.S. Presidents, current, former, and future would pay him their respects.

  Upon his return to France, and five years later, once again he would be offered the ultimate control of national power and once again he would refuse such a lofty and dangerous honor.

  As the Cadmus slid out of the harbor, the light breeze whipping, then embracing the sail canvas, he stood on the stern deck, and they left him alone with his thoughts, and he watched the dockside populace, enthused and invigorated, hopeful of a better future return to their daily tasks, become moving ants against the distancing town. As the ship skirted the stone jetty that separated bay water from ocean currents, he saw two young boys darting among the rocks, playing at soldiering, stick fighting with pieces of warped driftwood.

  And the memories flooded over him. And he said to himself, ‘This will be an adventure into distant memories, most of them good. It seems I have always been setting off on adventures. When did it all begin? Yes, I recall. The first heated iron pounded into my soul was the ghost of the man I never knew, my father.’

  Part One

  Enfant à Courtier (1757-1772)

  [Child to Courtier]

  THE YEAR OF 1759

  In North America, the French and Indian War (the Seven Years’ War in Europe) reaches a high point as Britain captures Fort Ticonderoga and conquers Canada with the fall of Quebec. Earlier, in January, 27 year old George Washington marries the 28 year old wealthy widow Martha Dandridge Custis, becoming one of the wealthiest land owners in Virginia. They will have no children, but will raise her two children and many children of near relations. This year Washington has resigned from his military command, upset at the poor showing of the militias, but more aggrieved that he has been turned down from his request to become an officer in the British Army. At this time, Gilbert du Motier de La Fayette is two years old.

  British Royal Artillery at the Battle of Minden

  1.

  ELSEWHERE, IN EUROPE, near the Weser River, the Electorate of Hanover [modern western Germany]

  “Captain, their guns are tearing into our men,” cried the artilleryman. “For the sake of God Almighty, we must open fire!”

  “Brace yourself, man,” replied Captain Phillips. “Our boys will reform, and quick step soon enough. It is our cannon and cold steel which shall break the Frenchy’s back.” The rank of soldiers, marching in battle formation, far in front of their supporting battery, had twice beaten back French cavalry charging in on their flanks.

  Captain William Phillips moved down the firing line of the 12th Royal Artillery Battery which he commanded, reviewing the field elevations on each gun piece for he alone had chosen their range to target. Through his spyglass he had noted one particular company of French soldiers in the distance, the Grenadiers de France themselves, he presumed, by their brightly colored uniforms of the King’s own. They were too prominent, too full of themselves, he considered. These French soldiers stood in ranks, seeming impervious to fallen shot, ignoring the man next to them suddenly a corpse on the bloody ground, standing brave to hold position on the command of their officer who waved his sword to invoke courage. Well, that will end, soon enough, thought the Captain as he peered into the fog of battle set upon the crowded plain before the village of Minden.

  It should be an equal match, I hear tell, considered the Captain, removing his cockade hat to wipe the sweat from his forehead, to make sure that the red rose he had plucked from a German garden the night before, lay tight in the band. 50,000 of French and Saxony troops against we, the British with our allies, the Hanoverian army, all total fielding 40,000 men. 180 cannon of theirs to our 170 field ordinance. Nearly equal in numbers but we have the skill, and the desire for comeuppance after that poor showing at Hastenbeck two years back; indeed we can do better, affirmed Captain Phillips, hearing the drum-beat cadence in the distance. Today, my only concern is to give protection to the brigades of Waldegrave and Kingsley as they close distance to the enemy’s center.

  A staff officer, courier from divisional headquarters, raced his horse to a stumbling lurch, its mouth frothing. Williams knew the young 19 year old, two years new to the army. He had only recently made his acquaintance on the march to this open plain with the French standards before them. The Captain’s first appraisal: If this boy officer survives the day he has the makings of a good soldier.

  “The order to march upon the enemy has been given. Marshall Brunswick pays his respect and requests your support.”

  “Thank you, Lieutenant Cornwallis. We shall do our duty.”

  “Very good, Captain. Excuse me, sir.” And with a hasty salute, Lt. Cornwa
llis wheeled his mount and tore away down the left of the line which would end at the Waser River, making certain other waiting artillery batteries and troop regiments had spied and read the signal flags hoisted to hear...the drum roll.

  The distant drums pounded out the affirmation command to his received orders the artillery officer had been expecting. Advance to the drums. Martial music of the regimental bands started the step cadence for the moving mass of soldiers.

  “Fire,” shouted Captain Williams, and his subordinates echoed his shout—“Fire!”—. And the eighteen cannon of the field artillery battery of twelve pounders consisting of ball and canister belched with fatal fury.

  The French Army lost the battle that day with the cost of 11,000 men dead and wounded.

  The 2nd Duc de Broglie, Marshall of France, as leader of the Army’s Reserve, never received orders to bring up his troops which might have turned the tide of battle. But that was in the past, and in the early evening hours, with the smell of gunpowder still heavy upon the air, he rode his horse, accompanied by his brother, the Marquis de Ruffec, and followed by several of his staff officers to observe the retreat, to see if a rear-guard would be required to stave off the victors.

  Amongst the dispirited and weary survivors he noted a stretcher carried by four soldiers, each wounded in some fashion, yet still mobile in slow trudging motion.

  “Who have you there, men” questioned the Duc, his voice gentle to the sorry bier they carried. He looked down at the epaulet jacket of an officer spread across a stilled body, a jacket dark stained as if it were fresh dyed by tanners, still in crimson wetness. The form underneath looked odd, strangely angled.

  “It is the Marquis of the Grenadiers, your Lordship,” said one mournful soldier, as he shifted for better hefting position. “Torn in two by a ball just before they attacked and broke our formation.”

  “Mon Dieu,” cried Marshall de Broglie, “Tell me it is not so. I saw him this morning and he showed me a miniature of his wife and child, so proud he was. So alive then, now to be here laid so low.” The Duc de Broglie began to shed tears at the loss of this fellow brother-in-arms, not so familiar but a general acquaintance from the Court, such a young man, who had great promise of future high rank, and barely twenty five years old. The Marquis de Ruffec looked on with a wry expression wondering why his brother would display such emotion to a dead officer; one he personally knew was from the provinces and not of the Versailles Court. I guess, concluded the Marquis, A dead hero had better value for morale than an army in retreat.