“What would that be, sir,” I asked.

“A John Law, who will make something out of nothing, who will make money out of this blank paper, who will wheedle the Creole traders into believing they are doing us a favor and making their everlasting fortune by advancing us flour and bacon.”

“And doesn’t Congress make money, sir?” I asked.

“That they do, Davy, by the ton,” he replied, “and so must we, as the rulers of a great province.  For mark me, though the men are happy to-day, in four days they will be grumbling and trying to desert in dozens.”

We were interrupted by a knock at the door, and there stood Terence McCann.

“His riverence!” he announced, and bowed low as the priest came into the room.

I was bid by Colonel Clark to sit down and dine with them on the good things which Monsieur Rocheblave’s cook had prepared.  After dinner they went into the little orchard behind the house and sat drinking (in the French fashion) the commandant’s precious coffee which had been sent to him from far-away New Orleans.  Colonel Clark plied the priest with questions of the French towns under English rule:  and Father Gibault, speaking for his simple people, said that the English had led them easily to believe that the Kentuckians were cutthroats.

“Ah, monsieur,” he said, “if they but knew you!  If they but knew the principles of that government for which you fight, they would renounce the English allegiance, and the whole of this territory would be yours.  I know them, from Quebec to Detroit and Michilimackinac and Saint Vincennes.  Listen, monsieur,” he cried, his homely face alight; “I myself will go to Saint Vincennes for you.  I will tell them the truth, and you shall have the post for the asking.”

“You will go to Vincennes!” exclaimed Clark; “a hard and dangerous journey of a hundred leagues!”

“Monsieur,” answered the priest, simply, “the journey is nothing.  For a century the missionaries of the Church have walked this wilderness alone with God.  Often they have suffered, and often died in tortures—­but gladly.”

Colonel Clark regarded the man intently.

“The cause of liberty, both religious and civil, is our cause,” Father Gibault continued.  “Men have died for it, and will die for it, and it will prosper.  Furthermore, Monsieur, my life has not known many wants.  I have saved something to keep my old age, with which to buy a little house and an orchard in this peaceful place.  The sum I have is at your service.  The good Congress will repay me.  And you need the money.”

Colonel Clark was not an impulsive man, but he felt none the less deeply, as I know well.  His reply to this generous offer was almost brusque, but it did not deceive the priest.

“Nay, monsieur,” he said, “it is for mankind I give it, in remembrance of Him who gave everything.  And though I receive nothing in return, I shall have my reward an hundred fold.”