“And the bowmen?” suggested Ling, with difficulty restraining an undignified emotion.

“Really, the elegant Ling will discover them to be persons of deficient manners, and quite unworthy of occupying his well-bred conversation,” replied the Chief.  “As regards their methods—­if the renowned Ling insists—­they fight by means of their bows, with which they discharge arrows at the foemen, they themselves hiding behind trees and rocks.  Should the enemy be undisconcerted by the cloud of arrows, and advance, the bowmen are instructed to make a last endeavour to frighten them back by uttering loud shouts and feigning the voices of savage beasts of the forest and deadly snakes.”

“And beyond that?” inquired Ling.

“Beyond that there are no instructions,” replied the Chief.  “The bowmen would then naturally take to flight, or, if such a course became impossible, run to meet the enemy, protesting that they were convinced of the justice of their cause, and were determined to fight on their side in the future.”

“Would it not be of advantage to arm them with cutting weapons also?” inquired Ling; “so that when all their arrows were discharged they would still be able to take part in the fight, and not be lost to us?”

“They would not be lost to us, of course,” replied the Chief, “as we would still be with them.  But such a course as the one you suggest could not fail to end in dismay.  Being as well armed as ourselves, they would then turn upon us, and, having destroyed us, proceed to establish leaders of their own.”

As Ling and the Chief of Bowmen conversed in this enlightened manner, there arose a great outcry from among the tents, and presently there entered to them a spy who had discovered a strong force of the enemy not more than ten or twelve li away, who showed every indication of marching shortly in the direction of Si-chow.  In numbers alone, he continued, they were greatly superior to the bowmen, and all were well armed.  The spreading of this news threw the entire camp into great confusion, many protesting that the day was not a favourable one on which to fight, others crying that it was their duty to fall back on Si-chow and protect the women and children.  In the midst of this tumult the Chief of Bowmen returned to Ling, bearing in his hand a written paper which he regarded in uncontrollable anguish.

“Oh, illustrious Ling,” he cried, restraining his grief with difficulty, and leaning for support upon the shoulders of two bowmen, “how prosperous indeed are you!  What greater misfortune can engulf a person who is both an ambitious soldier and an affectionate son, than to lose such a chance of glory and promotion as only occurs once within the lifetime, and an affectionate and venerable father upon the same day?  Behold this mandate to attend, without a moment’s delay, at the funeral obsequies of one whom I left, only last week, in the fullness of health and power.  The occasion being an unsuitable one, I will not call upon the courteous Ling to join me in sorrow; but his own devout filial piety is so well known that I can conscientiously rely upon an application for absence to be only a matter of official ceremony.”