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.
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