“So hinin!” (not human, outcast).
He brought his rifle sharply to salute, and held his head erect and his eyes steadily front as if he had not heard the insult or the instant correction to “heimin” (Commoner) of the cautious lieutenant. With searching eyes Kokan looked him up and down, examined his rifle and equipment, but could find no flaw. Then he demanded the orders and listened intently as Soichi repeated without a slip the instructions he had received. With a sinister smile the baffled officer passed on, and his victim knew that was only the beginning.
There was a different sort of smile on Soichi’s face as he thought how his lieutenant had tried to catch him.
“If he keeps that up,” he said to himself, “it will make me the best soldier in the regiment to be always ready for him.” He nearly laughed aloud at the idea. “I might even win promotion. How angry he would be at that!”
The warning was valuable. Soichi kept himself ever on the alert, but in his heart he began to despise the Samurai. It was a petty, dishonorable trick he had played, saying hinin and then correcting himself. Kudo-san would never do such a thing, he thought, and how O-Mitsu’s pretty lips would curl in scorn if she knew. There was compensation, after all, for what he must endure. If he kept his own honor unstained Kokan could do him no real harm.
The days wore on with many little stratagems of Kokan to catch the Commoner napping. But Soichi, always vigilant, escaped. The endless preparations for active service hurried along and there began to be talk of the regiment being moved to a naval base, ready for transport oversea.
Suddenly from end to end a great hush fell over the land. It was as if the nation were crouching, ready to leap and holding its breath as it waited only the word to spring. War had come, and all men knew. The gossip ceased that had filled minds and mouths, and men went to and fro in solemn, awesome silence. Still there was no outward show, and the stranger who looked on with inexperienced eyes saw only the old round of trade and work and cheerful amusement, with never an indication of the dreadful business at last undertaken.
Then came the first sign. From mouth to mouth the whisper ran—the Reserves were summoned to the colors. From never a house to which the fateful finger pointed came there a sound of grief or dismay. Gladly, quickly, but in silence and in the night the men responded. In twos and threes they took their way to their meeting-places and few they were who saw or heard. Town and city wore their placid air of peace. Even the winds of war, that had blown so roughly over the land, were stilled, as in ghostly stealth the nation answered the call.
In the middle of the night Soichi found himself in full kit marching swiftly to the station. No banners waved, no bands blared, no trumpets sounded. No throngs of eager friends gathered to give the men farewell. No loyal cheers encouraged them and urged them to duty’s task. Through empty, silent streets, between houses barred and darkened, in the hush of a march to the grave, the regiment passed to the waiting trains. Noiselessly the men climbed into the cars and only the hushed, brief orders of the officers broke the stillness. No ring of bell or scream of whistle marked their departure. Morning dawned over a city ignorant of what had been done, and only the Reservists coming to the empty barracks knew that the forward movement had begun.