With the beginning of the new year Gen Yi moved southward toward P‘yŭng-yang as far as Suk-ch‘ŭn where he intended to halt for the night, as the winter days were short, but hearing of the massacre at Sun-an and wishing to give as little time for preparation as possible, pushed on by night, and in the morning planted his banners before the ancient city of P‘yŭng-yang. The city was forthwith surrounded. The Japanese could be seen covering the slope of the hill within the wall with their blue and white flags, and soon they opened fire on the besiegers. At the same moment they rushed to the walls and manned them. The Chinese Generals of the Left, Center and Right were stationed with their respective forces before the three gates Ch’il-sŭng, Ham-gu and Po-t’ong. The General-in-chief Yi, with a banner in one hand and a drum-stick in the other, rode swiftly from one division to another encouraging the men. His forces could hardly be held in check, they were so eager, in spite of their long, cold night march, to rush at the wall and scale it. They were not long kept from their desire, for at eight o’clock word was given for the whole assaulting force to advance to the wall. The cannon thundered, the fire-arrows flashed through the air, the very ground fairly trembled with the noise of battle and the tramp of eager feet. One of the fire-arrows alighted in the quarters of the Japanese general-in-chief and it was soon in flames, which rapidly spread to all the surrounding buildings. The Japanese guarded the walls with the greatest gallantry, and with spear and arrow, hot water and stones they made it quite impossible for the Chinese to effect an entrance. The wall bristled with weapons, so that in the words of a native chronicler it was “a hedge-hog’s back.” So it happened that the Chinese forces fell back from the fierce defense of the Japanese. Many of them contemplated a general retreat and started to leave the field, but Gen. Yi, who was always found where most needed, saw the defection of his men and, pursuing them, struck off the heads of a few as an example to the rest. Then he turned and cried, “Fifty ounces of silver to the first man to set foot upon the battlements of P’yŭng-yang.” This was doubtless a more powerful appeal than he could have made had he called upon their patriotism or love of glory. Immediately the tide of battle turned. A Chinese captain, Nak Sang-ji, a man well along in years and whose proportions were so ample that the Korean chronicler says of him that he weighed a thousand pounds, led on a company of men and by a mighty effort succeeded in reaching the top of the wall. He held his ground there while others could scale the wall at his back, and so an entrance was effected. The Japanese began to desert the wall, and soon the Chinese entered by the Po-t’ong and Ch’il-sŭng gates, while Korean allies entered by the Ham-gu Gate. By this time the Japanese had entirely left the wall and had massed themselves as best they could in