followed his visit, Americans would rename more than six hundred villages, towns, cities, counties, mountains, lakes, rivers, educational institutions, and other landmarks for him or his château at La Grange.
His trip across the south exhausted the old knight. The bumpy, rutted roads and primitive wagon trails sent his carriage or stagecoach lurching unpredictably and left him ill, often too shaken to eat or sleep. In contrast, the two-week steamboat ride up the Mississippi from New Orleans was a delight. The
Natchez
was a luxuriously appointed boat, its lounge an ornate hotel lobby with rich oriental rugs, oil paintings, and chandeliers. It carried a famous New Orleans chef, an orchestra, and a large staff of maids and butlers that saw to the passengers’ every need. The magnificent river journey had completely rejuvenated him by the time he reached St. Louis at the end of April. He all but fainted, however, at the governor’s banquet when a young man approached, looking every bit like the ghost of the young Alexander Hamilton. It was Hamilton’s son.
From St. Louis, the
Natchez
steamed to the Ohio and up to the mouth of the Cumberland River, where the Lafayette party switched to a smaller steamboat for the trip to Nashville, Tennessee. General Andrew Jackson, the hero of New Orleans, greeted the Hero of Two Worlds in full parade dress, with the Tennessee militia. Lafayette spent three days at Jackson’s “Hermitage” mansion, with Jackson showing him every inch of his huge farm and discussing the latest agricultural techniques.
Two days after Lafayette resumed his trip upriver, an enormous jolt awakened him at midnight. The boat had run aground and was sinking. George and Lavasseur rushed into Lafayette’s cabin, led him topside to the rail, and lowered him carefully into a lifeboat—a job made difficult because of his stiff leg. After rowing him to the Kentucky shore, they helped the captain and crew evacuate the ship before its hull sank into the Ohio River mud. Although everyone aboard escaped uninjured, all their possessions were lost—including (much to his relief) more than six hundred unanswered letters Lafayette had accumulated during his American tour. They spent the rest of the night huddled around huge bonfires, and early the next morning, another steamboat, bound for New Orleans, stopped to rescue them. When the owner learned Lafayette’s identity, he put about and took the stranded passengers to Louisville, Kentucky.
From Kentucky, the Lafayette troupe went to Indiana, Ohio, western Pennsylvania—with a special visit to Fayette County—and up to Buffalo and Niagara Falls, where the chief of the Senecas greeted him. He returned east to Albany on the amazing new New York State Barge Canal—then one of the wonders of the world—and he arrived in Boston in time to celebrate the fiftieth anniversary of the Battle of Bunker Hill. Two hundred thousand lined the roads as the procession began, led by eight open carriages, each carrying five veterans of the Battle of Bunker Hill—forty in all. Seven thousand troops marched behind them in parade dress. Lafayette followed in a huge open carriage drawn by six splendid white horses. George and Lavasseur followed in a second carriage, while a third carriage carried the day’s principal orator, the golden-tongued Massachusetts representative Daniel Webster. Fifteen thousand waited in the wooden amphitheater built around the crest of the hill, where the city’s Order of Masons awaited. As Right Worshipful Grand Master, Lafayette took the silver trowel and laid the cornerstone. A pastor, a veteran of Bunker Hill, gave the benediction; then a huge choir exploded into “Old Hundred”:
O is not this a holy spot?
’Tis the high place of Freedom’s birth;
God of Our Fathers! Is it not
The holiest spot of all the earth? 28
Tears streamed down Lafayette’s face as Webster began his address, directing the first part to the veterans of Bunker Hill before
His trip across the south exhausted the old knight. The bumpy, rutted roads and primitive wagon trails sent his carriage or stagecoach lurching unpredictably and left him ill, often too shaken to eat or sleep. In contrast, the two-week steamboat ride up the Mississippi from New Orleans was a delight. The
Natchez
was a luxuriously appointed boat, its lounge an ornate hotel lobby with rich oriental rugs, oil paintings, and chandeliers. It carried a famous New Orleans chef, an orchestra, and a large staff of maids and butlers that saw to the passengers’ every need. The magnificent river journey had completely rejuvenated him by the time he reached St. Louis at the end of April. He all but fainted, however, at the governor’s banquet when a young man approached, looking every bit like the ghost of the young Alexander Hamilton. It was Hamilton’s son.
From St. Louis, the
Natchez
steamed to the Ohio and up to the mouth of the Cumberland River, where the Lafayette party switched to a smaller steamboat for the trip to Nashville, Tennessee. General Andrew Jackson, the hero of New Orleans, greeted the Hero of Two Worlds in full parade dress, with the Tennessee militia. Lafayette spent three days at Jackson’s “Hermitage” mansion, with Jackson showing him every inch of his huge farm and discussing the latest agricultural techniques.
Two days after Lafayette resumed his trip upriver, an enormous jolt awakened him at midnight. The boat had run aground and was sinking. George and Lavasseur rushed into Lafayette’s cabin, led him topside to the rail, and lowered him carefully into a lifeboat—a job made difficult because of his stiff leg. After rowing him to the Kentucky shore, they helped the captain and crew evacuate the ship before its hull sank into the Ohio River mud. Although everyone aboard escaped uninjured, all their possessions were lost—including (much to his relief) more than six hundred unanswered letters Lafayette had accumulated during his American tour. They spent the rest of the night huddled around huge bonfires, and early the next morning, another steamboat, bound for New Orleans, stopped to rescue them. When the owner learned Lafayette’s identity, he put about and took the stranded passengers to Louisville, Kentucky.
From Kentucky, the Lafayette troupe went to Indiana, Ohio, western Pennsylvania—with a special visit to Fayette County—and up to Buffalo and Niagara Falls, where the chief of the Senecas greeted him. He returned east to Albany on the amazing new New York State Barge Canal—then one of the wonders of the world—and he arrived in Boston in time to celebrate the fiftieth anniversary of the Battle of Bunker Hill. Two hundred thousand lined the roads as the procession began, led by eight open carriages, each carrying five veterans of the Battle of Bunker Hill—forty in all. Seven thousand troops marched behind them in parade dress. Lafayette followed in a huge open carriage drawn by six splendid white horses. George and Lavasseur followed in a second carriage, while a third carriage carried the day’s principal orator, the golden-tongued Massachusetts representative Daniel Webster. Fifteen thousand waited in the wooden amphitheater built around the crest of the hill, where the city’s Order of Masons awaited. As Right Worshipful Grand Master, Lafayette took the silver trowel and laid the cornerstone. A pastor, a veteran of Bunker Hill, gave the benediction; then a huge choir exploded into “Old Hundred”:
O is not this a holy spot?
’Tis the high place of Freedom’s birth;
God of Our Fathers! Is it not
The holiest spot of all the earth? 28
Tears streamed down Lafayette’s face as Webster began his address, directing the first part to the veterans of Bunker Hill before
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