American government under which we live and for which
we fight."

The face of the good priest kindled as he glanced at Clark. He turned
once more, and though we could not understand his words, the thrill of
his eloquence moved us. And when he had finished there was a moment's
hush of inarticulate joy among his flock, and then such transports as
moved strangely the sternest men in our ranks. The simple people fell
to embracing each other and praising God, the tears running on their
cheeks. Out of the group came an old man. A skullcap rested on his
silvered hair, and he felt the ground uncertainly with his gold-headed
stick.

"Monsieur," he said tremulously "you will pardon an old man if he show
feeling. I am born seventy year ago in Gascon. I inhabit this country
thirty year, and last night I think I not live any longer. Last night
we make our peace with the good God, and come here to-day to die. But
we know you not," he cried, with a sudden and surprising vigor; "ha, we
know you not! They told us lies, and we were humble and believed. But
now we are Americains," he cried, his voice pitched high, as he pointed
with a trembling arm to the stars and stripes above him. "Mes enfants,
vive les Bostonnais! Vive les Americains! Vive Monsieur le Colonel
Clark, sauveur de Kaskaskia!"

The listening village heard the shout and wondered. And when it had died
down Colonel Clark took the old Gascon by the hand, and not a man of his
but saw that this was a master-stroke of his genius.

"My friends," he said simply, "I thank you. I would not force you, and
you will have some days to think over the oath of allegiance to the
Republic. Go now to your homes, and tell those who are awaiting you what
I have said. And if any man of French birth wish to leave this place, he
may go of his own free will, save only three whom I suspect are not our
friends."

They turned, and in an ecstasy of joy quite pitiful to see went trooping
out of the gate. But scarce could they have reached the street and
we have broken ranks, when we saw them coming back again, the priest
leading them as before. They drew near to the spot where Clark stood,
talking to the captains, and halted expectantly.

"What is it, my friends?" asked the Colonel.

The priest came forward and bowed gravely.

"I am Pere Gibault, sir," he said, "cure of Kaskaskia." He paused,
surveying our commander with a clear eye. "There is something that still
troubles the good citizens."