The hosts were gathering, gathering; down all the roads and paths of England the knights were riding, and priests rode with them, to hearten these original Crusaders, this being the Church's war.

All the nobilities, big and little, were on their way, and all the gentry.

This was all as was expected.

We should thin out this sort of folk to such a degree that the people would have nothing to do but just step to the front with their republic and-- Ah, what a donkey I was! Toward the end of the week I began to get this large and disenchanting fact through my head: that the mass of the nation had swung their caps and shouted for the republic for about one day, and there an end! The Church, the nobles, and the gentry then turned one grand, all-disapproving frown upon them and shriveled them into sheep! From that moment the sheep had begun to gather to the fold--that is to say, the camps--and offer their valueless lives and their valuable wool to the "righteous cause." Why, even the very men who had lately been slaves were in the "righteous cause," and glorifying it, praying for it, sentimentally slabbering over it, just like all the other commoners.
Imagine such human muck as this; conceive of this folly! Yes, it was now "Death to the Republic!" everywhere--not a dissenting voice.

All England was marching against us! Truly, this was more than I had bargained for.
I watched my fifty-two boys narrowly; watched their faces, their walk, their unconscious attitudes: for all these are a language -- a language given us purposely that it may betray us in times of emergency, when we have secrets which we want to keep.