What buoyancy, mused she; if the world could imbibe the half of hers, there wouldnt be anything but mock—yes, make-believe—fighting done. And then—oh; it is too absurd; man is not a laughing stock. Nero may have grimaced his way into Rome, but its hills shall drench still yet with the tears he shed.
And back at Fushima, far removed from Ozaka, and its elemental forces, at work upon plans and defences, as indefatigable as laudable, a more conscienceless, less movable coterie of individuals, the shapening parts to a masterful piece of mechanism, their features wan and purses opened, the whip-lash laid or tackles baited—these, barons by profession and soldiers of compulsion, haters in fact, yet supporters for safety—they, under extremes, busied their bodies with replenishing the commissary and recruiting the ranks of an army as different in character as it were essential to habit.
No thought of daringness conserved the interests of these shouters for peace, at any price save its legitimate cost. Every reformer in their eyes became at once a disturber; patriotism were charlatanism, and the knowing ones cried down as demagogues; they shouted plenty and practiced penuriousness, gorged themselves and bade others be satisfied with the crumbs—or their lot.
Such were the motley hordes gathered to render Ieyasu master—and he had learned a lesson, knew the kind of discipline these fellows relished, and gave them their due—hunger. To feed, then, or to keep, as well, these hirelings, or their hirers, drilled and coddled, marched or trudged upon Ozaka.
Poor humans; I pity you, sighed Yodogima; Ieyasu dragged after, as uncertain as dogged.
CHAPTER XXXI
Long lines of coerced, machine-made, and let-live mortals wended the broadening valleys leading from the seat of empire, Kyotos mouldering gate, Fushima, toward the walled-in adjuster, Ozaka, under whose shelter there throbbed in every archer and each spearman the impulse that leads to liberty.
A mighty task confronted these invaders, the mercenary half of a nation. Obedience to an over-mastery had become their watchword; through long ages the spark that enlightens had been drubbed and coaled into nothing more than the droll leaden heat of an improvident toll, and the hills on either side echoed from one to the other only such monotonous rhythm as dulled or tinkled in the ears of baser content or lulled to sleep any instinct born of more than earths paid transient competence.