The 47 Ronin Story by John Allyn Page A

If they surrendered, these graves would be neglected and the spirits would search in vain for proper homage and care from their descendants. Those living would be denied the comforts of their ancestors' blessings and would wander the earth dispossessed of part of their souls. The urge to strike out against those who would bring this to pass came strongly over him, but he knew in his heart that a siege would be a futile gesture. In the end they would lose and the graves of the ancestors would be just as neglected

    Chapter Four
    Suddenly the immensity of what was going to happen to himself personally struck home for the first time. He would no longer be a respected samurai; he would be a ronin, a man without a master, one of those pitiful ones whose days of usefulness and glory were gone. He would be forced to become a soldier of fortune or drop out of the military ranks altogether. Either choice was a miserable one. Perhaps Hara was right and he should ignore the orders of Daigaku and Toda. It would be better to go down fighting than to watch his family starve and sink into the bottomless, honorless pit of poverty.
    Then he shook his head free of such thoughts and went back down the hill to the castle to plan what he would say at the meeting that must be called. In the morning he would ask his wife to tell Lord Asano's little daughter that her father and mother would not be coming home.
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    The next morning Oishi briefly told his wife what had happened in Edo. In the face of such a tragedy she was naturally shaken, but true to the samurai tradition to which she was born, she did not break down in
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    useless tears. She was given her instructions about the little girl and bowed respectfully as she left to carry them out. The future of their own family was not discussed; there would be time for that later.
    Weary from lack of sleep, Oishi moved slowly toward the front of the castle where the followers were to assemble, but as he passed the door of the room where he had met with Hara and Yoshida the night before, he heard voices and paused.
    Someone was reading from the works of Confucius in a droning monotone and he could not resist the temptation to move silently to the sliding door and push it open a crack.
    The scene inside was just as he had imagined and it took him back nearly thirty years to his own young manhood. His fifteen-year-old son Chikara, already nearly as big as a man, was kneeling on the tatami before a low writing table, patiently practicing the complicated brush strokes of Japanese character writing. Opposite him on a cushion, his pale-faced teacher in a priestly cap and flowing gray robes sat dictating from the works of Confucius. Oishi knew that through this constant exposure to literary culture and moral teachings, the boy would soon be as thoroughly indoctrinated as he himself was in the wisdom of the past.
    Although the barren room was wide and light it was separated from the garden beyond by only a partition of paper shoji and was bitterly cold. Chikara had evidently been sitting stock still for several hours and Oishi noted with pride that although his hands were red with cold, he made no attempt to warm them or to shift his position. His son was following admirably in his own footsteps, and he reflected that the boy would soon be a man with a man's respon-
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    Chapter Four
    sibilities. In view of present events, he would finish his apprenticeship none too soon.
    Quietly, Oishi closed the door and went on down the corridor until the teacher's voice faded away. When he reached the front door of the castle it was opened for him by a guard and he took a deep breath as he stepped outside into the cold sunlight to face the assembled men.
    All the Asano retainers of samurai rank had been summoned to the meeting. Ordinarily they would have formed in ranks outside the wall, but in the interests of privacy Oishi