San Kuo/Volume 2/Chapter 74
CHAPTER LXXIV.
P‘ang Te Takes His Coffin on a Campaign; Kuan Yü Drowns His Enemies.
The bold and self-confident officer of Ts‘ao’s army_who promised to make an end of Kuan Yü was P‘ang Tê. Ts‘ao was glad to find such a man.
“That fellow Kuan has a great reputation, and in the whole country he has no rival. He has not met his match yet, but now you are going he will find all his work cut out.”
So spake Ts‘ao Ts‘ao. He conferred on Yü Chin the title of “Corrector of the South” and on P‘ang Tê that of “Corrector of the West and Leader of the Van,” and they two marched out with their seven armies to Fanch'êng.
These seven armies were composed of sturdy fellows from the north, led by two of their own chiefs named Tung Hêng and Tung Ch‘ao. Hearing who was to command them, these two, supported by their chiefs, went to see Yü Chin and represented that the leader of the van was unsuitable.
Tung Hêng spoke, and said, “Sir General, the expedition you lead is for the relief of Fanch'êng and it can confidently expect victory, but is it not unwise to place such as P‘ang Tê in command of the van?”
“Why?” said Yü Chin, surprised.
“Because he was once under the command of Ma Ch‘ao. He had no alternative but to surrender and fight for Wei. But his former chief is now in high honour in Shu, one of the Five Tiger Generals, and his own brother is there, too, as an officer. To send him as leader of the van just now seems like trying to extinguish a fire with oil. Would it not be well to inform the Prince of Wei and ask him to exchange this man for another?”
Without further argument or delay Yü Chin went to see the prince and laid before him the objections to P‘ang’s appointment. As soon as Ts‘ao understood, he summoned P‘ang Tê to the steps and bade him yield his seal as “Leader of the Van.”
“O Prince, why do you reject my services? I was just about to do my best for you.”
“I do not doubt you, but Ma Ch‘ao is now in Hsich‘uan and your brother also, both in the service of Liu Pei. I myself have no doubts, but it is what all the crowd are saying. What can I do?"
P‘ang Tê took off his head-dress and prostrated himself, bitter tears rolling down his cheeks.
“Since I surrendered to you, O Prince, I have experienced much kindness, so that I would undergo any sufferings to show my gratitude. I hope you will trust me. When my brother and I were at home together his wife was a wicked woman and I slew her, pretending I was drunk. My brother has never forgiven me, but is permeated with hate for me. He swears never to see me again, and we are enemies. For my old master, Ma Ch‘ao, I have profound contempt. He is bold, but only that, and was in a pitiable and dejected state when he found his way to the west. Now, like me, he serves his own master, but our friendship is at an end. How could I think of another after your kindness to me?”
Ts‘ao Ts‘ao raised him from the ground and soothed him, saying, “I have always known what a noble man you are, and what I said just now was to satisfy the feelings of other people. Now you can strive to win fame, and if you do not turn your back on me I shall not on you.”
Then P‘ang took his leave and returned to his house, where he ordered the artificers to make him a coffin. Next he invited all his friends to a banquet, and the coffin was set out in the reception room for all to see. And they asked one another what that inauspicious thing could mean put out on the eve of a campaign. By and by, drinking to them, P‘ang Tê said, “The Prince of Wei has been generous to me, and I am pledged to show my gratitude to the death. I am about to go out against this Kuan, and I have to kill him or he must kill me. If he does not kill me I must commit suicide, and so I have prepared what is necessary. I will not return leaving my task unachieved.”
The terrible omen saddened the guests, and they fell to sighing. Then he called in his wife and bade her bring their son Hui, whom he commended to her care.
“I have been appointed leader of the van of this new expedition against Kuan Yü, and my duty bids me seek death or glory on the battle-field. If I die, our son is in your special care. Alas, the child has been born ill-starred, and when he grows up he will have to avenge a father.”
Both mother and son wept as they bade him farewell. When the army marched, the coffin was carried in its train. He bade his officers place his body therein if he fell in combat with Kuan Yü.
“And if I slay him, then will I bring his head in this coffin as an offering to our prince.”
Then outspake a captain of five hundred men and said, “If you are like this, O General, then we also will follow you to the end.”
The vanguard then marched away. A certain man told the story of these happenings to Ts‘ao Ts‘ao, who was very pleased, saying he had no anxiety with such a captain to lead his men.
But Chia Hsü said, “I am anxious for P‘ang Tê's safety. He is over-bold and imprudent to fight with Kuan Yü to the death.”
Ts‘ao Ts‘ao thought such an act would be unwise, and he hastily sent a messenger with an edict warning P‘ang Tê against his antagonist.
“This Kuan lacks neither cunning nor valour. You are to be most cautious in engaging him. If you can conquer, then conquer; but if there be any doubt remain on the defensive.”
“How highly does our prince regard this fellow Kuan!” said the captain to his officers when he heard this new command. “But I think I shall be able to take the keen edge off his thirtyyear reputation.”
“The command of the prince is to be obeyed,” said Yü Chin.
P‘ang Tê hastened to Fanch'êng in all the pomp and panoply of war, his gongs clanging, his drums rolling as he marched.
Kuan Yü was sitting in his tent when his spies came to tell him of the approach of the men from the north, seven cohorts of them, all bold fighting men. And they were thirty li away. Rage took possession of him. His face changed colour, his beard shook and he roared out, “There is never a fighting man in all the world who has heard my name without trembling. Does this fellow dare disdain me?”
Then he ordered Kuan P‘ing to attack the city while he went out to stay the impudent boaster who dared him.
“Father,” said Kuan P‘ing, “Mount T‘ai in its majesty does not quarrel with a pebble. Let me go and fight this P‘ang Tê.”
“Well, my son, go and try; I will support you.”
So Kuan P‘ing took his sword, mounted his steed and went out with his men. Both sides being drawn up for battle. On the side of Wei there flew a single black flag on which was inscribed, “P‘ang Tê, 'Pacificator of the South,'” in white. The leader himself wore a blue robe with a silver helmet and rode a white charger. He stood out in front backed by his five hundred faithfuls, and a few foot soldiers were there too, bearing the gruesome coffin.
Kuan P‘ing was startled at the crowd behind his opponent.
“Who is that?” asked P‘ang Tê of his followers.
A certain one replied, “That is Kuan’s adopted son, Kuan P‘ing.”
P‘ang cried, “I have an edict from the Prince of Wei to take your father’s head. You are but a weakling and I will spare you. But call your father.”
Kuan P‘ing dashed forward flourishing his sword. P‘ang Tê went to meet him, and there followed thirty odd bouts with no advantage to either.
Both sides then drew off to rest. Soon the news of this combat reached Kuan Yü, and he was not pleased. He sent Liao Hua to assault the city while he went to do battle with P‘ang Tê. Kuan P‘ing met his father and related the story of the indecisive fight. So Kuan Yü rode out with his great sword ready, and he shouted to P‘ang Tê, “Come quickly and be slain.”
The drums re-echoed as P‘ang Tê rode out and replied, “The edict from the Prince of Wei tells me to take your head. In case you disbelieve it, here is the coffin ready to receive it. If you fear death, down from your horse and surrender.”
“I hold you for a simple fool” cried Kuan Yü. “What can you do? It is a pity to stain my Black Dragon sword with the blood of such a rat.”
Then he galloped out toward P‘ang Tê, flourishing the sword. P‘ang Tê whirled his blade and came to meet him, and they two fought a hundred bouts. And as they fought the lust of battle seemed to grow and both armies were lost in amazement.
But the army of Wei began to fear for their champion, and the gongs sounded the retirement. At the same time Kuan P‘ing began to think of his father’s fatigue, and his gongs clanged too. So that both armies drew off at the same time.
“Kuan Yü is really a mighty man of war,” said P‘ang Tê, when he had got back among his own men.
Then his chief, Yü Chin, came to see him and spoke of the great combat of a hundred bouts which had ended indecisively.
“I think it would be prudent to retire out of his way,” said Yü Chin at the close.
But P‘ang Tê replied haughtily, “What makes you so soft? Yet the prince gave you the command! But to-morrow I will fight again and that to the death. I swear I will never give way.”
Yü Chin could not overcome his decision, so he went back to his own camp.
When Kuan Yü had got back to his camp he extolled the swordsmanship of his opponent and acknowledged him a worthy enemy.
“The new-born calf fears not the tiger,” said Kuan P‘ing, “But if you slay this fellow, my father, you have only killed a barbarian of the tribes beyond the frontier. If any accident occur, then you will have the reproach of not having considered your brother’s charge.”
“How can my resentment be assuaged save by the death of this man?” returned Kuan. “I have decided to fight, so say no more.”
Next day Kuan took the field first, but P‘ang quickly came out. Both arrayed their men and then went to the front at the same moment. This time neither spoke, but the combat began forthwith. It went on for fifty bouts and then P‘ang pulled his horse, sheathed his sword and fled. Kuan went in pursuit, and Kuan P‘ing followed lest there should be need of him. Kuan Yü roared out revilings to his flying foe and that he wanted to get the chance for an unfair blow. But he was not afraid.
But the fact was that P‘ang Tê had only pretended to try for a foul stroke in order to cover a resort to his bow. He pulled in his horse, fitted an arrow to the string and was just on the point of shooting when Kuan P‘ing, who was sharpeyed, shouted out a warning.
“The bandit is going to shoot!”
Kuan Yü saw it, but the bowstring sang and the arrow came flying. He was not nimble enough to avoid it and it wounded his left arm. Kuan P‘ing at once went to his father’s assistance and led him away to the camp. P‘ang wished to follow up this advantage and came back whirling his sword, but, ere he could strike, the gongs of his own side rang out. He thought there was something amiss in the rear and stopped.
The signal for retreat had been sounded by Yü Chin out of jealousy, for he had seen that Kuan Yü had been wounded and he grudged his colleague the glory which would eclipse his own. P‘ang obeyed, but when he got back he wanted to know why retreat had been sounded on the very verge of a great success.
“Why did the gongs clang?” asked he.
“Because of our prince’s warning. Though he was wounded I feared some trick on his part. He is very cunning.”
“I should have killed him if you had not done that,” said P‘ang.
“Haste makes slow going; you can postpone your fight with him,” said Yü Chin.
P‘ang Tê, though ignorant of the real reason why he was made to miss success at the critical moment, was still very vexed.
Kuan Yü went back to camp, and the arrow-head was puled out of the wound. Happily it had not penetrated very deeply, and the usual remedies against injuries by metal were applied. Kuan Yü was very bitter against his enemy and declared that he would have his revenge for his wound.
“Never mind anything but recovering now,” said his officers. “Rest and get well; then you may fight again.”
Before long, P‘ang Tê renewed his challenge, and Kuan Yü was for going out to fight; however, he yielded to the entreaties of his officers. And when P‘ang set his men to reviling the hero, Kuan P‘ing saw to it that his father never heard it. After ten days of challenges hurled uselessly at an army that ignored them, P‘ang took council with Yü Chin.
Evidently Kuan Yü is helpless from the effects of that arrow-wound. We ought to advance all our seven armies against him while he is ill and destroy his camp. Thereby we shall relieve Fanch'êng.”
Thus spake P‘ang, but jealousy of the glory that might accrue to his next in command again made Yü Chin urge caution and obedience to the command of the prince. He refused to move his men in spite of P‘ang’s repeated persuasion; still more, he led the army to a new camping ground behind the hills some distance north of Fanch'êng. There his own army stopped communication by the main road, while he sent P‘ang into a valley in the rear so that he could do nothing.
To the son’s great joy Kuan Yü's wound soon healed. Soon after they heard of Yü Chin’s new camp, and as Kuan P‘ing could assign no reason for the change, and suspected some ruse, he told his father, who went up to a high place to reconnoitre. Looking round, he noted that there seemed much slackness about everything in Fanch'êng, that horse and foot were camped in a valley to the north and that the Hsiang River seemed to run very swiftly. After impressing the topography on his mind he called the guides and asked the name of the gully about ten li north of the city.
“Tsêngk‘ouch'üan,” was the reply.
He chuckled. “I shall capture Yü Chin,” said he.
Those with him asked how he knew that. He replied, “Why, how can anyone last long in such a place?”
Those in his train gave but little weight to what he said, and presently he went back to his own tent. It was just then the time for the autumn rains, and a heavy downpour came on, lasting several days. Orders were given to get ready boats and rafts and such things. Kuan P‘ing could not think what such preparations meant in a dry land campaign. So he asked his father.
“Do you not know even?” replied his father. “Our enemies have camped in difficult ground instead of the open country and are crowded in the dangerous valley there. After some days of this rain the Hsiang River will swell, and I shall send men to dam up all the outlets and so let the water rise very high. When at its highest I shall open the dams and let the water out over Fanch'êng. That valley will be flooded too, and all the soldiers will become aquatic animals.”
It is time to return to the Wei armies. They had camped in the gully, and after several days of heavy rain the captain Ch'êng Ho ventured to speak to his general.
He said, “The army is camped near the mouth of a stream in a depression. There are hills around us, but they are too far off to keep the water away. Our men are already suffering from these heavy rains, and, moreover, they say the Chingchou men have moved to higher ground. More than that, at Hanshuik‘ow they are preparing boats and rafts so that they can take advantage of the floods if there are any. Our men will be in great danger, and something should be done.”
But the general scoffed at his words, called him a fool and blamed him for injuring the spirit of his men. So Chiêng Ho went away greatly ashamed.
Then he went to P‘ang Tê, who saw the force of his words and promised that if Yü Chin would not move camp the next day he himself would do so. So Ch'êng Ho left it at that.
That night there came a great storm. As P‘ang Tê sat in his tent he heard the sound as of ten thousand horses in stampede and a roar as of the drums of war seeming to shake the earth. He was alarmed, left his tent and mounted his charger to go and see what it meant. Then he saw the rolling waters coming in from every side and the seven armies flying from the flood, which speedily rose to the height of ten feet. Yü Chin and P‘ang Tê, with many other officers, sought safety by rushing up the hills.
As day dawned, Kuan Yü and his men came along in large boats with flags flying and drums beating. Yü Chin saw no way of escape, and his following was reduced to about three score. They all said they must surrender. Kuan Yü made them strip and then took them on board.
After that he went to capture P‘ang Tê, who was standing on a hillock with the two Tungs, Ch'êng Ho and the faithful five hundred, all unarmed. P'êng Tê saw his arch enemy approach without a sign of fear, and even went boldly to meet him. Kuan Yü surrounded the party with his boats, and the archers began to shoot. When more than half the men had been struck down, the survivors became desperate. The two Tungs pressed their chief to give in. But P‘ang Tê only raged.
“I have received great kindness from the prince; think you that I will bow the head to any other?”
He cut down the two Tungs and then shouted, “Anyone who says surrender shall be as these two.”
So the survivors made a desperate effort to beat off their enemies, and they held their own up to mid-day. Then Kuan Yü's men redoubled their efforts, and the arrows and stones rained down upon the defenders, who fought desperately hand to hand with their assailants.
“The valorous leader fears death less than desertion; the brave warrior does not break faith to save his life,” cried P‘ang Tê. “This is the day of my death, but I will fight on to the last.”
So Ch'êng Ho pressed on till he fell into the water wounded, and then the soldiers yielded.
P‘ang Tê fought on. Then one of the boats happened to close in to the bank. With a tremendous leap P‘ang Tê lighted on it and slashed at the occupants, killing several. The others jumped overboard and swam away. Then P‘ang Tê, one hand still holding his sword, tried to manoeuver the boat across the river to the city. Then there came drifting down a raft, which collided with and upset his boat so that he was struggling in the water. But a captain on the raft jumped into the water, gripped him and put him on the boat again.
The captor was Chou Ts‘ang, a skilful waterman who, having lived in Chingchou for many years, was thoroughly expert in boat navigation. Beside, he was very powerful and so was able to make P‘ang Tê a prisoner.
In this flood perished the whole of the seven armies, except the few that saved themselves by swimming; these latter, having no way of escape, surrendered to the victors.
In the depth of night rolled the war drums,
Summonding the warriors as to battle;
But the enemy was no man,
For the waters had risen and the flood came.
This was the plan of Kuan Yü, the crafty,
To drown his enemies. More than human
was he in cunning. The ages hand on his fame
As his glory was told in his own day.
Kuan Yü then returned to the higher ground, where his tent was pitched and therein took his seat to receive his prisoners. The lictors brought up Yü Chin, who prostrated himself humbly and begged his life.
“How dared you think to oppose me?”
“I was sent; I came not of my own will. I crave my lord’s pity, and one day I will requite.”
“To execute you would be like killing a dog or a hog. It would be soiling weapons for nothing,” said Kuan Yü, stroking his beard.
Yü Chin was bound and sent to the great prison in Chingchou.
“I will decide your fate when I return,” said Kuan Yü.
The general having thus dealt with his chief, P‘ang Tê was sent for. He came, pride and anger flashing from his eyes; he did not kneel but stood boldly erect.
“You have a brother in Hanchung and your old chief was Ma Ch‘ao, also in high honour in Shu. Had you not better join them?”
“Rather than surrender to you I would perish beneath the sword,” cried P‘ang.
He reviled his captors without ceasing till, losing patience at last, Kuan Yü sent him to his death. He was beheaded. He stretched out his neck for the headsman’s sword. Out of pity he was honourably buried.
The floods were still out, and taking advantage of them they boarded the boats to move toward Fanch'êng, which now stood out as a mere island with waves breaking against the walls. The force of the waters being great, the city wall was beginning to give way, and the whole population, male and female, were carrying mud and bricks to strengthen it. Their efforts seemed vain, and the leaders of Ts‘ao Ts‘ao’s army were very desperate. Some of the captains went to see Ts‘ao Jên, who said, “No ordinary man’s strength can fend off to-day’s danger. If we can hold out till nightfall we may escape by boat. We shall lose the city, but we shall save our skins.”
But Man Ch‘ung interposed before the boats could be got ready. He pointed out that the force of the waters was too great for any boats to live, while they only had to wait ten days or so and the flood would have passed.
“Though Kuan Yü has not assaulted the city, yet he has sent another army to Chiahsia, and he dares not abvance lest we should fall upon his rear. Remember, too, that to retire from this city means the abandonment of everything south of the Yellow River. Therefore I decide that you defend this place, which is strong.”
Ts‘ao Jên saluted Man Ch‘ung as he concluded his harangue, saying, “What a tremendous error I should have committed had it not been for you, Sir!”
Then riding his white charger he went up on the city walls, gathered his officers around him and pledged himself not to surrender.
“The prince’s command being to defend this city, I shall defend it to the last. And I shall put to death anyone who even mentions abandonment.” said he.
“And we desire to defend it to out last gasp,” chimed in his officers.
Then they saw to it that the means of offence were good. Many hundreds of archers and crossbowmen were stationed on the wall and kept watch night and day. The old and the young of ordinary people were made to carry earth and stones to strengthen the wall.
After some ten days the flood was at an end. Then the news of Kuan Yü's success got abroad, and the terror of his name spread wider and wider. About the same time, too, his second son, Hsing, came to visit his father in camp. Kuan Yü thought this a good opportunity to send his report of success to Ch'êngtu and entrusted to Hsing a despatch mentioning each officer’s services and requesting promotion for them. Kuan Hsing accordingly took leave of his father and left.
After his departure the army was divided into two halves, one under Kuan Yü to attack the city and the other to go to Chiahsia. One day Kuan Yü rode over to the north gate. Halting his steed, he pointed with his whip toward the defenders on the wall, and called out, “You lot of rats will not give in then! What are you waiting for?”
Ts‘ao Jên, who was among his men on the wall, saw that Kuan Yü had no armour on, so he ordered his men to shoot. The archers and bowmen at once sent a great flight of arrows and bolts that way. Kuan Yü hastily pulled the reins to retire, but an arrow struck him in the arm. The shock of the blow made him turn in the saddle and he fell from his horse.
Just now a mighty army perished
By the river’s overflow;
A crossbow bolt from the city wall
Lays a valiant warrior low.
What further befell Kuan Yü will be told in the next chapter.