When these matters were arranged, Ling returned to his tent, a victim
to feelings of a deep and confused doubt, for all courses seemed to
be surrounded by extreme danger, with the strong possibility of final
disaster. While he was considering these things attentively, the spy who
had brought word of the presence of the enemy again sought him. As he
entered, Ling perceived that his face was the colour of a bleached linen
garment, while there came with him the odour of sickness.
“There are certain matters which this person has not made known,” he
said, having first expressed a request that he might not be compelled to
stand while he conversed. “The bowmen are as an inferior kind of jackal,
and they who lead them are pigs, but this person has observed that the
Heaven-sent Commander has internal organs like steel hardened in a white
fire and polished by running water. For this reason he will narrate
to him the things he has seen--things at which the lesser ones would
undoubtedly perish in terror without offering to strike a blow.”
“Speak,” said Ling, “without fear and without concealment.”
“In numbers the rebels are as three to one with the bowmen, and are,
in addition, armed with matchlocks and other weapons; this much I have
already told,” said the spy. “Yesterday they entered the village of Ki
without resistance, as the dwellers there were all peaceable persons,
who gain a living from the fields, and who neither understood nor
troubled about the matters between the rebels and the army. Relying on
the promises made by the rebel chiefs, the villagers even welcomed them,
as they had been assured that they came as buyers of their corn and
rice. To-day not a house stands in the street of Ki, not a person lives.
The men they slew quickly, or held for torture, as they desired at the
moment; the boys they hung from the trees as marks for their arrows.
Of the women and children this person, who has since been subject to
several attacks of fainting and vomiting, desires not to speak. The
wells of Ki are filled with the bodies of such as had the good fortune
to be warned in time to slay themselves. The cattle drag themselves from
place to place on their forefeet; the fish in the Heng-Kiang are dying,
for they cannot live on water thickened into blood. All these things
this person has seen.”
When he had finished speaking, Ling remained in deep and funereal
thought for some time. In spite of his mild nature, the words which
he had heard filled him with an inextinguishable desire to slay in
hand-to-hand fighting. He regretted that he had placed the decision of
the matter before Li Keen.
“If only this person had a mere handful of brave and expert warriors, he
would not hesitate to fall upon those savage and barbarous characters,
and either destroy them to the last one, or let his band suffer a like
fate,” he murmured to himself.
The return of the messenger found him engaged in reviewing the bowmen,
and still in this mood, so that it was with a commendable feeling of
satisfaction, no less than virtuous contempt, that he learned of the
Mandarin’s journey to Peking as soon as he understood that the rebels
were certainly in the neighbourhood.
“The wise and ornamental Li Keen is undoubtedly consistent in all
matters,” said Ling, with some refined bitterness. “The only
information regarding his duties which this person obtained from him
chanced to be a likening of war to skilful chess-play, and to this end
the accomplished person in question has merely availed himself of a
common expedient which places him at the remote side of the divine
Emperor. Yet this act is not unwelcome, for the responsibility of
deciding what course is to be adopted now clearly rests with this
person. He is, as those who are standing by may perceive, of under the
usual height, and of no particular mental or bodily attainments. But he
has eaten the rice of the Emperor, and wears the Imperial sign
embroidered upon his arm. Before him are encamped the enemies of his
master and of his land, and in no way will he turn his back upon them.
Against brave and skilful men, such as those whom this person commands,
rebels of a low and degraded order are powerless, and are, moreover,
openly forbidden to succeed by the Forty-second Mandate in the Sacred
Book of Arguments. Should it have happened that into this assembly any
person of a perfidious or uncourageous nature has gained entrance by
guile, and has not been detected and driven forth by his outraged
companions (as would certainly occur if such a person were discovered),
I, Ling, Commander of Bowmen, make an especial and well-considered
request that he shall be struck by a molten thunderbolt if he turns to
flight or holds thoughts of treachery.”
Having thus addressed and encouraged the soldiers, Ling instructed them
that each one should cut and fashion for himself a graceful but weighty
club from among the branches of the trees around, and then return to the
tents for the purpose of receiving food and rice spirit.
When noon was passed, allowing such time as would enable him to reach
the camp of the enemy an hour before darkness, Ling arranged the bowmen
in companies of convenient numbers, and commenced the march, sending
forward spies, who were to work silently and bring back tidings from
every point. In this way he penetrated to within a single li of the
ruins of Ki, being informed by the spies that no outposts of the enemy
were between him and that place. Here the first rest was made to
enable the more accurate and bold spies to reach them with trustworthy
information regarding the position and movements of the camp. With
little delay there returned the one who had brought the earliest
tidings, bruised and torn with his successful haste through the forest,
but wearing a complacent and well-satisfied expression of countenance.
Without hesitation or waiting to demand money before he would reveal his
knowledge, he at once disclosed that the greater part of the enemy were
rejoicing among the ruins of Ki, they having discovered there a quantity
of opium and a variety of liquids, while only a small guard remained in
the camp with their weapons ready. At these words Ling sprang from
the ground in gladness, so great was his certainty of destroying the
invaders utterly. It was, however, with less pleasurable emotions that
he considered how he should effect the matter, for it was in no way
advisable to divide his numbers into two bands. Without any feeling of
unendurable conceit, he understood that no one but himself could hold
the bowmen before an assault, however weak. In a similar manner, he
determined that it would be more advisable to attack those in the
village first. These he might have reasonable hopes of cutting down
without warning the camp, or, in any event, before those from the camp
arrived. To assail the camp first would assuredly, by the firing, draw
upon them those from the village, and in whatever evil state these might
arrive, they would, by their numbers, terrify the bowmen, who without
doubt would have suffered some loss from the matchlocks.
Waiting for the last light of day, Ling led on the men again, and
sending forward some of the most reliable, surrounded the place of the
village silently and without detection. In the open space, among broken
casks and other inconsiderable matters, plainly shown by the large fires
at which burned the last remains of the houses of Ki, many men moved
or lay, some already dull or in heavy sleep. As the darkness dropped
suddenly, the signal of a peacock’s shriek, three times uttered, rang
forth, and immediately a cloud of arrows, directed from all sides,
poured in among those who feasted. Seeing their foemen defenceless
before them, the archers neglected the orders they had received, and
throwing away their bows they rushed in with uplifted clubs, uttering
loud shouts of triumph. The next moment a shot was fired in the wood,
drums beat, and in an unbelievably short space of time a small but
well-armed band of the enemy was among them. Now that all need of
caution was at an end, Ling rushed forward with raised sword, calling
to his men that victory was certainly theirs, and dealing discriminating
and inspiriting blows whenever he met a foeman. Three times he formed
the bowmen into a figure emblematic of triumph, and led them against the
line of matchlocks. Twice they fell back, leaving mingled dead under
the feet of the enemy. The third time they stood firm, and Ling threw
himself against the waving rank in a noble and inspired endeavour to
lead the way through. At that moment, when a very distinguished victory
seemed within his hand, his elegant and well-constructed sword broke
upon an iron shield, leaving him defenceless and surrounded by the
enemy.
“Chief among the sublime virtues enjoined by the divine Confucius,”
began Ling, folding his arms and speaking in an unmoved voice, “is an
intelligent submission--” but at that word he fell beneath a rain of
heavy and unquestionably well-aimed blows.