Of necessity, such improvisation characterized the majority of religious observances in the field, for clergy were few and of varied denomination. Even so, Washington sometimes found opportunity to indulge his personal preference for more traditional Sunday worship. On one occasion, upon learning that a nearby Presbyterian Church would be celebrating the Lord’s Supper on a certain Sunday, he paid a call on the pastor, accompanied by Simon.
“Tell me, Pastor,” he said, “does it accord with the canons of your Church to admit communicants of another denomination?”
“Why, certainly, General,” the pastor replied. “Ours is not the Presbyterian table, but the Lord’s table. Therefore, we extend the Lord’s invitation to all His followers, of whatever name.”
“That is as it should be,” Washington replied, “but as I was not certain of your practice, I thought to ask you directly, since I propose to join with you on that occasion. Though I am a member of the Church of England, I have no exclusive partialities.”
The General’s attendance at divine services on the designated Sunday, in the company of several of his officers, bolstered a long-established pattern of religious participation that was to accord him repeated spiritual refreshment and renewal as the war wore on.
Fortunately, February marked a turning point in the winter at Valley Forge. Supply lines had improved by midmonth, and clothing and other necessities began to arrive, in addition to food. February also saw the arrival of a Prussian baron called von Steuben, who quickly won the respect of the Commander in Chief and began, with drill and discipline, to transform the ragtag Continentals into a proper army.
The inflow of supplies, coupled with improving military discipline, gradually began to alleviate some of the most squalid living conditions of the winter encampment. The General’s lady and some of the other military wives arrived in February, as they had each of the previous two winters, to spend the inactive winter months with their husbands. As always, Martha Washington took the reins of the General’s household with cheer and competence, helping nurse the sick, sewing and mending for the “boys,” and fostering an air of gentility that was mostly absent when only the men were in camp. Arabella came with Andrew for a few weeks in April.
Times were never harder, but somehow Washington managed to keep morale from plummeting; and as during the previous winter, he continued to invoke the focus and solace of the rituals of Freemasonry to while away the long winter nights, conferring the degrees of the Order on his comrades-in-arms. Among those so honored was a young lieutenant colonel of exceptional promise named Alexander Hamilton, who joined Washington’s staff as a confidential aide. On a less public occasion, at the request of Simon, the Commander in Chief witnessed Arabella’s passing to Fellow Craft, with Andrew presiding and Justin, the prince, and Ramsay assisting. Shortly thereafter, with spring approaching, Andrew and Arabella headed back for Cambridge.
By May the emerging order had enabled Washington to reorganize his staff to better reflect his own preferences, with von Steuben as Inspector General. Spring had also seen the return of two of his generals—Charles Lee, finally exchanged for a British general after being held for fifteen months in New York, and Benedict Arnold, wounded at Saratoga and growing increasingly bitter at what he saw as repeated slighting of his abilities. Several of Washington’s other generals involved in the Saratoga campaign, including Conway and Gates, made power plays and failed; and General Lee shortly would attempt another that would bring him before a court-martial and cost him his command.
The British remained quiet throughout the winter. General Howe, with the specter of Bunker Hill still before his eyes, remained convinced that the Americans had taken up an impregnable stronghold and, though encamped only twenty miles away, did nothing to harry them through the winter. By early May, Clinton had arrived to relieve him of command.
The change of command was due, in part, to the February signing of a treaty between America and France, and the subsequent declaration of war between England and France. When news of the French alliance reached the American camp in May, to universal rejoicing, Washington was startled to receive an exuberant kiss on both cheeks from the elated Lafayette. During the celebration that followed, Simon thought he had never seen the Commander in Chief look so delighted.
General Clinton had also received the news, with predictably less enthusiasm. With a French expedition presumed on its way, he became convinced that Philadelphia was untenable and began preparations to evacuate and shift his attentions to the harbors between New York and Halifax.
At the behest of Congress, Washington now held a council of war to decide on a response. Having determined to harry the enemy while he withdrew, Washington then began to entrust small commands to Lafayette, who managed them ably. Late in May, because of a betrayal by spies, the Frenchman was nearly taken by the British, but he managed to take up such a strong position that his attackers were obliged to return to Philadelphia after only a short skirmish.
Hampered by rain and heat, and harried increasingly by the Americans, the British continued to fall back. Though plagued by intrigues within his own officer corps, Washington continued to demand and receive performance. The Battle of Monmouth Courthouse marked the end of the British war of conquest in the north, but it also exposed the intrigues of General Lee, who had disobeyed direct orders and traitorously fallen back in the heat of battle. The situation demanded Washington’s personal intervention and a harsh exchange of words between the two generals before the Americans were rallied and reinforcements could be brought up to win the day. Many of the losses that day were from the heat, not bullets; and on the last night of that campaign, late in June, the exhausted Washington and Lafayette slept side by side under a tree on a shared cloak. Simon was no less exhausted, but he was content to keep watch over the pair through the night, well pleased with how matters were progressing.
By early July, now two years after independence had been declared, Clinton had taken his army off by ship to New York. A few days later the expected French expedition under the Count d’Estaing arrived at the mouth of the Delaware River with twelve ships of the line, six frigates, and four thousand French troops. Since Washington spoke no French and d’Estaing no English, and the latter was distantly related to Lafayette, whom Washington trusted, Lafayette was deemed ideal as liaison between the French and American commanders. Colonel Hamilton functioned as the Commander in Chief’s confidential aide.
The original plan had been for the French fleet to follow the British into New York to do battle, but d’Estaing judged the New York waters too shallow, so Newport, Rhode Island, was designated as the alternate target. To support a French landing in Newport, Washington deployed New England militia companies to join more seasoned Continental and state troops under General Sullivan, naming Lafayette to command one of its divisions—a formal acknowledgment that in the test of actual service Lafayette had proven himself worthy of a high command over American troops in the field.
But weather and the British conspired to thwart this plan. D’Estaing’s fleet approached through the narrow middle channel only to be confronted with a reinforced British fleet under Admiral Howe. To avoid confrontation with a superior force in narrow waters, d’Estaing put to sea, intending to offer battle in the open, but while the two fleets were maneuvering for position, a storm scattered both fleets and wrought sufficient damage on the French ships that the French commander was obliged to limp into Boston for refit—which pulled out the four thousand French troops intended to reinforce the Americans. Though many of the American generals protested this seeming abandonment of the operation, Washington supported d’Estaing’s decision.
The naval contretemps marked the end of campaigning for the year. With the arrival of another British squadron in the area, d’Estaing soon withdrew to the West Indies for the winter. Sullivan was obliged to pull back to Providence, and very shortly, in early December, Washington took himself and his army into winter quarters in Middlebrook, New Jersey, whe
re Lafayette soon joined him.
The young marquis had grown into his role as the months of 1778 passed and had proven himself under fire as well as at the General’s table. He had spent his twenty-first birthday in the field, attempting to keep peace among the American generals who resented d’Estaing’s withdrawal. Now, in the days immediately following his arrival at winter headquarters, he conferred several times with Justin and then with Simon. A few nights later, when they were the only others to linger with the General over wine and nuts, he presented his concerns to the Commander in Chief.
They were ensconced in the dining room of the comfortable white frame house where Washington had established his command headquarters. Justin had topped up the General’s glass with the last of a very fine Madeira brought over by the Count d’Estaing, and Washington was holding it to the candlelight to admire its color, relaxed and at ease among his favorites.
“Mon général,” Lafayette said, raising his own glass slightly, “if I may, I should like to ask two favors of you.”
“Two?” Washington replied, smiling slightly. “Most men would be content to ask one at a time.”
Lafayette ventured a mirthless grin and took a fortifying swallow of his wine. “I ask two at once, because I pray that the one will sweeten the other,” he said.
“Then one of the favors is apt to be less than sweet,” Washington said cautiously. “What is it?”
Lafayette set down his glass. “I should like leave to return to France,” he said bluntly. “And it is, indeed, leave that I ask for, mon général, for I hope to return with additional aid for your cause. D’Estaing’s arrival would have made a great difference had it not been for the ill luck of the storm. How much better if I could bring you troops and arms and equipment? I believe I can do that, especially if I work with Dr. Franklin and his delegation. I have the wealth at my disposal, and it would please me greatly to put it at your disposal.”
Washington had turned his gaze to the wine in his glass as Lafayette spoke and did not look up as he finally answered.
“It cannot have been easy for you to come here so young and to be tried so sorely,” he murmured. “And you have a young wife at home, and a baby daughter whom you have never seen.”
“I have been more than willing to put those pleasures aside for a time, in your service,” Lafayette said quietly. “I am still willing to do so. But I believe that I can make an even more useful contribution to the war effort if you will allow me to employ my newfound fame with my wealth. It—might take some time, and I should miss the camaraderie that I have shared with all of you. But if I could bring you men, and the prestige of international allies—please do not refuse me out of hand, mon général.”
Washington took a sip of his wine and set the glass carefully on the table, then looked up at the Frenchman, careful to betray no emotion.
“You mentioned a second favor,” he said quietly, “and that it might sweeten the first. It will need to be sweet, indeed, to counter the bitterness of your loss. I regard you as I would a son.”
“It—shall only be for a time. I shall return—I promise it!” Lafayette risked a glance at Simon and Justin, both of them watching him sympathetically, then flicked his attention back to Washington.
“You must bear with me while I find the words, mon général,” he said. “I wish to speak of Freemasonry. I am told that if a man wishes to affiliate himself with that noble Brotherhood, he must ask for admission. For more than a year now I have observed from the outside what contentment this affiliation gives to you—to all three of you and, indeed, to many of the officers and men of this encampment. It has come to my mind that if you were to allow me to share this bond of Brotherhood with you, it would also serve as a link of our affection while I am absent. I have—discussed this with Colonel Wallace and Lieutenant Carmichael, and they have instructed me to approach you on the matter.
“I therefore ask that I might be admitted to the Brotherhood of Freemasons, and that I might receive initiation at your hands. If I—have not asked this in the proper manner, then I pray that you guide me in what I should say.”
Washington’s eyes had lifted to Lafayette’s at the first mention of Freemasonry and kindled with a fiercely burning joy as he realized what the younger man was asking. He closed his eyes for a moment, exhaling softly. When he opened them again, the fire was somewhat banked, but a warm affection remained in the gray-blue gaze.
“The second favor does, indeed, sweeten the first,” he said. “And while I may grant the first only with great reluctance, it will be my honor and my privilege to confer the second.”
“Thank you, mon général,” Lafayette whispered, his eyes bright with emotion. “I shall try not to disappoint you on either count.”
“Oh, I am sure you will not,” Washington replied. “But tell me one thing, my friend. Why did you wait so long to ask?”
Lafayette stared at him in some confusion.
“I was very young, mon général, with much else to learn.…”
Washington choked back a chuckle at that and glanced archly at Simon and Justin.
“Gentlemen, you obviously have not instructed our young friend as fully as you ought to have done, for he does not realize how much else there is to learn regarding the Craft.”
Smiling, Simon inclined his head in acceptance of the gentle reproof. “I felt that further elucidation was best left to your good offices, Worshipful, since you will be initiating him.”
Washington laughed aloud at that, reaching across then to clasp hands with Lafayette in congratulation before ordering Justin out for another bottle of wine.
After Lafayette had retired, Simon was delegated to make the arrangements—which suited very well, since both he and the prince had an additional mandate from Saint-Germain concerning the Masonic initiation of Monsieur le Marquis de Lafayette. Most of those who assembled on the appointed night in mid-December were members of Washington’s military family, but Simon also had summoned Andrew down from Cambridge, so that his father could “happen” to be visiting in the camp and thus be invited to attend. The prince’s invitation came by dint of the fact that many of the officers now knew that the aristocratic French surgeon serving under the nom de guerre of Dr. Lucien Rohan was, in fact, a friend of Lafayette’s and a high-ranking French Freemason—and apparently a sometime agent of the General, often absent for weeks at a time on errands of which no one ever spoke.
Washington himself would preside, of course, under warrant of Military Lodge Number Nineteen. As the Lodge assembled, donning lambskin aprons and assorted jewels of office, Simon scanned the room to be certain he had not forgotten anything. The setting was not so grand as the Wallace library—only a humble dining room above the premises of a local tavern, with the Tracing Board of the First Degree sketched out in chalk on the wooden floor—but no greater dignity could have attended the occasion if the General had presided from the dais of a formal salon in Paris or London instead. Lafayette was waiting downstairs with the innkeeper, who was also a Freemason, though the latter would have no part in the night’s activities beyond acting as an unofficial second Tyler, stationed at the foot of the stairs.
Perhaps two dozen men were present, all in uniform save Andrew, who had been given a place of honor at Washington’s right by dint of his seniority. Washington fidgeted a little behind a small well-scrubbed table at the east end of the room, watching as the accoutrements of the Lodge were set in place: the three candles, Washington’s own Bible, and the square and compasses, all laid out on a white cloth. Simon and the prince waited in the west, as Junior Deacon and Senior Warden respectively, so that only those of Saint-Germain’s Inner Circle should handle the candidate when he first entered the room, though even Washington was not aware of this.
When all was in readiness, Washington called the Lodge to order and opened in the First Degree, Justin being stationed outside the door as Tyler. When he had examined the officers as to their duties, he dispatched Simon to fetch the candi
date.
“Brother Junior Deacon, you will prepare the candidate for the first degree of Freemasonry and cause him to make the regular alarm at the inner door.”
Simon obeyed, leaving the room to slip past Justin and fetch Lafayette up to the small landing just outside the door. There the marquis was required to strip to his shirt and breeches and divest himself of all metal and valuables. When he had bared his right arm and left breast as directed, Simon tied a black scarf over his eyes as a hoodwink—stark against the neatly powdered wig—and Justin set the cable-tow in place around his neck, its end hanging down in front. What little could be seen of his face between cable tow and hoodwink was tense and solemn. His hands hung loose at his sides, but the fingers of one hand clenched and unclenched in a nervous gesture.
Simon let him wait in silence for a long moment, knowing that the anticipation would only heighten what was to come, preparing in his own mind for his part in the candidate’s very special reception. After a hundred of his own heartbeats, he took Lafayette’s right wrist and sharply rapped the knuckles three times against the door. Justin had moved behind and to Lafayette’s left, with his sword drawn.
“Worshipful, there is an alarm at the door,” came the prince’s voice from within.
From farther away Washington’s voice ordered, “Attend to the alarm, Brother, and see who comes here.”
Almost immediately three sharp raps from inside echoed the three the candidate had made. Still clasping Lafayette’s wrist, Simon rapped the knuckles sharply against the door one more time, to be answered by another single knock. After that the door swung open several inches, squeaking slightly.
“Who comes there?” Washington demanded, making the ritual challenge as presiding Master.
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