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.
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