Oriental rhetoric might describe the situation in this wise: the eastern dragon of invasion flew across the sea in winged ships, and speedily won the crystal of victory. But on land the dragon must go upon its belly. The Corean navy snatched the jewel from the very claws of the dragon, and left it writhing and hungry. In cool western phrase, sinister, but significant, Konishi was soon afterward obliged to “make a change of base.” The brilliant success of the army seems to have impressed the Japanese naval men with the idea that there was nothing for them to do. On the contrary, the Chō-sen people set to work to improve the architecture of their vessels by having them double-decked. They also provided for the safety of their fighting men, by making heavy bulwarks, and rearing, along the upper deck, a line of strong planks, set edgewise, and bolted together. Behind these, archers discharged their missiles without danger, while from port-holes below they fired their rude, but effective, cannon. Appearing off the inlet, in which the Japanese fleet lay at anchor, they at first feigned retreat, and thus enticed their enemies into pursuit. When well out on the open sea, they turned upon their pursuers, and then their superior preparation and equipment were evident at once. Lively fighting began, but this time the Coreans seemed invulnerable. They not only gained the advantage by the greater length of their lances and grappling-hooks, with which, using them like long forks, they pulled their enemies into the sea, but they sunk a number of the Japanese junks, either by their artillery or by ramming them with their prows. The remnant of the beaten fleet crept back to Fusan, and all hope of helping the army was given up. The moral effect of the victory upon the Corean people was to inspire them to sacrifice and resistance, and in many skirmishes they gained the advantage. They now awaited hopefully the approach of Chinese reinforcements.