As for Lafayette, the General believed he should be considered a Founding Father of our nation despite the fact that Lafayette was not an American. I believe that the reception given the marquis by the Congress and the whole country in 1826 was fully deserved, and if the General was still alive, I am sure he would have heartily approved. The marquis was unlike many foreign officers who came with great pretensions, little military talent, and a desire for high salaries, and who had won their rank because Congress bequeathed it on them. He charmed and disarmed the General immediately. At their first meeting, when the General apologized for the condition of our troops compared to what Lafayette must have been used to with French troops, the marquis dismissed the comment and replied, “I have come here to learn, mon général, not to teach.” There may have been some self-interested flattery in that remark, but noble sentiments were ingrained in Lafayette’s everyday discourse. Once he told me, “I would have gladly stripped Versailles of its furnishings to have clothed our troops,” and I do believe he meant it.
Lafayette soon won the General’s confidence not only with his ability to lead troops in battle—he became one of the army’s top generals—but with his ability to persuade his French peers of the desirability of joining and helping to finance our struggle. Unlike most other foreign officers (including his compatriot comte de Broglie, who envisioned himself with a rank exceeding the General’s), Lafayette wanted no salary or high titles, and he quickly endeared himself to the Americans put under his command. “Our marquis,” as we called him, didn’t hurt himself with the General by his loyalty back in 1778 at the time of the Conway Cabal—when General Gates, the French-Irish adventurer General Conway, and some congressmen were trying to either remove or rein in the General’s authority. Given the General’s pride, neither did the General’s opinion of the marquis lessen when the marquis named his son “George Washington Lafayette,” and the General became the son’s godfather.
What I found most extraordinary about the marquis was his incredible idealism and his willingness to express his sentiments, even if they were sometimes grandiose. “Josiah, our country,” he said, referring to America, “fights for liberty for all countries and all generations.”
This idealism extended to other issues, and while he was in awe of the General, he was not afraid to challenge him. The abolition of slavery was one such issue. Many of the General’s aides, including Hamilton and me, could see the contradiction between constantly calling for freedom from British slavery while maintaining the slavery of the Negroes. We knew from the General’s correspondence back to his cousin Lund at Mount Vernon that the General, unlike other Southern planters, had ordered Lund not to buy or sell human beings, so as to keep families together. We also knew that he had ignored Congress’s order banning Negro soldiers, established free black regiments, and implicitly approved the unsuccessful efforts of Colonel John Laurens to convince the South Carolina legislature to free slaves to fight the British. Still, as I said earlier, we attributed some of these actions to his pragmatism about winning the war. We knew the General was still a slaveholder and that, while the General had stopped buying and selling slaves, he had still tracked down some of his slaves who had sought freedom. All this made us reluctant to raise the subject with him. Possibly this was because of what we imagined Lady Washington’s view on slavery to be. Well, not exactly imagined—Lady Washington often commented on how “bad” and “lazy” the Negroes were.
In Cambridge, the free Negro poet Phillis Wheatley sent the General a poem extolling the General’s virtues and urging he be given a throne and crown. The General ignored the invitation to power but graciously invited Miss Wheatley, “a person so favored by the muses,” for a visit. We noticed, however, that the visit took place when Lady Washington was away at a party for the wives of officers. Some of the Southerners may have thought the meeting of the General, a slaveholder, and the Negro poet Miss Wheatley odd, but if so, they did not dare challenge the General.
Anyway, when Lafayette embraced a cause—and abolition was one—nothing would deter him from pursuing it with anyone at any time or place. I still remember back in 1779 when he announced to me that he was going into the General’s study to urge the General’s support of abolition. The meeting went on for almost an hour, and when Lafayette emerged, he was ebullient. I asked him what had happened.
“What a magnificent man is the General,” he responded. When I asked for a more detailed account of the meeting, he was more than willing to respond. “Well, Josiah, I started by espousing the view that if we wanted freedom from the British we could not deny it to American Negroes. I expected the General to object, but he readily agreed. ‘Slavery is debilitating not only to the enslaved but to those who enslave them. I can see that just looking at my Virginia neighbors. I wish with all my soul, my dear marquis, to see the development of a plan by which slavery in this country may be abolished by slow, sure, and imperceptible degrees involving education of the slaves. Otherwise, our country will see much mischief.’ I asked him, ‘Why not abolition at once?’ and he told me that the slaves he knew had been denied the right to learn to read, and education was needed if abolition was to succeed.”
I tensed up. This was a subject that all of us aides had never dared broach with the General, particularly knowing Lady Washington’s views. Finally, I said, “That may be all well and good, Marquis, but what is the General willing to do about it?”
“That,” replied the marquis, “was what was so extraordinary. I suggested he write an essay telling the American people why slavery ultimately must be abolished.”
“And what did the General respond?” I asked, already guessing the General’s response.
Lafayette continued, “The General grumbled about writing an essay, said it was beyond him and that he was more suited to deeds.”
When I heard this, I was not surprised. I could not help think of Thomas Jefferson, who had already written great essays on the iniquity of slavery but had also become known for his harsh treatment of his slaves. The General, with so little confidence in his own education, certainly abhorred writing essays. Whether it was the war, religious freedom, the union, or in this case slavery, he always shied away from putting his views on paper in favor of setting a personal example. Still . . .
Lafayette anticipated my next question and said, “So, Josiah, I asked him, ‘What deeds do you have in mind, General?’ and he replied, ‘I intend upon the death of Martha and myself to free all my slaves and provide for their welfare and education.’”
While the marquis was jubilant, saying “what a great man” the General was, I was less so, thinking that, while this would be a great act, why not take the action now? But the reference to Martha was telling. We on the General’s staff all knew that Martha had decided views on the rightness of slavery and held title—what a terrible word—to the majority of slaves at Mount Vernon. And we also knew that the General did not cross Lady Washington.
The marquis continued, “I then asked the General if he would subscribe to a colony of free slaves I wanted to establish in the Caribbean, and he said he would.”
This didn’t seem like a very practical idea to me, but the marquis was not one to be stopped by practicalities.