Corea: The Hermit Nation

The plan of the second invasion was to land all the Japanese forces at Fusan, and then to divide them into three columns, which were to advance by the south to Nan-on castle in Chulla, and by two roads, northward and westward, to the capital. As before, Konishi and Kato Kiyomasa were the two field commanders, while Hidéaki, a noble lad, sixteen years old, was the nominal commander-in-chief.

The Coreans had made preparations to fight the Japanese at sea as well as on land. Their fleet consisted of about two hundred vessels of heavy build, for butting and ramming, as well as for accommodating a maximum of fighting men. They were two hundred and fifty or three hundred feet in length, with huge sterns, having enormous rudders, the tillers of which were worked by eight men. Their high, flat prows were hideously carved and painted to represent the face and open jaws of a dragon, or demon, ready to devour. Stout spars or knotted logs, set upright along the gunwale, protected the men who worked the catapults, and heavily built roofed cabins sheltered the soldiers and gave the archers a vantage ground. The rowers sat amidships, between the cabins and the gunwales, or rather over on these latter, in casements made of stout timber. The catapults were on deck, between the bows. They were twenty-four feet long, made of tree-trunks a yard in circumference. Immense bows, drawn to their notches by windlasses, shot iron-headed darts and bolts six feet long and four inches thick. On some of the ships towers were erected, in which cannon, missile-engines, and musketeers were stationed, to shoot out fire-arrows, stones, and balls. At close quarters the space at the bows—about one-third of the deck—was free for the movements of the men wielding spear and sword, and for those who plied the grappling hooks or boarding planks. The decks crowded with men in armor, the glitter of steel and flash of oars, the blare [130]of the long Corean trumpets, and the gay fluttering of thousands of silken flags and streamers made brilliant defiance.

The Japanese accepted the challenge, and, sailing out, closed with the enemy. Wherever they could, they ran alongside and gave battle at the bows. Though their ships were smaller, they were more manageable. In some cases, they ran under the high sterns and climbed on board the enemy’s ships. Once at hand to hand fight, their superior swordsmanship quickly decided the day. Their most formidable means of offence which, next to their cannon, won them the victory, were their rockets and fire-arrows, which they were able to shoot into the sterns, where the dry wood soon caught fire, driving the crews into the sea, where they drowned. Two hours fighting sufficed, by which time one hundred and seventy-four Corean ships had been burned or taken. News of this brilliant victory was at once sent by a swift vessel to Japan.

Endeavors were made to strengthen the garrison at Nan-on, but the Japanese general, Kato Yoshiakira, meeting the reinforcements on their way, prevented their design. Kato Kiyomasa, changing his plans, also marched to Nan-on, resolving to again, if possible, snatch an honor from his rival As usual, the younger man was too swift for him. Konishi now moved his entire command in the fleet up the Sem River, in Chulla province, and landing, camped at a place called Uren, eighteen ri from Nan-on castle. He rested here five days in the open meadow land to allow the horses to relax their limbs after the long and close confinement in the ships. From a priest, whom they found at this place, they learned that the garrison of Nan-on numbered over 20,000 Chinese and Coreans, the reinforcements in the province, and on their way, numbered 20,000 more, while in the north was another Chinese corps of 20,000.

At the council of war held, it was resolved to advance at once to take the castle before succor came. In spite of many lame horses, and the imperfect state of the commissariat, the order to march was given. Men and beasts were in high spirits, but many of the horses were ridden to death, or rendered useless by the forced march of the cavalry. Early on the morning of September 21st, the advance guard camped in the morning fog at a distance of a mile from the citadel. The main body, coming up, surrounded it on all sides, pitched their camp, threw out their pickets, set up their standards, and proceeded promptly to fortify their lines. [131]

Nan-on castle was of rectangular form, enclosing a space nearly two miles square, as each side was nine thousand feet long. Its walls, which were twelve feet high, were built of great stones, laid together without cement. Though no mortar had been used on wall or tower, shell-lime had been laid over the outside, in which [132]glistened innumerable fragments of nacre and the enamel of shells, giving the structure the appearance of glittering porcelain. At the angles, and at intervals along the flanks, were towers, two or three stories high. The four ponderous gates were of stone, fourteen feet high.

The preparations for defence were all that Chinese science could suggest. In the dry ditch, three hundred feet wide, was an abatis of tree-trunks, with their branches outward, behind which were iron-plated wagons, to be filled with archers and spearmen. From the towers, fire-missiles and shot from firearms were in readiness.

The weak points, at which no enemy was expected, and for which preparations for defence were few, were on the east and west

No effect being produced during the first two days, either by bullets or fire-arrows, Konishi, on the third, sent large detachments of men into the rice-fields, then covered with a promising harvest of growing rice, which the farmers, in the hope of peace, had sown. Reaping the green, juicy stalks, the hundreds of soldiers gathered an enormous quantity of sheaves and waited, with these and their stacks of bamboo poles and ladders, until night. In the thick darkness, and in perfect silence, they moved to a part of the wall which, being over twenty feet high, was but slightly guarded, and began to build a platform of the sheaves. Four Japanese, reaching the top by climbing, raised the war-cry, and one of the towers being set on fire by their arrows, the work was discovered. Yet the matchlock men kept the walls swept by their bullets, while the work of piling fresh sheaves and bundles of bamboo went on. The greenness of the rice-stalks made the mass both firm and fire-proof. At last the mound was so high that it overtopped the wall. The men now climbed over the ramparts by the hundreds, and the swordsmen, leaping into the castle, began the fight at hand to hand. Most of the Chinese fought with the courage of despair, while others, in their panic, opened the gates to escape, by which more of the besiegers entered. The garrison, smitten in front and rear, were driven to the final wall by Konishi’s troops. On the other side a body of picked men, from Kato’s army, joined in the slaughter. They had entered the castle at the rear, by scaling a rugged mountain path known only to the Corean prisoners, whose treachery they had purchased by the promise of their lives. Between the two attacking forces the [133]Coreans and Chinese, who could not escape, were slain by thousands.

Among many curious incidents narrated by Ogawuchi, who tells the story of this siege and attack, was this. As he entered the castle, amid the smoke and confusion, in which he saw some of the panic-stricken garrison destroying themselves, he cut off the heads of two enemies, and then, suddenly recollecting that this fifteenth day of the eighth month was the day sacred to Hachiman, the god of war and Buddha of the Eight Banners, he flung down his bloody sword, put his red palms together, and bowing his head, prayed devoutly toward his adored Japan. His devotions ended, he sliced off the noses from the heads of the two enemies he had slain, wrapped them in paper, twisted the package to his girdle, and sprang forward to meet, with but three men, the charge of fifty horsemen. The first sweep of the Japanese sabre severed the leg of the nearest rider, who fell to the earth on the other side of his horse, and Ogawuchi’s companions killing each his man, the enemy fled. The fires of the burning towers now lighted up the whole area of the castle, while the autumn moon rose red and clear. Ogawuchi slew, with his own hand, Kéku-shiu, one of the Chinese commanders. His body, in rich armor, lined with gold brocade, was stripped, and the trappings secured as trophies to be sent home, while his head was presented for Konishi’s inspection next morning.

According to the barbarous custom of the victors, they severed the heads of the bodies not already decapitated in fight, until the castle space resembled a great slaughter-yard. Collecting them into a great heap, they began the official count. The number of these ghastly trophies, or “glory-signs,” was three thousand seven hundred and twenty-six. The ears and noses of the slain were then sheared off, and with the commander’s head, were packed with salt and quick lime in casks, and sent to Japan to form the great ear-tomb now in Kiōto, the horrible monument of a most unrighteous war.

A map of the castle and town, with the list of the most meritorious among the victors, was duly sent back to Taikō. Then the walls and towers, granaries, and barracks were destroyed. This work occupied two days.

Promptly on September 30th the army moved on to Teru-shiu, the cavalry riding day and night, and reaching the castle only to find it deserted, the garrison having fled toward Seoul. The Japanese [134]remained here ten days, levelling the fortress with fire and hammer.

As the cold weather was approaching, the Japanese commanders, after council, resolved at once to march to the capital. Katsuyoshi and Kiyomasa had joined them, and the advance northward was at once began. By October 19th they were within seventeen miles of Seoul.1

The successes on land, brilliant though they were, were balanced by the defeat of the Japanese navy off the southern coast. The Chinese admiral Rishinshin, in conjunction with the Coreans, won an important victory over Kuroda’s naval forces a few days after the fall of Nan-on. In this instance, the Chinese ships were not only heavy enough to be formidable as rams, but were made more manageable by numerous rowers sitting in well-defended timber casements, apparently covered with metal. The warriors, too, seem to have been armed with larger lances. The Chinese commanders, having improved their tactics, so managed their vessels that the Japanese fleet was destroyed or driven away.

This event may be said to have decided the fate of the campaign. Bereft of their fleet, which would, by going round the west coast, have afforded them a base of supplies, they were now obliged to advance into a country nearly empty of forage, and with no store of provisions. As in the opening of the war, so again, the loss of the fleet at a critical period made retreat necessary even at the moment of victory.

Meanwhile, the Chinese general Keikai, thoroughly disliking the rigors of a camp in a Corean winter, and feeling deeply for his soldiers suffering from exposure in a desolate land, determined on closing the war as soon as possible. Erecting an altar, in presence of the army, he offered sacrifices to propitiate the spirits of Heaven and Earth, and prayed for victory against the invaders. Then, after seeing well to commissariat and equipment, he gave orders for a general movement of all the allied forces, with the design of ending the war by a brief and decisive campaign. The Japanese generals at Koran, by means of their spies and advance parties, kept themselves well informed of the movements of the enemy. At a [135]skirmish at Chin-zen the Chinese advance guard was defeated with heavy loss, but the Japanese at once began their retreat. Shishida and Ota, who were further east, learning of the overwhelming odds against them, fell back into Uru-san, which was already manned by a detachment of Kato’s corps.

While Kato and Katsuyoshi were at Chin-zen, a grand tiger hunt was proposed and carried out, in which a soldier was bitten in two places and died. The army agreed that tiger-hunting required much nerve and valor. Besides the tiger steaks, which they ate, much fresh meat was furnished by the numerous crane, pheasants, and “the ten thousand things different from those in Japan,” which they made use of to eke out their scanty rations.

To remain in camp until the Han River was frozen over, and could be crossed easily, or to press on at once, was the question now considered by the Japanese. While thus debating, word came that the Chinese armies had made junction at Seoul, and numbered one hundred thousand men. The Japanese “felt cold in their breasts” when they heard this. Far from their base of supplies, their fleet destroyed, and they at the threshold of winter in a famine-stricken land, they were forced, reluctantly, again to retreat into Kiung-sang.

This turning their backs on Seoul was, in reality, the beginning of their march homeward. The invaders, therefore, enriched themselves with the spoil of houses and temples as they moved toward the coast—gold and silver brocades, rolls of silk, paintings, works of art, precious manuscripts, books written with gold letters on azure paper, inlaid weapons and armor, rich mantles, and whatever, in this long-settled and wealthy province, pleased their fancy. On the boundaries of roads and provinces they noticed large dressed stone columns of an octagonal form, with inscriptions upon them. Their route lay from Chin-zen, which they left in ashes, on October 25th, to Chin-nan; to Ho-won; to Ho-kin; to Karon; reaching Kion-chiu, the old capital of Shinra, after some fighting along the way.

The Japanese were impressed with the size and grandeur of the buildings in this old seat of the civilization and learning of Shinra and Korai. Here, in ancient days, was the focus of the arts, letters, religion, and science which, from the west, the far off mysterious land of India, and the nearer, yet august, empire of China, had been brought to Corea. Here, too, their own ancient mikados had sent embassies, and from this historic city had radiated [136]the influences of civilization into Japan. As Buddhism had been the dominant faith of Shinra and Korai, this was the old sacred city of the peninsula, and among the historic edifices still standing and most admired were the halls and pagodas of the Eternal Buddha. Kion-chiu was to the Japanese very much what London is to an American, Geneva to a Protestant, or Dordrecht to a Hollander. Yet, in spite of all classic associations, the city was wantonly destroyed. On the morning of November 2d, beginning at the magnificent temples, the whole city was given to the torch. Three hundred thousand dwellings were burned, and the flames lighted up the long night with the glare of day.

The next morning, turning their backs on the gray waste of ashes, they resumed their march. Kokiō, Kunoi, Sin-né were passed through. Skirmishing and the destruction of castles, and the burning of granaries, were the pastimes enjoyed between camps. On November 18th the army reached a river, where the Coreans made an unsuccessful night attack, repeating the same in the morning, while the Japanese were crossing the stream, with the same negative results.

Thence through Yei-tan, they came to Kéku-shiu, another famous old seat of Shinra’s ancient grandeur. The beautiful situation and rich appearance of the city charmed the invaders, who lingered long in the deserted streets before applying the torch. The “three hundred thousand houses of the people” were clustered around the great Buddhist temple in the centre. The clock-tower, eighteen stories high, was especially admired. The massive swinging beam by which the tongueless bells, or gongs, of the Far East are made to boom out the hours, struck against a huge bronze lotus eight or nine feet in diameter. This sacred flower of the Buddhist emblem of peace and calm in Nirvana had in Corean art taken the place of the suspended bell, being most probably a cup-shaped mass of metal set with mouth upright, or like a bell turned upside down—such being the form often seen in the temples of Chinese Asia. Again did antiquity, religion, or the promptings of mercy fail to restrain the invaders. Securing what spoils they cared for, everything else was burned up.

After camping at Kiran, they reached the sea-coast, at Uru-san, November 18th. [137]