In the center of town was a large grass-covered square, with narrow streets leading out from it. From here Jim saw the American flag was indeed flying from the old fort. There were a few stone houses here and there, but most of them were wooden with pointed, thatched roofs and chimneys at either end. While Jim was admiring the town, someone called, “Come on, boys. Breakfast is ready.” Jim and Willie didn’t need to be called the second time. They dashed to join the men just sitting down to breakfast; it had been prepared by spies Colonel Clark had sent into town ahead of his troops. Meantime the terror-stricken residents of Kaskaskia remained indoors, not knowing what was to become of them. Father Pierre Gibault asked Colonel Clark if the people could assemble in the church to pray. They feared they were to be separated and taken away by Clark’s soldiers. Clark granted Father Gibault’s request and the people walked solemnly into the church. Some time later Colonel Clark spoke to them, telling them not to be afraid. He said the king of France had joined the Americans against the British and now they could all work together. He asked only that the residents of Kaskaskia swear allegiance to the Long-Knives, who represented the Continental Congress and Virginia. Immediately the gloom and fear of the people melted away. They rang the old church bell in jubilation, giving thanks for their freedom, weeping and laughing for joy. No one was more astounded at this news than little Willie Watson. He clapped his hands and turned handsprings down the street. He had expected to be thrown into chains and taken far away. Now he was as free as Jim. He looked at his friend. “Colonel Clark is a wonderful man,” he said, his dark eyes shining. Jim nodded. “Willie, were you really hunting beeswax across the river?” “Of course I was, Jim. We have no wax for the church candles, so I went to hunt a bee tree. Now I’ll get someone to go with me to get the honey and wax.” “Are you responsible for the candles, Willie?” “Not entirely, Jim. I am a ward of Father Gibault and I help him in any way I can. “My father was a river man on the Ohio. He worked for Boynton, Wharton and Morgan Company. They used to send boatloads of merchandise from Philadelphia down the Ohio and up the Mississippi Rivers to their store here. My father made many trips for them, but he was drowned in 1772. So Father Gibault found a house for my mother and me next door to him.” “Then you live with your mother?” “Yes, I do. She sews for some of the wealthy people and mends for Father Gibault. In the winter I work for Monsieur Gabriel Cerré.” Jim’s face was sad for a moment. “My mother was a good seamstress, too.” Willie was puzzled. “Say, where are your mother and father? How do you happen to be with Clark’s army?” Then Jim told Willie about the last time he had seen his parents and what had happened to him since.