Their songs, their blasphemies, and the noise of their quarrels drowned the sound of the morning bells.
At last the Porpoises, having crossed the defiles, laid siege to the monastery.

They were warriors from the North, clad in copper armour.
They fastened ladders a hundred and fifty fathoms long to the sides of the cliffs and sometimes in the darkness and storm these broke beneath the weight of men and arms, and bunches of the besiegers were hurled into the ravines and precipices.

A prolonged wail would be heard going down into the darkness, and the assault would begin again.

The Penguins poured streams of burning wax upon their assailants, which made them blaze like torches.

Sixty times the enraged Porpoises attempted to scale the monastery and sixty times they were repulsed.
For six months they had closely invested the monastery, when, on the day of the Epiphany, a shepherd of the valley showed them a hidden path by which they climbed the mountain, penetrated into the vaults of the abbey, ran through the cloisters, the kitchens, the church, the chapter halls, the library, the laundry, the cells, the refectories, and the dormitories, and burned the buildings, killing and violating without distinction of age or sex.