“Citizens of Kaskaskia, know you that the Long Knives come not to massacre, as you foolishly believed, but to release from bondage.  We are come not against you, who have been deceived, but against those soldiers of the British King who have bribed the savages to slaughter our wives and children.  You have but to take the oath of allegiance to the Continental Congress to become free, even as we are, to enjoy the blessings of that 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.”