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This body of councillors included Tokimasa and his son, Yoshitoki; Oye no Hiromoto, Miyoshi Yasunobu; Nakahara Chikayoshi, Miura Yoshizumi, Wada Yoshimori, Hiki Yoshikazu, and five others. But though they deliberated, they did not decide. All final decision required the endorsement of the lady Masa and her father, Hojo Tokimasa.
He did so effectually, but in the disposition of the insurgents' property, the shikken, Yoshitoki, contrived to drive Wada to open rebellion. After this convenient episode, Yoshitoki supplemented his office of shikken with that of betto of the Samurai-dokoro, thus becoming supreme in military and civil affairs alike.
And not only did the old steward, with signs emphatic and unmistakable, pledge himself to perform the execution, but we were all convinced that he was eager for the task. With Margaret I also left Buckwheat and Tom Spink. Wada, the two sail- makers, Louis, and the two topaz-eyed ones accompanied me. In addition to fighting weapons we were armed with axes.
Also, he is only a youth, the iron of his heredity not yet tested and proven. Wada, Louis, and the steward are servants of Asiatic breed. So are the two Japanese sail-makers scarcely servants, not to be called slaves, but something in between. So, all told, there are eleven of us aft in the citadel. But our followers are too servant-like and serf-like to be offensive fighters.
Although I did not analyze my motive, I knew I did not desire any one to know that I had overheard the occurrence. I have made a discovery. Ninety per cent. of our crew is brunette. Aft, with the exception of Wada and the steward, who are our servants, we are all blonds. What led me to this discovery was Woodruff's Effects of Tropical Light on White Men, which I am just reading.
Margaret and I, followed by Louis, Wada, and the steward, walked about from place to place, wherever the sounds arose of tappings and of cold- chisels against iron. The tappings seemed to come from everywhere; but we concluded that the concentration necessary on any spot to make an opening large enough for a man's body would inevitably draw our attention to that spot.
The address was nearly as long as the host's name "Badi Darga, Riverside, Zuni Mandai, in front of Shanwar Wada, Kasba Peth, Poona City." But, in spite of these precise directions, it would have been a difficult place for anyone to find who was not pretty well acquainted with the labyrinths of the old city.
I had been used to steamers all my life, and it was difficult immediately to adjust myself to the absence of the propeller-thrust vibration. "Well, what do you think?" I asked Wada, who, like myself, had never made a sailing-ship voyage. He smiled politely. "Very funny ship. Very funny sailors. I don't know. Mebbe all right. We see." "You think trouble?" I asked pointedly.
More than the mates and the maniac, more than the drunken callousness of the men, did this quiet figure, hands in pockets, impress upon me that I was in a different world from any I had known. Wada broke in upon my thoughts by telling me he had been sent to say that Miss West was serving tea in the cabin. The contrast, as I entered the cabin, was startling.
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