The Japanese now took up the spade as their immediate weapon of defence against the infuriated Coreans and the avenging Chinese. A force of twenty-three thousand men was at once set to work, “without regard to wind or rain,” along the lines marked out by the Japanese engineers. To furnish the wood for towers, gates, huts, and engines, a party of two thousand axemen and laborers, guarded by twenty-eight mounted pickets and three hundred matchlock men, with seven flags, went daily into the forest.

The winter huts were hastily erected, walls thrown up, ditches dug, towers built, and sentinels and watch stations set. The work went on from earliest daybreak till latest twilight, the carpenters so suffering from the cold that “their finger nails dropped off.” By the first part of January the castle was almost completed. From the eleventh day the garrison took rest.

The fortress was three-sided, the south face lying on the sea. The total line of works was about three and a half miles, pierced by three gates. The inner defences were in three parts, or maru. The third maru, or enclosure, had stone walls, one tower and one gate; the second had two towers, two gates; and the first or chief citadel had stone walls, forty-eight feet high, with two towers and two gates.

The war operations, which had hitherto covered large spaces of the country, now found the pivot at this place situated in Kiung-sang, on the sea-coast, thirty-five miles north of Fusan. Another commander, Asano, marched to assist the garrison and entered the castle before the Ming army arrived. His advance guard, while reconnoitring, was defeated by the Coreans, yet he succeeded, by an impetuous charge, in entering the castle.

The Chinese, smarting under their losses at Chin-sen, and stung by the gibes of the Coreans, now hastened to Uru-san, to swallow up the Japanese. The Corean army, which had been collecting [138]around the Japanese camps, were soon joined by the advance guard of the Ming army. The arrival of the Chinese forces was made known in the following manner.

A Japanese captain commanded one of the advance pickets, which had their quarters in the cloisters of Ankokuji (Temple of the Peaceful Country). One night a board, inscribed with Chinese characters, was set up before the gate of the camp. The soldiers, seeing it in the morning, but unable to read Chinese, carried [139]it to their captain, who handed it to his priest-secretary. The board contained a warning that the Chinese were near and would soon attack Uru-san. Betraying no emotion and saying nothing, the captain soon after declared himself on the sick-list, and secretly absconded to Fusan. The truth was, that an overwhelming Ming army was now in front of them and their purpose to invest the castle was thus published. The entire Japanese forces were now gathered close under the walls, or inside the castle, and the sentinels were doubled.

On the morning of January 30th the Ming army suddenly assaulted the castle. A small detachment, evidently a decoy and forlorn hope, attempting to scale the walls, was driven back by the matchlock men and began to retreat. Seeing this, the Japanese recklessly opened the barbican gate and began pursuit of their enemies, thinking they were only Coreans. Lured on to a distance, they suddenly found themselves encircled by a mighty host. By their black and yellow standards, and their excellent tactics, the Japanese officers saw that they were Ming soldiers. The dust raised by the horses of the oncoming enemy seemed to the garrison as high as Atago Mountain in Japan. They now knew that eighty thousand Chinese were before their gates. Only after hard fighting, was the remnant of the Japanese sortie enabled to get back within the castle, while the allies, surrounding the walls, fought as fiercely as if they intended to take it by immediate assault. Some of the bravest leaders of the garrison fell outside, but no sooner were the gates locked than Katsuyoshi, without extracting the two arrows from his wounds, or stanching the blood, posted the defenders on the walls in position. Ogawuchi had performed the hazardous feat of sallying out and firing most of the outside camps. He re-entered the castle with arrows in his clothes, but received no wounds. The battle raged until night, when the Chinese drew off.

The Japanese had suffered fearfully by the first combat beyond and on the walls. “There was none but had been shot at by five or ten or fifteen arrows.” One of their captains reckoned their loss at eighteen thousand three hundred and sixty men, which left them but a garrison of five thousand fighting men. A large number of non-combatants, including many of the friendly people of the neighborhood, had crowded into the fortifications, and had to be fed.

Food growing scarcer, and danger increasing, Asano sent word [140]to Kato for help. On a fleet horse the messenger arrived, after a ride of two days. Kato had, in Japan, taken oath to Asano’s father to help him in every strait. Immediately, with seventy picked companions, he put out to sea in seven boats, and, after hard rowing, succeeded in entering the castle.

On January 31, 1598, the war-conch sounded in the Ming camp, as the signal of attack, and the ears of the besieged were soon deafened by the yells of the “eighty thousand” besiegers. The Japanese were at first terrified at the clouds of dust, through which the awful sight of ranks of men, twenty deep, were on all sides visible. The enemy, armed with shields shaped like a fowl’s wings, upon which they received the missiles of the garrison, charged on the outer works, but when into and on the slope of the ditch, flung their shields away, and plied axe, knife, sword, and lance. Though seven attacks were repulsed, the wall was breached, the outer works were gained by overwhelming numbers, and the garrison was driven into the inner enclosure.

Night fell upon the work of blood, but at early morn, the enemy waked the garrison with showers of arrows, and with ladders and hurdles of bamboo, tried to scale the walls. In four hours, seven attacks in force had been repulsed, yet the fighting went on. In spite of the intense cold, the soldiers perspired so that the sweat froze on their armor. Over their own heaps of corpses the Chinese attempted to force one of the gates, while, from the walls of the inner citadel, and from the higher gate above them, the Japanese smote them. The next day the carnage ceased from the third to the ninth hour. On February 3d, the Chinese, with their ladders, were again repulsed. At night their sentinels “gathered hoar-frost on their helmets,” while guarding the night long against the sortie, which they feared. Another attack from the clouds of enemies kept up the work of killing. Some of the Japanese warriors now noticed that their stockings and greave-bands kept slipping down, though adjusted repeatedly. The fact was their flesh had shrunk until their bones were nearly visible, and “their legs were as lean as bamboo sticks.” Another warrior, taking off his helmet and vizor, was seen to have a face so thin and wizen that he reminded his comrades of one of those hungry demons of the nether world, which they had seen so often depicted in temple pictures at home.

On February 5th, the Ming generals, who had looked upon the reduction of Uru-san as a small affair to be settled by the way, and [141]vexed at not having been able to take it by one assault, tried negotiation. In fact, they were suffering from lack of provisions. The Japanese sent back a defiant answer, and some of them profited by the lull in the fighting to make fires of broken arrows and lances, to strip the armor from the dead and frozen carcasses of their steeds, and enjoy a dinner of hot horse-meat. The vast number of shafts that had fallen within the walls, were gathered into stacks, and those damaged were reserved for fuel. Outside the citadel, they lay under the wall in heaps many feet high.

The next day, February 6th, was one of quiet, but it was intensely cold, and many of the worn out soldiers of the garrison died. Sitting under the sunny side of the towers for warmth, they were found in this position frozen to death. Yet amid all the suffering, the Japanese jested with each other, poured out mutual compliments, and kept light hearts and defiant spirits.

A council of war had been held February 2d, at Fusan, and a messenger sent to encourage the garrison. By some means he was able to communicate with his beleaguered brethren. With helmets off, the leaders listened to the words of cheer and praise, and promised to hold out yet longer.

While the lull or truce was in force, the Chinese were, according to Ogawuchi, plotting to entrap the Japanese leaders. This they learned from one Okomoto, a native of Japan, who had lived long in China, and was a division commander of eight thousand men in the Chinese army. He it was who first brought the offers of accommodation from the Ming side. The Chinese proposed to get the Japanese leaders to come out of their citadel, leave their horses and weapons at a certain place, and go to the altar to swear before Heaven to keep the peace. Then the Chinese were to surround and make prisoners of the Japanese. Okomoto’s soul recoiled at the perfidy. Going by night to the side of the castle near the hills, he was admitted in the citadel, and exposing the plot, gave warning of the danger. A profound impression was produced on the grateful leaders, who immediately made a plan to show their gratitude to Okomoto. They swore by all the gods to reward also his sons and daughters who were still living in Japan. When this fact was made known to him, he burst into tears and said he had never forgotten his wife or children; though he saw them often in his dreams, yet “the winds brought him no news.”

On the following morning a Chinese officer, coming to the foot of the wall, made signs with his standard, and offered the same [142]terms in detail which Okomoto had exposed. The Japanese leaders excused themselves on the plea of sickness, and the parley came to nothing.

Yet the sufferings of the Japanese were growing hourly severer. To half rations and hunger had succeeded famine, and with famine came actual death from starvation. Unfortunately there was no well in the castle, so the Japanese had at first sallied out, under cover of the night, and carried water from the mountain brooks. The Chinese, discovering this, posted archers in front of every accessible stream, and thus cut off all approach by night or day. To hunger was added the torture of thirst. The soldiers who fought by day stole out at night and licked the wounds of their slain enemies and even secretly chewed the raw flesh sliced from the corpses of the Chinese. Within the castle, ingenuity was taxed to the utmost to provide sustenance from the most unpromising substances. The famished soldiers chewed paper, trapped mice and ate them, killed horses and devoured every part of them. Braving the arrows of the Chinese pickets, they wandered at night wherever their dead enemies lay, and searched their clothes for stray grains of parched rice. On one occasion the Chinese, lying in wait, succeeded in capturing one hundred of the garrison, that were prowling like ghouls around the corpses of the slain. After this the commanders forbade any soldier, on pain of death, to leave the castle. Yet famine held revel within, and scores of starved and frozen multiplied into hundreds, until room for the corpses was needed.

Tidings of the straits of the dwindling garrison at Uru-san having reached the other Japanese commanders, Nabéshima and Kuroda, they marched to the relief of their compatriots. One of the Chinese generals, Rijobai, leaving camp, set out to attack them.

The foiled Chinese commander-in-chief, angry at the refusal of the Japanese to come to his camp, ordered a fresh attack on the castle. This time fresh detachments took the places of others when wearied. The day seemed shut out by the dust of horses, the smoke of guns, the clouds of arrows, and the masses of flags. Again the scaling ladders were brought, but made useless by the vigilant defenders in armor iced with frozen sweat, and chafing to the bone. Their constant labor made “three hours seem like three years.” The attack was kept up unceasingly until February 12th, when the exhausted garrison noticed the Chinese retreating. The van of the reinforcements from Fusan had attacked the allies in the [143]rear, and a bloody combat was raging. At about the same time the fleet, laden with provisions, was on its way and near the starving garrison.

Next morning the keen eyes of their commander noticed flocks of wild birds descending on the Chinese camp. The careful scrutiny of the actions of wild fowl formed a part of the military education of all Japanese, and they inferred at once that the camp was empty and the birds, attracted by the refuse food, were feeding without fear. Orders were immediately given to a detachment to leave the castle and march in pursuit. Passing through the deserted Ming camp, they came up with the forces of Kuroda and Nabéshima, who had gained a great victory over the allies. In this battle of the river plain of Gisen, February 9, 1598, the Japanese had eighteen thousand men engaged. Their victory was complete, thirteen thousand two hundred and thirty-eight heads of Coreans and Chinese being collected after the retreat of the allies. The noses and ears were, as usual, cut off and packed for shipment to Kiōto.

The sufferings of the valiant defenders were now over. Help had come at the eleventh hour. For fourteen days they had tasted neither rice nor water, except that melted from snow or ice. The abundant food from the relief ships was cautiously dealt out to the famished, lest sudden plenty should cause sudden death. The fleet men not only congratulated the garrison on their brave defence, but decorated the battered walls with innumerable flags and streamers, while they revictualed the magazines. On the ninth, the garrison went on the ships to go to Sezukai, another part of the coast, to recruit their shattered energies. With a feeling as if raised from the dead, the warriors took off their armor. The reaction of the fearful strain coming at once upon them, they found themselves lame and unable to stand or sit. Even in their dreams, they grappled with the Ming, and, laying their hand on their sword, fought again their battles in the land of dreams. For three years afterward they did not cease these night visions of war.

According to orders given, the number of the dead lying on the frozen ground, within two or three furlongs of the castle, was counted, and found to be fifteen thousand seven hundred and fifty-four. Of the Japanese, who had starved or frozen to death, eight hundred and ninety-seven were reported.

In the camp of the allies, crimination and recrimination were going on, the Coreans angry at being foiled before Uru-san, and the [144]Chinese mortified that one fortress, with its garrison, could not have been taken. They made their plans to go back and try the siege anew, when the explosion of their powder magazine, which killed many of their men, changed their plans. For his failure the Chinese commander-in-chief was cashiered in disgrace.

On May 10th the soldiers of the garrison, now relieved, left for their homes in Japan.

Thus ended the siege of Uru-san, after lasting an entire year.

After this nothing of much importance happened during the war. The invaders had suffered severely from the cold and the climate, and from hunger in the desolated land. Numerous skirmishes were fought, and a continual guerilla war kept up, but, with the exception of another naval battle between the Japanese and Chinese, in which artillery was freely used, there was nothing to influence the fortunes of either side. In this state of inaction, Hidéyoshi fell sick and died, September 9, 1598, at the age of sixty-three. Almost his last words were, “Recall all my troops from Chō-sen.” The governors appointed by him to carry out his policy at once issued orders for the return of the army. The orders to embark for home were everywhere gladly heard in the Japanese camps by the soldiers whose sufferings were now to end. Before leaving, however, many of the Japanese improved every opportunity to have a farewell brush with their enemies.

It is said, by a trustworthy writer, that 214,752 human bodies were decapitated to furnish the ghastly material for the “ear-tomb” mound in Kiōto. Ogawuchi reckons the number of Corean heads gathered for mutilation at 185,738, and of Chinese at 29,014; all of which were despoiled of ears or noses. It is probable that 50,000 Japanese, victims of wounds or disease, left their bones in Corea.

Thus ended one of the most needless, unprovoked, cruel, and desolating wars that ever cursed Corea, and from which it has taken her over two centuries to recover. [145]