Chapter I.

Transcriber’s Note:

This version of the text cannot represent certain typographical effects.

Italics are delimited with the ‘_’ character as _italic_.

Errors, when reasonably attributable to the printer, have been

corrected. Please see the transcriber’s note at the end of this text for

details. Corrections made to the text are summarized there.

Illustrations have been moved to avoid falling within a paragraph.

THE

HISTORY OF KOREA

HOMER B. HULBERT, A.M., F.R.G.S.

Editor of THE KOREA REVIEW

TWO VOLUMES

ILLUSTRATED

SEOUL, 1905

THE METHODIST PUBLISHING HOUSE

------------------------------------------------------------------------

CONTENTS.

PREFACE I

INTRODUCTORY NOTE V

ANCIENT KOREA 2257 B.C.-890 A.D. Vol. I 1

MEDIEVAL KOREA 890-1392 Vol. I 127

MODERN KOREA 1392-1904 Vol. I 295

Preface.

The sources from which the following History of Korea is drawn are

almost purely Korean. For ancient and medieval history the Tong-sa

Kang-yo has been mainly followed. This is an abstract in nine volumes of

the four great ancient histories of the country. The facts here found

were verified by reference to the Tong-guk Tong-gam, the most complete

of all existing ancient histories of the country. Many other works on

history, geography and biography have been consulted, but in the main

the narrative in the works mentioned above has been followed.

A number of Chinese works have been consulted, especially the Mun-hon

Tong-go wherein we find the best description of the wild tribes that

occupied the peninsula about the time of Christ.

It has been far more difficult to obtain material for compiling the

history of the past five centuries. By unwritten law the history of no

dynasty in Korea has ever been published until after its fall. Official

records are carefully kept in the government archives and when the

dynasty closes these are published by the new dynasty. There is an

official record which is published under the name of the Kuk-cho Po-gam

but it can in no sense be called a history, for it can contain nothing

that is not complimentary to the ruling house and, moreover, it has not

been brought down even to the opening of the 19th century. It has been

necessary therefore to find private manuscript histories of the dynasty

and by uniting and comparing them secure as accurate a delineation as

possible of the salient features of modern Korean history. In this I

have enjoyed the services of a Korean scholar who has made the history

of this dynasty a special study for the past twenty-five years and who

has had access to a large number of private manuscripts. I withhold his

name by special request. By special courtesy I have also been granted

access to one of the largest and most complete private libraries in the

capital. Japanese records have also been consulted in regard to special

points bearing on the relations between Korea and Japan.

A word must be said in regard to the authenticity and credibility of

native Korean historical sources. The Chinese written character was

introduced into Korea as a permanent factor about the time of Christ,

and with it came the possibility of permanent historical records. That

such records were kept is quite apparent from the fact that the dates of

all solar eclipses have been carefully preserved from the year 57 B.C.

In the next place it is worth noticing that the history of Korea is

particularly free from those great cataclysms such as result so often in

the destruction of libraries and records. Since the whole peninsula was

consolidated under one flag in the days of ancient Sil-la no dynastic

change has been effected by force. We have no mention of any catastrophe

to the Sil-la records: and Sil-la merged into Koryŭ and Koryŭ into

Cho-sŭn without the show of arms, and in each case the historical

records were kept intact. To be sure, there have been three great

invasions of Korea, by the Mongols, Manchus and Japanese respectively,

but though much vandalism was committed by each of these, we have reason

to believe that the records were not tampered with. The argument is

three-fold. In the first place histories formed the great bulk of the

literature in vogue among the people and it was so widely disseminated

that it could not have been seriously injured without annihilating the

entire population.

In the second place these invasions were made by peoples who, though not

literary themselves, had a somewhat high regard for literature, and

there could have been no such reason for destroying histories as might

exist where one dynasty was forcibly ejected by another hostile one. In

the third place the monasteries were the great literary centers during

the centuries preceding the rise of the present dynasty, and we may well

believe that the Mongols would not seriously molest these sacred

repositories. On the whole then we may conclude that from the year 57

B.C. Korean histories are fairly accurate. Whatever comes before that is

largely traditional and therefore more or less apocryphal.

One of the greatest difficulties encountered is the selection of a

system of romanisation which shall steer a middle course between the

Scilla of extreme accuracy and the Charybdis of extreme simplicity. I

have adopted the rule of spelling all proper names in a purely phonetic

way without reference to the way they are spelled in native Korean. In

this way alone can the reader arrive at anything like the actual

pronunciation as found in Korea. The simple vowels have their

continental sounds: _a_ as in “father,” _i_ as in “ravine,” _o_ as in

“rope” and _u_ as in “rule.” The vowel _e_ is used only with the grave

accent and is pronounced as in the French “_recit_.” When a vowel has

the short mark over it, it is to be given the flat sound: _ă_ as in

“fat,” _ŏ_ as in “hot,” _ŭ_ as in “nut.” The umlaut _ö_ is used but it

has a slightly more open sound than in German. It is the “unrounded o”

where the vowel is pronounced without protruding the lips. The pure

Korean sound represented by _oé_ is a pure diphthong and is pronounced

by letting the lips assume the position of pronouncing _o_ while the

tongue is thrown forward as if to pronounce the short _e_ in “met.” Eu

is nearly the French eu but with a slightly more open sound. As for

consonants they have their usual sounds, but when the surds _k_, _p_ or

_t_ in the body of a word are immediately preceded by an open syllable

or a syllable ending with a sonant, they change to their corresponding

sonants: _k_ to _g_, _p_ to _b_ and _t_ to _d_. For instance, in the

word _Pak-tu_, the _t_ of the _tu_ would be _d_ if the first syllable

were open. No word begins with the sonants _g_, _b_ or _d_.

In Korean we have the long and short quantity in vowels. _Han_ may be

pronounced either simply _han_ or longer _haan_, but the distinction is

not of enough importance to compensate for encumbering the system with

additional diacritical marks.

In writing proper names I have adopted the plan most in use by

sinologues. The patronymic stands alone and is followed by the two given

names with a hyphen between them. All geographical names have hyphens

between the syllables. To run the name all together would often lead to

serious difficulty, for who would know, for instance, whether _Songak_

were pronounced _Son-gak_ or _Song-ak_?

In the spelling of some of the names of places there will be found to be

a slight inconsistency because part of the work was printed before the

Korea Branch of the Royal Asiatic Society had determined upon a system

of romanization, but in the main the system here used corresponds to

that of the Society.

This is the first attempt, so far as I am aware, to give to the English

reading public a history of Korea based on native records, and I trust

that in spite of all errors and infelicities it may add something to the

general fund of information about the people of Korea.

H.B.H.

SEOUL, KOREA, 1905.

Introductory Note.

Geography is the canvas on which history is painted. Topography means as

much to the historian as to the general. A word, therefore, about the

position of Korea will not be out of place.

The peninsula of Korea, containing approximately 80,000 square miles,

lies between 33° and 43° north latitude, and between 124° 30′ and 130°

30′ east longitude. It is about nine hundred miles long from north to

south and has an average width from east to west of about 240 miles. It

is separated from Manchuria on the northwest by the Yalu or Am-nok

River, and from Asiatic Russia on the northeast by the Tu-man River.

Between the sources of these streams rise the lofty peaks of White Head

Mountain, called by the Chinese Ever-white or Long-white Mountain. From

this mountain whorl emanates a range which passes irregularly southward

through the peninsula until it loses itself in the waters of the Yellow

Sea, thus giving birth to the almost countless islands of the Korean

archipelago. The main watershed of the country is near the eastern coast

and consequently the streams that flow into the Japan Sea are neither

long nor navigable, while on the western side and in the extreme south

we find considerable streams that are navigable for small craft a

hundred miles or more. While the eastern coast is almost entirely

lacking in good harbors the western coast is one labyrinth of estuaries,

bays and gulfs which furnish innumerable harbors. It is on the western

watershed of the country that we will find most of the arable land and

by far the greater portion of the population.

We see then that, geographically, Korea’s face is toward China and her

back toward Japan. It may be that this in part has moulded her history.

During all the centuries her face has been politically, socially and

religiously toward China rather than toward Japan.

The climate of Korea is the same as that of eastern North America

between the same latitudes, the only difference being that in Korea the

month of July brings the “rainy season” which renders nearly all roads

in the interior impassable. This rainy season, by cutting in two the

warmer portion of the year, has had a powerful influence on the history

of the country; for military operations were necessarily suspended

during this period and combatants usually withdrew to their own

respective territories upon its approach.

The interior of Korea is fairly well wooded, although there are no very

extensive tracts of timber land. A species of pine largely predominates

but there is also a large variety of other trees both deciduous and

evergreen.

Rice is the staple article of food throughout most of the country. Among

the mountain districts in the north where rice cannot be grown potatoes

and millet are largely used. An enormous amount of pulse is raised,

almost solely for fodder, and other grains are also grown. The bamboo

grows sparsely and only in the south. Ginseng is an important product of

the country.

The fauna of Korea includes several species of deer, the tiger, leopard,

wild pig, bear, wolf, fox and a large number of fur bearing animals

among which the sable and sea-otter are the most valuable. The entire

peninsula is thoroughly stocked with cattle, horses, swine and donkeys,

but sheep are practically unknown. The fisheries off the coast of Korea

are especially valuable and thousands of the people earn a livelihood on

the banks. Pearls of good quality are found. Game birds of almost

infinite variety exist and all the commoner domestic birds abound.

As to the geology of the country we find that there is a back bone of

granite formation with frequent outcroppings of various other forms of

mineral life. Gold is extremely abundant and there are few prefectures

in the country where traces of it are not found. Silver is also common.

Large deposits of coal both anthracite and bituminous have been

discovered, but until recently little has been done to open up the

minerals of the country in a scientific manner.

Ethnologically we may say that the people are of a mixed Mongolian and

Malay origin, although this question has as yet hardly been touched

upon. The language of Korea is plainly agglutinative and may, without

hesitation, be placed in the great Turanian or Scythian group.

The population of Korea is variously estimated from ten to twenty

millions. We shall not be far from the truth if we take a middle course

and call the population thirteen millions. Somewhat more than half of

the people live south of a line drawn east and west through the capital

of the country.

PART I

ANCIENT KOREA

Chapter I.

Tan-gun.... his antecedents.... his origin.... he becomes king.... he

teaches the people.... his capital.... he retires.... extent of his

kingdom.... traditions.... monuments.

In the primeval ages, so the story runs, there was a divine being named

Whan-in, or Che-Sŏ: “Creator.” His son, Whan-ung, being affected by

celestial _ennui_, obtained permission to descend to earth and found a

mundane kingdom. Armed with this warrant, Whan-ung with three thousand

spirit companions descended upon Ta-băk Mountain, now known as Myo-hyang

San, in the province of P’yŭng-an, Korea. It was in the twenty-fifth

year of the Emperor Yao of China, which corresponds to 2332 B.C.

He gathered his spirit friends beneath the shade of an ancient _pak-tal_

tree and there proclaimed himself King of the Universe. He governed

through his three vice-regents, the “Wind General,” the “Rain Governor,”

and the “Cloud Teacher,” but as he had not yet taken human shape, he

found it difficult to assume control of a purely human kingdom.

Searching for means of incarnation he found it in the following manner.

At early dawn, a tiger and a bear met upon a mountain side and held a

colloquy.

“Would that we might become men” they said. Whan-ung overheard them and

a voice came from out the void saying, “Here are twenty garlics and

apiece of artemisia for each of you. Eat them and retire from the light

of the sun for thrice seven days and you will become men.”

They ate and retired into the recesses of a cave, but the tiger, by

reason of the fierceness of his nature, could not endure the restraint

and came forth before the allotted time; but the bear, with greater

faith and patience, waited the thrice seven days and then stepped forth,

a perfect woman.

The first wish of her heart was maternity, and she cried, “Give me a

son.” Whan-ung, the Spirit King, passing on the wind, beheld her sitting

there beside the stream. He circled round her, breathed upon her, and

her cry was answered. She cradled her babe in moss beneath that same

_pak-tal_ tree and it was there that in after years the wild people of

the country found him sitting and made him their king.

This was the Tan-gun, “The Lord of the Pak-tal Tree.” He is also, but

less widely, known as Wang-gŭm. At that time Korea and the territory

immediately north was peopled by the “nine wild tribes” commonly called

the _Ku-i_. Tradition names them respectively the Kyŭn, Pang, Whang,

Făk, Chŭk, Hyŭn, P‘ung, Yang and U. These, we are told, were the

aborigines, and were fond of drinking, dancing and singing. They dressed

in a fabric of woven grass and their food was the natural fruits of the

earth, such as nuts, roots, fruits and berries. In summer they lived

beneath the trees and in winter they lived in a rudely covered hole in

the ground. When the Tan-gun became their king he taught them the

relation of king and subject, the rite of marriage, the art of cooking

and the science of house building. He taught them to bind up the hair by

tying a cloth about the head. He taught them to cut down trees and till

fields.

The Tan-gun made P‘yŭng-yang the capital of his kingdom and there,

tradition says, he reigned until the coming of Ki-ja, 1122 B.C. If any

credence can be given this tradition it will be by supposing that the

word Tan-gun refers to a line of native chieftains who may have

antedated the coming of Ki-ja.

It is said that, upon the arrival of Ki-ja, the Tan-gun retired to

Ku-wŭl San (in pure Korean A-sa-dal) in the present town of Mun-wha,

Whang-hă Province, where he resumed his spirit form and disappeared

forever from the earth. His wife was a woman of Pi-sŏ-ap, whose location

is unknown. As to the size of the Tan-gun’s kingdom, it is generally

believed that it extended from the vicinity of the present town of

Mun-gyŭng on the south to the Heuk-yong River on the north, and from the

Japan Sea on the east to Yo-ha (now Sŭng-gyŭng) on the west.

As to the events of the Tan-gun’s reign even tradition tells us very

little. We learn that in 2265 B.C. the Tan-gun first offered sacrifice

at Hyŭl-gu on the island of Kang-wha. For this purpose he built an altar

on Mari San which remains to this day. We read that when the great

Ha-u-si (The Great Yü), who drained off the waters which covered the

interior of China, called to his court at To-san all the vassal kings,

the Tan-gun sent his son, Pu-ru, as an envoy. This was supposed to be in

2187 B.C. Another work affirms that when Ki-ja came to Korea Pu-ru fled

northward and founded the kingdom of North Pu-yŭ, which at a later date

moved to Ka-yŭp-wŭn, and became Eastern Pu-yŭ. These stories show such

enormous discrepancies in dates that they are alike incredible, and yet

it may be that the latter story has some basis in fact, at any rate it

gives us our only clue to the founding of the Kingdom of Pu-yŭ.

Late in the Tan-gun dynasty there was a minister named P‘ăng-o who is

said to have had as his special charge the making of roads and the care

of drainage. One authority says that the Emperor of China ordered

P‘ăng-o to cut a road between Ye-măk, an eastern tribe, and Cho-sŭn.

From this we see that the word Cho-sŭn, according to some authorities,

antedates the coming of Ki-ja.

The remains of the Tan-gun dynasty, while not numerous, are interesting.

On the island of Kang-wha, on the top of Mari San, is a stone platform

or altar known as the “Tan-gun’s Altar,” and, as before said, it is

popularly believed to have been used by the Tan-gun four thousand years

ago. It is called also the Ch’am-sŭng Altar. On Chŭn-dung San is a

fortress called Sam-nang which is believed to have been built by the

Tan-gun’s three sons. The town of Ch’un-ch’ŭn, fifty miles east of

Seoul, seems to have been an important place during this period. It was

known as U-su-ju, or “Ox-hair Town,” and there is a curious confirmation

of this tradition in the fact that in the vicinity there is today a plot

of ground called the U-du-bol, or “Ox-head Plain.” A stone tablet to

P’ang-o is erected there. At Mun-wha there is a shrine to the Korean

trinity, Whan-in, Whan-ung and Tan-gun. Though the Tan-gun resumed the

spirit form, his grave is shown in Kang-dong and is 410 feet in

circumference.

Chapter II.

Ki-ja.... striking character.... origin.... corrupt Chu.... story of

Tal-geui.... Shang dynasty falls.... Ki-ja departs.... route....

destination.... allegience to China.... condition of Korea....

Ki-ja’s companions.... reforms.... evidences of genius.... arguments

against Korean theory.... details of history meager.... Cho-sun

sides against China.... delimitation of Cho-sun.... peace with Tsin

dynasty.... Wi-man finds asylum.... betrays Cho-sun.... Ki-jun’s

flight.

Without doubt the most striking character in Korean history is the sage

Ki-ja, not only because of his connection with its early history but

because of the striking contrast between him and his whole environment.

The singular wisdom which he displayed is vouched for not in the

euphemistic language of a prejudiced historian but by what we can read

between the lines, of which the historian was unconscious.

The Shang, or Yin, dynasty of China began 1766 B.C. Its twenty-fifth

representative was the Emperor Wu-yi whose second son, Li, was the

father of Ki-ja. His family name was Cha and his surname Su-yu, but he

is also known by the name Sö-yŭ. The word Ki-ja is a title meaning “Lord

of Ki,” which we may imagine to be the feudal domain of the family. The

Emperor Chu, the “Nero of China” and the last of the dynasty, was the

grandson of Emperor T’ă-jŭng and a second cousin of Ki-ja, but the

latter is usually spoken of as his uncle. Pi-gan, Mi-ja and Ki-ja formed

the advisory board to this corrupt emperor.

All that Chinese histories have to say by way of censure against the

hideous debaucheries of this emperor is repeated in the Korean

histories; his infatuation with the beautiful concubine, Tal-geui; his

compliance with her every whim; his making a pond of wine in which he

placed an island of meat and compelled nude men and women to walk about

it, his torture of innocent men at her request by tying them to heated

brazen pillars. All this is told in the Korean annals, but they go still

deeper into the dark problem of Tal-geui’s character and profess to

solve it. The legend, as given by Korean tradition, is as follows.

The concubine Tal-geui was wonderfully beautiful, but surpassingly so

when she smiled. At such times the person upon whom she smiled was

fascinated as by a serpent and was forced to comply with whatever

request she made. Pondering upon this, Pi-gan decided that she must be a

fox in human shape, for it is well known that if an animal tastes of

water that has lain for twenty years in a human skull it will acquire

the power to assume the human shape at will. He set inquiries on foot

and soon discovered that she made a monthly visit to a certain mountain

which she always ascended alone leaving her train of attendants at the

foot. Armed detectives were put on her track and, following her

unperceived, they saw her enter a cave near the summit of the mountain.

She presently emerged, accompanied by a pack of foxes who leaped about

her and fawned upon her in evident delight. When she left, the spies

entered and put the foxes to the sword, cutting from each dead body the

piece of white fur which is always found on the breast of the fox. When

Tal-geui met the emperor some days later and saw him dressed in a

sumptuous white fur robe she shuddered but did not as yet guess the

truth. A month later, however, it became plain to her when she entered

the mountain cave and beheld the festering remains of her kindred.

On her way home she planned her revenge. Adorning herself in all her

finery, she entered the imperial presence and exerted her power of

fascination to the utmost. When the net had been well woven about the

royal dupe, she said,

“I hear that there are seven orifices in the heart of every good man. I

fain would put it to the test.”

“But how can it be done?”

“I would that I might see the heart of Pi-gan;” and as she said it she

smiled upon her lord. His soul revolted from the act and yet he had no

power to refuse. Pi-gan was summoned and the executioner stood ready

with the knife, but at the moment when it was plunged into the victim’s

breast he cried,

“You are no woman; you are a fox in disguise, and I charge you to resume

your natural shape.”

Instantly her face began to change; hair sprang forth upon it, her nails

grew long, and, bursting forth from her garments, she stood revealed in

her true character—a white fox with nine tails. With one parting snarl

at the assembled court, she leaped from the window and made good her

escape.

But it was too late to save the dynasty. Pal, the son of Mun-wang, a

feudal baron, at the head of an army, was already thundering at the

gates, and in a few days, a new dynasty assumed the yellow and Pal,

under the title Mu-wang, became its first emperor.

Pi-gan and Mi-ja had both perished and Ki-ja, the sole survivor of the

great trio of statesmen, had saved his life only by feigning madness. He

was now in prison, but Mu-wang came to his door and besought him to

assume the office of Prime Minister. Loyalty to the fallen dynasty

compelled him to refuse. He secured the Emperor’s consent to his plan of

emigrating to Cho-sŭn or “Morning Freshness,” but before setting out he

presented the Emperor with that great work, the Hong-bŭm or “Great-Law,”

which had been found inscribed upon the back of the fabled tortoise

which came up out of the waters of the Nak River in the days of Ha-u-si

over a thousand years before, but which no one had been able to decipher

till Ki-ja took it in hand. Then with his five thousand followers he

passed eastward into the peninsula of Korea.

Whether he came to Korea by boat or by land cannot be certainly

determined. It is improbable that he brought such a large company by

water and yet one tradition says that he came first to Su-wŭn, which is

somewhat south of Chemulpo. This would argue an approach by sea. The

theory which has been broached that the Shantung promontory at one time

joined the projection of Whang-hă Province on the Korean coast cannot be

true, for the formation of the Yellow Sea must have been too far back in

the past to help us to solve this question. It is said that from Su-wŭn

he went northward to the island Ch’ŭl-do, off Whang-hă Province, where

today they point out a “Ki-ja Well.” From there he went to P‘yŭng-yang.

His going to an island off Whang-hă Province argues against the theory

of the connection between Korea and the Shantung promontory.

[Illustration: _A TABLET TO KI-JA._]

In whatever way he came, he finally settled at the town of P‘yŭng-yang

which had already been the capital of the Tan-gun dynasty. Seven cities

claimed the honor of being Homer’s birth place and about as many claim

to be the burial spot of Ki-ja. The various authorities differ so widely

as to the boundaries of his kingdom, the site of his capital and the

place of his interment that some doubt is cast even upon the existence

of this remarkable man; but the consensus of opinion points clearly to

P‘yŭng-yang as being the scene of his labors.

It should be noticed that from the very first Korea was an independent

kingdom. It was certainly so in the days of the Tan-gun and it remained

so when Ki-ja came, for it is distinctly stated that though the Emperor

Mu-wang made him King of Cho-sŭn he neither demanded nor received his

allegience as vassal at that time. He even allowed Ki-ja to send envoys

to worship at the tombs of the fallen dynasty. It is said that Ki-ja

himself visited the site of the ancient Shang capital, but when he found

it sown with barley he wept and composed an elegy on the occasion, after

which he went and swore allegience to the new Emperor. The work entitled

Cho-sŏ says that when Ki-ja saw the site of the former capital sown with

barley he mounted a white cart drawn by a white horse and went to the

new capital and swore allegience to the Emperor; and it adds that in

this he showed his weakness for he had sworn never to do so.

Ki-ja, we may believe, found Korea in a semi-barbarous condition. To

this the reforms which he instituted give abundant evidence. He found at

least a kingdom possessed of some degree of homogeneity, probably a

uniform language and certainly ready communication between its parts. It

is difficult to believe that the Tan-gun’s influence reached far beyond

the Amnok River, wherever the nominal boundaries of his kingdom were. We

are inclined to limit his actual power to the territory now included in

the two provinces of P‘yŭng-an and Whang-hă.

We must now inquire of what material was Ki-ja’s company of five

thousand men made up. We are told that he brought from China the two

great works called the _Si-jun_ and the _So-jun_, which by liberal

interpretation mean the books on history and poetry. The books which

bear these names were not written until centuries after Ki-ja’s time,

but the Koreans mean by them the list of aphorisms or principles which

later made up these books. It is probable, therefore, that this company

included men who were able to teach and expound the principles thus

introduced. Ki-ja also brought the sciences of manners (well named a

science), music, medicine, sorcery and incantation. He brought also men

capable of teaching one hundred of the useful trades, amongst which silk

culture and weaving are the only two specifically named. When,

therefore, we make allowance for a small military escort we find that

five thousand men were few enough to undertake the carrying out of the

greatest individual plan for colonization which history has ever seen

brought to a successful issue.

These careful preparations on the part of the self-exiled Ki-ja admit of

but one conclusion. They were made with direct reference to the people

among whom he had elected to cast his lot. He was a genuine civilizer.

His genius was of the highest order in that, in an age when the sword

was the only arbiter, he hammered his into a pruning-hook and carved out

with it a kingdom which stood almost a thousand years. He was the ideal

colonizer, for he carried with him all the elements of successful

colonization which, while sufficing for the reclamation of the

semi-barbarous tribes of the peninsula, would still have left him

self-sufficient in the event of their contumacy. His method was

brilliant when compared with even the best attempts of modern times.

His penal code was short, and clearly indicated the failings of the

people among whom he had cast his lot. Murder was to be punished with

death inflicted in the same manner in which the crime had been

committed. Brawling was punished by a fine to be paid in grain. Theft

was punished by enslaving the offender, but he could regain his freedom

by the payment of a heavy fine. There were five other laws which are not

mentioned specifically. Many have surmised, and perhaps rightly, that

they were of the nature of the _o-hang_ or “five precepts” which

inculcate right relations between king and subject, parent and child,

husband and wife, friend and friend, old and young. It is stated,

apocryphally however, that to prevent quarreling Ki-ja compelled all

males to wear a broad-brimmed hat made of clay pasted on a framework. If

this hat was either doffed or broken the offender was severely punished.

This is said to have effectually kept them at arms length.

Another evidence of Ki-ja’s genius is his immediate recognition of the

fact that he must govern the Korean people by means of men selected from

their own number. For this purpose he picked out a large number of men

from the various districts and gave them special training in the duties

of government and he soon had a working corps of officials and prefects

without resorting to the dangerous expedient of filling all these

positions from the company that came with him. He recognised that in

order to gain any lasting influence with the people of Korea he and his

followers must adapt themselves to the language of their adopted country

rather than make the Koreans conform to their form of speech. We are

told that he reduced the language of the people to writing and through

this medium taught the people the arts and sciences which he had

brought. If this is true, the method by which the writing was done and

the style of the characters have entirely disappeared. Nothing remains

to give evidence of such a written language. We are told that it took

three years to teach it to the people.

The important matter of revenue received early attention. A novel method

was adopted. All arable land was divided into squares and each square

was subdivided into nine equal parts; eight squares about a central one.

Whoever cultivated the eight surrounding squares must also cultivate the

central one for the benefit of the government. The latter therefore

received a ninth part of the produce of the land. Prosperity was seen on

every side and the people called the Ta-dong River the Yellow River of

Korea.

As a sign that his kingdom was founded in peace and as a constant

reminder to his people he planted a long line of willows along the bank

of the river opposite the city, so P‘yung-yang is sometimes called The

Willow Capital.

It is contended by not a few that Ki-ja never came to Korea at all and

they base their belief upon the following facts. When the Han Emperor

Mu-je overcame northern Korea and divided it into four parts he called

the people savages, which could not be if Ki-ja civilized them. The

Chinese histories of the Tang dynasty affirm that Ki-ja’s kingdom was in

Liao-tung. The histories of the Kin dynasty and the Yuan or Mongol

dynasty say that Ki-ja had his capital at Kwang-nyŭng in Liao-tung, and

there is a Ki-ja well there today and a shrine to him. There was a

picture of him there but it was burned in the days of Emperor Se-jong of

the Ming dynasty. A Korean work entitled Sok-mun Heun-t’ong-go says that

Ki-ja’s capital was at Ham-pyŭng-no in Liao-tung. The Chinese work

Il-t’ong-ji of the time of the Ming dynasty says that the scholars of

Liao-tung compiled a work called Söng-gyŭng-ji which treated of this

question. That book said that Cho-sŭn included Sim-yang (Muk-den),

Pong-ch’ŭn-bu, Eui-ju and Kwang-nyŭng; so that half of Liao-tung

belonged to Cho-sun. The work entitled Kang-mok says that his capital

was at P’yŭng-yang and that the kingdom gradually broadened until the

scholar O Si-un said of it that it stretched from the Liao River to the

Han. This last is the commonly accepted theory and so far as Korean

evidence goes there seems to be little room for doubt.

Ki-ja was fifty-three years old when he came to Korea and he reigned

here forty years. His grave may be seen to-day at To-san near the city

which was the scene of his labors. Some other places that claim the

honor of containing Ki-ja’s tomb are Mong-hyŭn, Pak-sung and

Sang-gu-hyun in northern China.

It was not till thirty-six generations later that Ki-ja received the

posthumous title of T’ă-jo Mun-sŭng Tă-wang.

The details of the history of K-ja’s dynasty are very meager and can be

given here only in the most condensed form.[A]

Footnote A:

The following details of the Ki-ja dynasty are taken from a work

recently compiled in P’yung-yang and claiming to be based on private

family records of the descendants of Ki-ja. It is difficult to say

whether any reliance can be placed upon it but as it is the only

source of information obtainable it seems best to give it. The dates

are of course all B.C.

[Illustration: _THE TOMB OF KI-JA._]

In 1083 Ki-ja died and was succeeded by his son Song. Of his reign of

twenty-five years we know little beyond the fact that he built an

Ancestral Temple. His successor, Sun, was a man of such filial piety

that when his father died he went mad. The next king, Iăk, adopted for

his officials the court garments of the Sang Kingdom in China. His son,

Ch’un, who ascended the throne in 997 raised fifty-nine regiments of

soldiers containing in all 7300 men. The flag of the army was blue. In

943 the reigning king, Cho, feeling the need of cavalry, appointed a

special commission to attend to the breeding of horses, and with such

success that in a few years horses were abundant. In 890 King Săk hung a

drum in the palace gate and ordained that anyone having a grievance

might strike the drum and obtain an audience. In 843 a law was

promulgated by which the government undertook to support the hopelessly

destitute. In 773 King Wŭl forbade the practice of sorcery and

incantation. In 748 naval matters received attention and a number of war

vessels were launched. The first day of the fifth moon of 722 is

memorable as marking the first solar eclipse that is recorded in Korean

history. A great famine occurred in 710. King Kwŭl selected a number of

men who could speak Chinese and who knew Chinese customs. These he

dressed in Chinese clothes which were white and sent them across the

Yellow Sea with a large fleet of boats loaded with fish, salt and

copper. With these they purchased rice for the starving Koreans. At this

time all official salaries were reduced one half. In 702 King Whe

ordered the making of fifteen kinds of musical instruments. He also

executed a sorceress of An-ju who claimed to be the daughter of the Sea

King and deceived many of the people. In 670 King Cho sent an envoy and

made friends with the King of Che in China. He also revised the penal

code and made the theft of a hundred million cash from the government or

of a hundred and fifty millions from the people a capital crime. He

ordered the construction of a building of 500 _kan_ for an asylum for

widows, orphans and aged people who were childless. In 664 one of the

wild tribes of the north sent their chief, Kil-i-do-du, to swear

allegiance to Cho-sŭn. In 659 there came to Korea from the Chu Kingdom

in China a man by the name of Pak Il-jŭng, who brought with him a

medicine called _myun-dan-bang_ which he claimed was the elixir of

youth. By his arts he succeeded in gaining the ear of the king and for

many years was virtually ruler of the country. At last a king came to

the throne who had the wisdom and nerve to order his execution. At this

the whole land rejoiced. Banished men were recalled and prisoners were

liberated. In 593 King Ch’am came to the throne at the age of five. His

uncle acted as regent. But a powerful courtier Kong Son-gang secured the

regent’s assassination and himself became virtual ruler. He imprisoned

the king in a small pavilion and tried to make him abdicate, but in this

was unsuccessful and himself met the assassin’s steel. In 560 the Ha

tribe, inhabiting the northern Japanese island of I-so, sent their

chief, Wha-ma-gyŭn-hu-ri, to swear allegiance to Cho-sŭn. In 505 the

wild tribes to the north became restive and King Yŭ gathered 3000 troops

and invaded their territory, taking 1000 heads and adding a wide strip

of country to his realm. He put teachers in each of the magistracies to

teach the people agriculture and sericulture. In 426, during the reign

of King Cheung, occurred a formidable rebellion. U Yi-ch’ung of T’ă-an

(now Cha-san) arose and said “I am the Heaven Shaker.” With a powerful

force he approached the capital and besieged it. The king was forced to

flee by boat and take refuge at Hyŭl-gu (probably an island). But not

long after this the loyal troops rallied about the king and the rebel

was chased across the northern border. In 403 the king of Yŭn sent an

envoy to Korea with greetings. This Yŭn kingdom had its capital at

Chik-ye-sŭng where Peking now stands, and its territory was contiguous

to Cho-sŭn on the west. But in spite of these friendly greetings the

king of Yŭn sent an army in 380 and seized a district in western

Cho-sun. They were soon driven back. Fifteen years later a Yŭn general,

Chin-ga, came with 20,000 troops and delimited the western border of

Cho-sŭn but the Cho-sŭn general Wi Mun-ŭn gathered 30,000 men and lying

in ambush among the reeds beside the O-do River surprised the enemy and

put them to flight. In 346 a wild chieftain of the north came and asked

aid against Yŭn. It was granted to the extent of 10,000 troops. These

with 1000 cavalry of the wild tribe attacked and took the border

fortress of Sang-gok. Soon after, Yun sued for peace and it was granted.

This ends the apocryphal account of the Ki-ja dynasty. Its contents are

circumstantial enough to seem plausible yet we cannot but doubt the

authenticity of any records which pretend to go back to such a remote

period.

The Chou dynasty in China had long been on the decline and now, in 305

B.C. had reached a point of extreme weakness. In view of this the

governor of the tributary state of Liao-tung who had always passed under

the title of Hu or “Marquis” dared to assume the title Wang or “King”

and so to defy the power of China. Cho-sŭn threw herself into the

balance in favor of her great patron and hastened to attack Liao-tung in

the rear. But before this course had become inevitable a warning voice

was raised and one of the councillors, Ye, who was gifted with more

knowledge of the signs of the times than his fellows pointed out the

inevitable overthrow of the Chou dynasty, and he advised that Cho-sŭn

make her peace with the new “King” of the Yŏn kingdom of Liao-tung,

rather than brave his anger by siding against him. The advice was

followed and Cho-sŭn threw off the light reins of allegiance to China

and ranged herself alongside the new kingdom. This we learn from the

annals of the Wei dynasty of China. But apparently Cho-sŭn, stretching

as it did to and beyond the Liao River, was too tempting a morsel for

the ambitious king of Yŭn to leave untasted. So he picked a quarrel with

the king of Cho-sŭn and delimited his territory as far as the Yalu

River, a stretch of 2,000 _li_, even to the town of Pan-han whose

identity is now lost. He followed up this success by overcoming the wild

tribes to the north and added 1,000 _li_ more to his domains, securing

it from attack, as he supposed, by building a wall from Cho-yang to

Yang-p’yŭng.

When Emperor Shih of the Tsin dynasty ascended the throne of China in

221 B.C. and soon after began that tremendous work the Great Wall of

China, the fortieth descendant of Ki-ja was swaying the scepter of

Cho-sŭn under the name Ki-bi, posthumous title Chong-t’ong Wang. As soon

as the news of this great undertaking reached the ears of this monarch

he hauled down his colors and surrendered at discretion, sending an

envoy to do obeisance for him.

King Ki-bi died and his son Ki-jun, the last of the dynasty reigned in

his stead. For some years all was quiet, but at last the scepter was

wrested from the hands of the short-lived Tsin dynasty by the founder of

the illustrious Han, and across the border from Cho-sŭn all was turmoil

and confusion. Fugitives from the three states of Yun, Che and Cho were

seeking asylum anywhere, and thousands were hurrying across the Yalu and

craving the protection of Ki-jun. The only protection he could give them

from the victorious Han was remoteness from the latter’s base of

operations; so he allowed them to settle along the valley of the Yalu

and its southern tributaries. This was in the twentieth year of his

reign, 200 B.C.

Unfortunately for Cho-sŭn, the Han emperor made No-gwan, one of his

generals, governor of Yŭn. This gentleman had ideas of his own, and

finding such good material for an army among the half-wild people of his

province he decided to go on an empire hunt on his own account.

The story of his desperate fight and final defeat at the hands of the

Han forces, of his flight northward to the wild tribe of Hyung-no, is

interesting; but we must turn from it to follow the fortunes of one of

his lieutenants, a native of the Yŭn, named Wi-man. Retreating eastward

alone and in disguise, according to some writers, or according to others

with an escort of 1,000 men, he eluded his pursuers and at last crossed

the P’ă-su (the Yalu of today) and was received with open arms by his

own kin who had already settled there. In the days of the Han dynasty

the word P’ă-su meant the Yalu River, but in the days of the Tang

dynasty it meant the Ta-dong. Hence much confusion has arisen.

Wi-man threw himself upon the protection of Ki-jun who, little knowing

the nature of the man he was harboring, good-naturedly consented and

accompanied his welcome with the substantial gift of a hundred _li_

square of land in the north. Wi-man, on his part, engaged to act as

border guard and give timely warning of the approach of an enemy. He was

already on good terms with the people of the Chin-bŭn tribe, and now he

began to cultivate their friendship more assiduously than ever. In a

short time he found himself at the head of a considerable following

composed partly of Yŭn refugees and partly of Chin-bŭn adventurers.

Being thus prepared and weighing all the chances, he concluded to stake

his whole fortune on a single throw. Sending a swift messenger to the

court of Ki-jun at P‘yŭng-yang, he informed that peace loving monarch

that an innumerable army was advancing from China in four divisions and

would soon be at the doors of Cho-sŭn, and that he, Wi-man, must hasten

to the capital with all his force to act as body-guard of the King. The

ruse was successful and before Ki-jun and his court had awakened to the

situation Wi-man was on them. An attempt was made to stop his advance

when quite too late, but it held the traitor in check long enough for

Ki-jun and his immediate court to load their treasure on boats; and as

the triumphal army of Wi-man entered the gates of P‘yŭng-yang the last

representative of the dynasty of Ki-ja slipped quietly down the river,

seeking for himself a more congenial home in the south. This occurred,

so far as we can judge from conflicting documents, in the year 193 B.C.

This was an event of utmost importance in the history of the peninsula.

It opened up to the world the southern portion of Korea, where there

were stored up forces that were destined to dominate the whole peninsula

and impress upon it a distinctive stamp. But before following Ki-jun

southward we must turn back and watch the outcome of Wi-man’s treachery.

Chapter III.

Wi-man.... establishes his kingdom.... extent.... power soon waned....

ambitious designs.... China aroused.... invasion of Korea.... U-gu

tries to make peace.... siege of P‘yŭng-yang.... it falls.... the

land redistributed.... the four provinces.... the two provinces.

Having secured possession of Ki-jun’s kingdom, Wi-man set to work to

establish himself firmly on the throne. He had had some experience in

dealing with the wild tribes and now he exerted himself to the utmost in

the task of securing the allegiance of as many of them as possible. He

was literally surrounded by them, and this policy of friendliness was an

absolute necessity. He succeeded so well that ere long he had won over

almost all the adjacent tribes whose chieftains frequented his court and

were there treated with such liberality that more than once they found

themselves accompanying embassies to the court of China.

It is said that when his kingdom was at its height it extended far into

Liao-tung over all northern and eastern Korea and even across the Yellow

Sea where it included Ch’ŭng-ju, China. Its southern boundary was the

Han River.

So long as Wi-man lived he held the kingdom together with a strong hand,

for he was possessed of that peculiar kind of power which enabled him to

retain the respect and esteem of the surrounding tribes. He knew when to

check them and when to loosen the reins. But he did not bequeath this

power to his descendants. His grandson, U-gŭ, inherited all his ambition

without any of his tact. He did not realise that it was the strong hand

and quick wit of his grandfather that had held the kingdom together and

he soon began to plan a still further independence from China. He

collected about him all the refugees and all the malcontents, most of

whom had much to gain and little to lose in any event. He then cut off

all friendly intercourse with the Han court and also prevented the

surrounding tribes from sending their little embassies across the

border. The Emperor could not brook this insult, and sent an envoy,

Sŭp-ha, to expostulate with the headstrong U-gŭ; but as the latter would

not listen, the envoy went back across the Yalu and tried what he could

do by sending one of the older chiefs to ask what the king meant by his

conduct. U-gŭ was still stubborn and when the chief returned to Sŭp-ha

empty-handed he was put to death. Sŭp-ha paid the penalty for this rash

act, for not many days after he had been installed governor of Liao-tung

the tribe he had injured fell upon him and killed him.

This was not done at the instigation of U-gŭ, but unfortunately it was

all one to the Emperor. It was the “Eastern Barbarians” who, all alike,

merited punishment. It was in 107 B.C. that the imperial edict went

forth commanding all Chinese refugees in Korea to return at once, as

U-gŭ was to be put down by the stern hand of war.

In the autumn of that year the two generals, Yang-bok and Sun-ch’i,

invaded Korea at the head of a strong force; but U-gŭ was ready for them

and in the first engagement scattered the invading army, the remnants of

which took refuge among the mountains. It was ten days before they

rallied enough to make even a good retreat. U-gŭ was frightened by his

own good luck for he knew that this would still further anger the

Emperor; so when an envoy came from China the king humbled himself,

confessed his sins and sent his son to China as hostage together with a

gift of 5,000 horses. Ten thousand troops accompanied him. As these

troops were armed, the Chinese envoy feared there might be trouble after

the Yalu had been crossed. He therefore asked the Prince to have them

disarmed. The latter thought he detected treachery and so fled at night

and did not stop until he reached his father’s palace in P‘yŭng-yang.

The envoy paid for this piece of _gaucherie_ with his head.

Meanwhile Generals Yang-bok and Sun-ch’i had been scouring Liao-tung and

had collected a larger army than before. With this they crossed the

Ya-lu and marched on P‘yŭng-yang. They met with no resistance, for U-gŭ

had collected all his forces at the capital, hoping perhaps that the

severity of the weather would tire out any force that might be sent

against him. The siege continued two months during which time the two

generals quarreled incessantly. When the Emperor sent Gen. Kong Son-su

to see what was the matter, Gen. Sun-ch’i accused his colleague of

treason and had him sent back to China, where he lost his head. The

siege, continued by Gen. Sun-ch’i, dragged on till the following summer

and it would have continued longer had not a traitor within the town

assassinated the king and fled to the Chinese camp. Still the people

refused to make terms until another traitor opened the gates to the

enemy. Gen. Sun-ch’i’s first act was to compel Prince Chang, the heir

apparent, to do obeisance. But the people had their revenge upon the

traitor who opened the gate for they fell upon him and tore him to

pieces before he could make good his escape to the Chinese camp.

Such was the miserable end of Wi-man’s treachery. He had cheated Ki-jun

out of his kingdom which had lasted almost a thousand years, while the

one founded by himself lasted only eighty-eight. It fell in the

thirty-fourth year of the Han Emperor Wu-ti, in the year 106 B.C.

Upon the downfall of Wi-man’s kingdom, the country was divided by the

Chinese into four provinces called respectively Nang-nang, Im-dun,

Hyŭn-do and Chin-bŭn. The first of these, Nang-nang, is supposed to have

covered that portion of Korea now included in the three provinces of

P‘yung-an, Whang-hă and Kyŭng-geui. Im-dun, so far as we can learn, was

located about as the present province of Kang-wŭn, but it may have

exceeded these limits. Hyŭn-do was about coterminous with the present

province of Ham-gyŭng in the northeast. Chin-bŭn lay beyond the Yalu

River but its limits can hardly be guessed at. It may have stretched to

the Liao River or beyond. It is exceedingly doubtful whether the

conquerors themselves had any definite idea of the shape or extent of

these four provinces. Twenty-five years later, in the fifth year of

Emperor Chao-ti 81 B.C. a change in administration was made. Chin-bŭn

and Hyŭn-do were united to form a new province called P’yung-ju, while

Im-dun and Nang-nang were thrown together to form Tong-bu. In this form

the country remained until the founding of Ko-gu-ryŭ in the twelfth year

of Emperor Yuan-ti, 36 B.C.

It is here a fitting place to pause and ask what was the nature of these

wild tribes that hung upon the flanks of civilization and, like the

North American Indians, were friendly one day and on the war-path the

next. Very little can be gleaned from purely Korean sources, but a

Chinese work entitled the Mun-hön T’ong-go deals with them in some

detail, and while there is much that is quite fantastic and absurd the

main points tally so well with the little that Korean records say, that

in their essential features they are probably as nearly correct as

anything we are likely to find in regard to these aborigines (shall we

say) of north-eastern Asia.

Chapter IV.

The wild tribes.... the “Nine Tribes” apocryphal.... Ye-mak....

position.... history.... customs.... Ye and Mak perhaps two....

Ok-jo .... position.... history.... customs.... North Ok-jo....

Eum-nu.... position.... customs.... the western tribes.... the

Mal-gal group.... position.... customs.... other border tribes.

As we have already seen, tradition gives us nine original wild tribes in

the north named respectively the Kyŭn, Pang, Whang, Păk, Chŭk, Hyŭn,

P’ung, Yang, and U. These we are told occupied the peninsula in the very

earliest times. But little credence can be placed in this enumeration,

for when it comes to the narration of events we find that these tribes

are largely ignored and numerous other names are introduced. The

tradition is that they lived in Yang-gok, “The Place of the Rising Sun.”

In the days of Emperor T’ai-k’an of the Hsia dynasty, 2188 B.C. the wild

tribes of the east revolted. In the days of Emperor Wu-wang, 1122 B.C.

it is said that representatives from several of the wild tribes came to

China bringing rude musical instruments and performing their queer

dances. The Whe-i was another of the tribes, for we are told that the

brothers of Emperor Wu-wang fled thither but were pursued and killed.

Another tribe, the So-i, proclaimed their independence of China but were

utterly destroyed by this same monarch.

It is probable that all these tribes occupied the territory north of the

Yalu River and the Ever-white Mountains. Certain it is that these names

never occur in the pages of Korean history proper. Doubtless there was

more or less intermixture and it is more than possible that their blood

runs in the veins of Koreans today, but of this we cannot be certain.

We must call attention to one more purely Chinese notice of early Korea

because it contains perhaps the earliest mention of the word Cho-sŭn. It

is said that in Cho-sŭn three rivers, the Chŭn-su, Yŭl-su, and San-su,

unite to form the Yŭl-su, which flows by (or through) Nang-nang. This

corresponds somewhat with the description of the Yalu River.

We now come to the wild tribes actually resident in the peninsula and

whose existence can hardly be questioned, whatever may be said about the

details here given.

We begin with the tribe called Ye-măk, about which there are full

notices both in Chinese and Korean records. The Chinese accounts deal

with it as a single tribe but the Korean accounts, which are more exact,

tell us that Ye and Mak were two separate “kingdoms.” In all probability

they were of the same stock but separate in government.

Ye-guk (_guk_ meaning kingdom) is called by some Ye-wi-guk. It is also

know as Ch’ŭl. It was situated directly north of the kingdom of Sil-la,

which was practically the present province of Kyŭng-sang, so its

boundary must have been the same as that of the present Kang-wŭn

Province. On the north was Ok-jŭ, on the east the Great Sea, and on the

west Nang-nang. We may say then that Ye-guk comprised the greater

portion of what is now Kang-wŭn Province. To this day the ruins of its

capital may be seen to the east of the town of Kang-neung. In the palmy

days of Ye-guk its capital was called Tong-i and later, when overcome by

Sil-la, a royal seal was unearthed there and Hă-wang the king of Sil-la

adopted it as his royal seal. After this town was incorporated into

Sil-la it was known as Myŭng-ju.

In the days of the Emperor Mu-je, 140 B.C., the king of Ye-guk was

Nam-nyŭ. He revolted from Wi-man’s rule and, taking a great number of

his people, estimated, fantastically of course, at 380,000, removed to

Liao-tung, where the Emperor gave him a site for a settlement at

Chang-hă-gun. Some accounts say that this colony lasted three years.

Others say that after two years it revolted and was destroyed by the

Emperor. There are indications that the remnant joined the kingdom of

Pu-yŭ in the north-east for, according to one writer, the seal of Pu-yŭ

contained the words “Seal of the King of Ye” and it was reported that

the aged men of Pu-yŭ used to say that in the days of the Han dynasty

they were fugitives. There was also in Pu-yŭ a fortress called the “Ye

Fortress.” From this some argue that Nam-nyŭ was not a man of the east

but of the north. Indeed it is difficult to see how he could have taken

so many people so far especially across an enemy’s country.

When the Chinese took the whole northern part of Korea, the Ye country

was incorporated into the province of Im-dun and in the time of the

Emperor Kwang-mu the governor of the province resided at Kang-neung. The

Emperor received an annual tribute of grass-cloth, fruit and horses.

The people of Ye-guk were simple and credulous, and not naturally

inclined to warlike pursuits. They were modest and unassuming, nor were

they fond of jewels or finery. Their peaceful disposition made them an

easy prey to their neighbors who frequently harassed them. In later

times both Ko-gu-ryŭ and Sil-la used Ye-guk soldiers in part in

effecting their conquests. People of the same family name did not

intermarry. If a person died of disease his house was deserted and the

family found a new place of abode. We infer from this that their houses

were of a very poor quality and easily built; probably little more than

a rude thatch covering a slight excavation in a hill-side. The use of

hemp was known as was also that of silk, though this was probably at a

much later date. Cotton was also grown and woven. By observing the stars

they believed they could foretell a famine; from which we infer that

they were mainly an agricultural people. In the tenth moon they

worshipped the heavens, during which ceremony they drank, sang and

danced. They also worshipped the “Tiger Spirit.” Robbery was punished by

fining the offender a horse or a cow. In fighting they used spears as

long as three men and not infrequently several men wielded the same

spear together. They fought entirely on foot. The celebrated Nang-nang

bows were in reality of Ye-guk make and were cut out of _pak-tal_ wood.

The country was infested with leopards. The horses were so small that

mounted men could ride under the branches of the fruit trees without

difficulty. They sold colored fish skins to the Chinese, the fish being

taken from the eastern sea.

We are confronted by the singular statement that at the time of the Wei

dynasty in China, 220-294 A.D. Ye-guk swore allegiance to China and

despatched an envoy four times a year. There was no Ye-mak in Korea at

that time and this must refer to some other Ye tribe in the north. It is

said they purchased exemption from military duty by paying a stipulated

annual sum. This is manifestly said of some tribe more contiguous to

China than the one we are here discussing.

Măk-guk, the other half of Ye-măk, had its seat of government near the

site of the present town of Ch’un-ch’ŭn. Later, in the time of the

Sil-la supremacy, it was known as U-su-ju. It was called Ch’ŭn-ju in the

time of the Ko-ryŭ rule.

The ancient Chinese work, Su-jun, says that in the days of Emperor

Mu-song (antedating Ki-ja) the people of Wha-ha Man-măk came and did

obeisance to China. This may have been the Korean Măk. Mencius also

makes mention of a greater Măk and a lesser Măk. In the time of the Han

dynasty they spoke of Cho-sün, Chin-bŭn and Ye-măk. Mencius’ notice of a

greater and lesser Măk is looked upon by some as an insult to the memory

of Ki-ja, as if he had called Ki-ja’s kingdom a wild country; but the

above mention of the three separately is quoted to show that Mencius had

no such thought.

The annals of Emperor Mu-je state, in a commentary, that Măk was north

of Chin-han and south of Ko-gu-ryŭ and Ok-jŭ and had the sea to the

east, a description which exactly suits Ye-măk as we know it.

The wild tribe called Ok-jŭ occupied the territory east of Kă-ma San and

lay along the eastern sea-coast. It was narrow and long, stretching a

thousand _li_ along the coast in the form of a hook. This well describes

the contour of the coast from a point somewhat south of the present

Wŭn-san northward along the shore of Ham-gyŭng Province. On its south

was Ye-măk and on its north were the wild Eum-nu and Pu-yŭ tribes. It

consisted of five thousand houses grouped in separate communities that

were quite distinct from each other politically, and a sort of

patriarchal government prevailed. The language was much like that of the

people of Ko-gu-ryŭ.

When Wi-man took Ki-jun’s kingdom, the Ok-jŭ people became subject to

him, but later, when the Chinese made the four provinces, Ok-jŭ was

incorporated into Hyŭn-do. As Ok-jŭ was the most remote of all the wild

tribes from the Chinese capital, a special governor was appointed over

her, called a Tong-bu To-wi, and his seat of government was at Pul-lă

fortress. The district was divided into seven parts, all of which were

east of Tan-dan Pass, perhaps the Tă-gwul Pass of to-day. In the sixth

year of the Emperor Kwang-mu, 31 A.D., it is said that the governorship

was discontinued and native magnates were put at the head of affairs in

each of the seven districts under the title Hu or Marquis. Three of the

seven districts were Wha-ye, Ok-jŭ and Pul-lă. It is said that the

people of Ye-guk were called in to build the government houses in these

seven centers.

When Ko-gu-ryŭ took over all northern Korea, she placed a single

governor over all this territory with the title Tă-in. Tribute was

rendered in the form of grass-cloth, fish, salt and other sea products.

Handsome women were also requisitioned. The land was fertile. It had a

range of mountains at its back and the sea in front. Cereals grew

abundantly. The people are described as being very vindictive. Spears

were the weapons mostly used in fighting. Horses and cattle were scarce.

The style of dress was the same as that of Ko-gu-ryŭ.

When a girl reached the age of ten she was taken to the home of her

future husband and brought up there. Having attained a marriageable age

she returned home and her fiancé then obtained her by paying the

stipulated price.

Dead bodies were buried in a shallow grave and when only the bones

remained they were exhumed and thrust into a huge hollowed tree trunk

which formed the family “vault.” Many generations were thus buried in a

single tree trunk. The opening was at the end of the trunk. A wooden

image of the dead was carved and set beside this coffin and with it a

bowl of grain.

The northern part of Ok-jŭ was called Puk Ok-jŭ or “North Ok-jŭ.” The

customs of these people were the same as those of the south except for

some differences caused by the proximity of the Eum-nu tribe to the

north, who were the Apaches of Korea. Every year these fierce people

made a descent upon the villages of the peaceful Ok-jŭ, sweeping

everything before them. So regular were these incursions that the Ok-jŭ

people used to migrate to the mountains every summer, where they lived

in caves as best they could, returning to their homes in the late

autumn. The cold of winter held their enemies in check.

We are told that a Chinese envoy once penetrated these remote regions.

He asked “Are there any people living beyond this sea?” (meaning the

Japan Sea.) They replied “Sometimes when we go out to fish and a tempest

strikes us we are driven ten days toward the east until we reach islands

where men live whose language is strange and whose custom it is each

summer to drown a young girl in the sea.” Another said “Once some

clothes floated here which were like ours except that the sleeves were

as long as the height of a man.” Another said “A boat once drifted here

containing a man with a double face, one above the other. We could not

understand his speech and as he refused to eat he soon expired.”

The tribe of Ok-jŭ was finally absorbed in Ko-gu-ryŭ in the fourth year

of King T’ă-jo Wang.

The Eum-nu tribe did not belong to Korea proper but as its territory was

adjacent to Korea a word may not be out of place. It was originally

called Suk-sin. It was north of Ok-jŭ and stretched from the Tu-man

river away north to the vicinity of the Amur. Its most famous mountain

was Pul-ham San, It is said to have been a thousand _li_ to the

north-east of Pu-yŭ. The country was mountainous and there were no cart

roads. The various cereals were grown, as well as hemp.

The native account of the people of Eum-nu is quite droll and can hardly

be accepted as credible. It tells us that the people lived in the trees

in summer and in holes in the ground in winter. The higher a man’s rank

the deeper he was allowed to dig. The deepest holes were “nine rafters

deep.” Pigs were much in evidence. The flesh was eaten and the skins

were worn. In winter the people smeared themselves an inch thick with

grease. In summer they wore only a breach-cloth. They were extremely

filthy. In the center of each of these winter excavations was a common

cesspool about which everything else was clustered. The extraordinary

statement is made that these people picked up pieces of meat with their

toes and ate them. They sat on frozen meat to thaw it out. There was no

king, but a sort of hereditary chieftainship prevailed. If a man desired

to marry he placed a feather in the hair of the damsel of his choice and

if she accepted him she simply followed him home. Women did not marry

twice, but before marriage the extreme of latitude was allowed. Young

men were more respected than old men. They buried their dead, placing a

number of slaughtered pigs beside the dead that he might have something

to eat in the land beyond the grave. The people were fierce and cruel,

and even though a parent died they did not weep. Death was the penalty

for small as well as great offences. They had no form of writing and

treaties were made only by word of mouth. In the days of Emperor Yüan-ti

of the Eastern Tsin dynasty, an envoy from this tribe was seen in the

Capital of China.

We have described the tribes of eastern Korea. A word now about the

western part of the peninsula. All that portion of Korea lying between

the Han and Yalu rivers constituted what was known as Nang-nang and

included the present provinces of P‘yŭng-an and Whang-hă together with a

portion of Kyŭng-geui. It was originally the name of a single tribe

whose position will probably never be exactly known; but it was of such

importance that when China divided northern Korea into four provinces

she gave this name of Nang-nang to all that portion lying, as we have

said, between the Han and the Yalu. The only accounts of these people

are given under the head of the Kingdom of Ko-gu-ryŭ which we shall

consider later. But between Nang-nang and the extreme eastern tribes of

Ok-jŭ there was a large tract of country including the eastern part of

the present province of P’yŭng-an and the western part of Ham-gyŭng.

This was called Hyŭn-do, and the Chinese gave this name to the whole

north-eastern part of Korea. No separate accounts of Hyŭn-do seem to be

now available.

Before passing to the account of the founding of the three great

kingdoms of Sil-la, Păk-je and Ko-gu-ryŭ, we must give a passing glance

at one or two of the great border tribes of the north-west. They were

not Koreans but exercised such influence upon the life of Korea that

they deserve passing notice.

In that vast tract of territory now known as Manchuria there existed, at

the time of Christ, a group of wild tribes known under the common name

Mal-gal. The group was composed of seven separate tribes, named

respectively—Songmal, Păk-tol, An-gŭ-gol, Pul-lal, Ho-sil, Heuk-su

(known also as the Mul-gil) and the Păk-san. Between these tribes there

was probably some strong affinity, although this is argued only from the

generic name Mal-gal which was usually appended to their separate names,

and the fact that Mal-gal is commonly spoken of as one. The location of

this group of tribes is determined by the statement (1) that it was

north of Ko-gu-ryŭ and (2) that to the east of it was a tribe anciently

called the Suk-sin (the same as the Eum-nu,) and (3) that it was five

thousand _li_ from Nak-yang the capital of China. We are also told that

in it was the great river Sog-mal which was three _li_ wide referring it

would seem to the Amur River. These tribes, though members of one

family, were constantly fighting each other and their neighbors and the

ancient records say that of all the wild tribes of the east the Mal-gal

were the most feared by their neighbors. But of all the Mal-gal tribes

the Heuk-su were the fiercest and most warlike. They lived by hunting

and fishing. The title of their chiefs was Tă-mak-pul-man-lol-guk. The

people honored their chiefs and stood in great fear of them. It is said

that they would not attend to the duties of nature on a mountain,

considering, it would seem, that there is something sacred about a

mountain. They lived in excavations in the sides of earth banks,

covering them with a rough thatch. The entrance was from above. Horses

were used but there were no other domestic animals except pigs. Their

rude carts were pushed by men and their plows were dragged by the same.

They raised a little millet and barley, and cultivated nine kinds of

vegetables. The water there, was brackish owing to the presence of a

certain kind of tree the bark of whose roots tinged the water like an

infusion. They made wine by chewing grain and then allowing it to

ferment. This was very intoxicating. For the marriage ceremony the bride

wore a hempen skirt and the groom a pig skin with a tiger skin over his

head. Both bride and groom washed the face and hands in urine. They were

the filthiest of all the wild tribes. They were expert archers, their

bows being made of horn, and the arrows were twenty-three inches long.

In summer a poison was prepared in which the arrow heads were dipped. A

wound from one of these was almost instantly fatal. The almost

incredible statement is made in the native accounts that the dead bodies

of this people were not interred but were used in baiting traps for wild

animals.

Besides the Mal-gal tribes there were two others of considerable note,

namely the Pal-hă and the Kŭ-ran of which special mention is not here

necessary, though their names will appear occasionally in the following

pages. They lived somewhere along the northern borders of Korea, within

striking distance. The last border tribe that we shall mention is the

Yŭ-jin whose history is closely interwoven with that of Ko-gu-ryŭ. They

were the direct descendants, or at least close relatives, of the Eum-nu

people. They were said to have been the very lowest and weakest of all

the wild tribes, in fact a mongrel tribe, made up of the offscourings of

all the others. They are briefly described by the statement that if they

took up a handful of water it instantly turned black. They were good

archers and were skilful at mimicing the deer for the purpose of

decoying it. They ate deer flesh raw. A favorite form of amusement was

to make tame deer intoxicated with wine and watch their antics. Pigs,

cattle and donkeys abounded. They used cattle for burden and the hides

served for covering. The houses were roofed with bark. Fine horses were

raised by them. It was in this tribe that the great conquerer of China,

A-gol-t’a, arose, who paved the way for the founding of the great Kin

dynasty a thousand years or more after the beginning of our era.

Chapter V.

Southern Korean.... Ki-jun’s arrival.... differences which he found....

three groups.... Ma-han.... position.... peculiarities....

characteristics.... worship.... tatooing.... numbers....

Chin-han.... Chinese immigration.... customs.... Pyön-han....

position.... habits.... the philological argument.... southern

origin.... Ki-jun and his descendants.

We must now ask the reader to go with us to the southern portion of the

peninsula where we shall find a people differing in many essential

respects from the people of the north, and evincing not merely such

different but such opposite characteristics from the people of the north

that it is difficult to believe that they are of the same origin.

When King Ki-jun, the last of the Ki-ja dynasty proper was driven from

P’yŭng-yang by the unscrupulous Wi-man, he embarked, as we have already

seen, upon the Ta-dong River accompanied by a small retinue of officials

and servants. Faring southward along the coast, always within sight of

land and generally between the islands and mainland, he deemed it safe

at last to effect a landing. This he did at a place anciently known as

Keum-ma-gol or “Place of the Golden Horse,” now Ik-san. It should be

noticed that this rendering is simply that of the Chinese characters

that were used to represent the word Keum-ma-gol. In all probability it

was a mere transliteration of the native name of the place by the use of

the Chinese, and the rendering here given was originally unthought of.

They found the land inhabited, but by a people strange in almost every

particular. The explicitness with which all native accounts describe the

people whom Ki-jun found in the south is in itself a striking argument

in favor of the theory that a different race of people was there

encountered. The southern part of the peninsula was divided between

three groups of peoples called respectively Ma-han, Chin-han and

Pyön-han. How these names originated can hardly be learned at this date,

but it would seem that they were native words; for the last of the

three, Pyön-han, was also called Pyön-jin, a word entering into the

composition of many of the names of the towns peopled by the Pyön-han

tribes. It is necessary for us now to take a brief glance at each of

these three groups, for in them we shall find the solution of the most

interesting and important problem that Korea has to offer either to the

historian or ethnologist.

The Ma-han people occupied the south-western part of the peninsula,

comprising the whole of the present province of Ch’ung-ch’ŭng and the

northern part of Chŭl-la. It may have extended northward nearly to the

Han river but of this we cannot be sure. On its north was the tribe of

Nang-nang, on the south was probably a part of Pyön-han but one

authority says that to the south of Ma-han were the Japanese or Wă-in.

These Japanese are carefully described and much color is given to this

statement by certain coincidences which will be brought out later. No

Korean work mentions these Japanese and it may be that the Japanese

referred to were those living on the islands between Korea and Japan.

But we can easily imagine the thrifty islanders making settlements of

the southern coast of Korea.

The first striking peculiarity of the Ma-han people, and one that

differentiates them from the northern neighbors, was the fact that they

were not one tribe but a congeries of small settlements each entirely

independent of the others, each having its own chief, its own army, its

own laws. It is said that they lived either among the mountains or along

the coast, which would point to the existence of two races, the one

inland, indigenous, and the other, colonists from some other country.

The Ma-han people were acquainted with agriculture, sericulture and the

use of flax and hemp. Their fowls had tails ninety-five inches long.

Here is one of the interesting coincidences that uphold the contention

that the Japanese were in the peninsula at that time. These peculiar

fowls are now extinct, but, within the memory of people now living, such

fowls were quite common in Japan and preserved specimens in the museum

at Tokyo show that the above measurements are by no means unusual in

that breed of fowl. It would seem then that Japan procured them from

Korea, or else the Japanese colonists introduced them into Korea.

Another point which differentiates the south from the north was the fact

that a walled town was a thing unknown in the south; as the Korean

writer puts it “There was no difference between town and country.” Their

houses were rough thatched huts sunken a little below the surface of the

ground, as is indicated by the statement that the houses were entered

from the top. These people of Ma-han were strong and fierce and were

known by the loudness and vehemence of their speech. This accords well

with the further fact that they were the virtual governors of all south

Korea, for it was Ma-han who furnished rulers for Chin-han. These people

did not kneel nor bow in salutation. There was no difference in the

treatment of people of different ages or sexes. All were addressed

alike.

Another marked difference between these people and those of the north

was that the Ma-han people held neither gold nor silver in high repute.

We may safely reckon upon the acquisitive faculty as being the most keen

and pervasive of all the faculties of eastern as well as western

peoples, and that the north should have been acquainted with the uses

and values of these metals while the south was not, can argue nothing

less than a complete ignorance of each other. The southern people loved

beads strung about the head and face, a trait that naturally points to

the south and the tropics. In the summer they worshipped spirits, at

which time they consumed large quantities of intoxicating beverages

while they sang and danced, several “tens of men” dancing together and

keeping time with their feet. In the autumn, after the harvest, they

worshipped and feasted again. In each of the little settlements there

was a high priest whose business it was to worship for the whole

community. They had a kind of monastic system, the devotees of which

fastened iron drums to high posts and beat upon them during their

worship.

Another striking statement is that tatooing was common. This is another

powerful argument in favor of the theory of a southern origin, for it is

apparent that tatooing is a form of dress and is most in vogue where the

heat renders the use of clothing uncomfortable. As might be expected,

this habit has died out in Korea, owing without doubt to the comparative

severity of the climate; but within the memory of living men it has been

practiced on a small scale, and today there is one remnant of the custom

in the drawing of a red colored thread under the skin of the wrist in

making certain kinds of vow or promises.

In the larger towns the ruler was called Sin-ji and in the smaller ones

Eup-ch’a. They had tests of endurance similar to those used by North

American Indians. One of them consisted in drawing a cord through the

skin of the back and being hauled up and down by it without a murmur.

We are told that in Ma-han there were 100,000 houses, each district

containing, from 1,000 to 10,000 houses. This would give an approximate

population of 500,000. The names of the fifty-four districts or kingdom

included in Ma-han are given in the appendix together with those of

Chin-han and Pyön-han.

We are told that the aged men of Chin-han held the tradition that

thousands of Chinese fled to Korea in the days of the Tsin dynasty,

255-209 B.C., and that the people of Ma-han gave them land in the east

and enclosed them in a palisade, and furnished them with a governor who

transmitted the office to his son. This could refer however only to a

small portion of Chin-han. There was a large and widely scattered native

population occupying approximately the territory covered by the present

Kyŭng-sang Province. It is probable that these Chinese refugees

exercised a great influence over them and taught them many things. It is

not improbable that it was owing to this civilizing agency that Sil-la

eventually became master of the peninsula. But it should be carefully

noted that this Chin-han did not derive its name, from the Chin (Tsin)

dynasty of China through these Chinese refugees. The character used in

designating Chin-han is not the same as that used for the Chin dynasty.

The land was fertile. The mulberry flourished and silk culture was a

common employment. Horses and cattle were used both under the saddle and

as beasts of burden. Marriage rites were scrupulously observed and the

distinction between the sexes was carefully preserved. When a body was

interred men followed the bier waving feathers in the air to help waft

the soul of the departed on its flight to heaven. The country contained

much mineral wealth. Ye-măk, Ma-han and the Japanese all obtained metal

from Chin-han. Iron was the medium of exchange. They were fond of music

and the dance. Their music was made by means of a rude harp and an

instrument made by stretching wire back and forth inside a metal

cylinder which, when struck, caused the strings to vibrate. When a child

was born a stone was placed against its head to flatten it. Tattooing

was common in those parts contiguous to the Japanese, which would imply

that the custom was a borrowed one. When two men met on the road it was

considered good form for each to stop and insist upon the others passing

first.

It is hardly necessary to dwell upon the characteristics of the Pyön-han

people, for they were nearly the same as those of the people of

Chin-han. Some say they were within the territory of Chin-han, others

that they were south both of Ma-han and Chin-han, and nearest to the

Japanese. They tatooed a great deal. Beyond this fact little is known of

them excepting that their punishments were very severe, many offences

being punished with death.

It is difficult to say what was the nature of the bond between the

different districts which made up the whole body of either Ma-han,

Chin-han or Pyön-han. On the one hand we are told that the districts

were entirely separate and yet we find Ma-han, as a whole, performing

acts that imply some sort of federation at least if not a fixed central

government. In fact one Chinese work states that a town named Cha-ji was

the capital of all three of the Hans. We must conclude therefore from

those and subsequent statements that some sort of central government

prevailed, at least in Ma-han.

The names of the several kingdoms which composed the three Hans are

preserved to us, mutilated, in all probability, by reason of Chinese

transliteration, but still useful from a philological and ethnological

standpoint. If the reader will glance but casually at the list of these

separate districts as given in the appendix, he will see that there was

good cause for the division into three Hans. We will point out only the

most striking peculiarities here, as this belongs rather to the domain

of philology than to that of history. In Ma-han we find seven of the

names ending _ro_. We find two or three of the same in Pyön-han but none

in Chin-hau. In Ma-han we find fourteen names ending in _ri_ but none in

either of the others. In Pyön-han we find ten names beginning with

Pyön-jin which is wholly unknown to the other two. In this we also find

three with the unique suffix _mi-dong_. In Chin-han we find nine ending

in _kan_ and five in _kaye_, which are found in neither of the others.

It is hardly necessary to say that these cannot be mere coincidences. In

each group we find at least one considerable set of endings entirely

lacking in the others. As our own ending _ton_, _ville_, _burgh_,

_chester_ and _coln_ have an original significance, so these ending

_ro_, _ri_, _mi-dong_, _kan_ and _ka-ya_ have a meaning which should

supply us with important clues to the origin of the people of southern

Korea.

The marked polysyllabism of these names makes it impossible to imagine a

Chinese origin for them. It is seldom that a Manchu or Mongol name of a

place exceeds two syllables. On the other hand we find in Japan and

Polynesia common use of polysyllabic geographical names. A thorough

discussion of the subject here would be out of place, but this much must

be said, that several of these endings, as _ro_, _pin_ and _kan_, find

their almost exact counterpart in the Dravidian languages of southern

India, where they mean _village_, _settlement_ and _kingdom_.

The argument in favor of the southern origin of the people of the three

Hans is a cumulative one. The main points are; the structure and

vocabulary of the language, the nonintercourse with the people of

northern Korea, the custom of tattooing, the diminutive size of the

horses found nowhere else, except in the Malay peninsula, the tradition

of the southern origin of the people of the island of Quelpart, the

physiological similarity between the people, especially the females, of

Quelpart and Formosa, the seafaring propensities of the people of the

three Hans, their ignorance of the value of gold and silver, the

continuous line of islands stretching along the whole coast of China

together with the powerful ocean current which sweeps northward along

the Asiatic coast, the tradition of the Telugu origin of the ancient

sultans of Anam and the love of bead ornaments.

Such was the status of southern Korea when Ki-jun arrived at

Keum-ma-gol. By what means he obtained control of the government is not

related but the fact remains that he did so and founded a new kingdom

which was destined to survive nearly two centuries. Ki-jun died the same

year. No details are given of the events that transpired during the next

hundred years or more excepting that one Chinese work states that during

the reign of Emperor Wu-ti 140-88 B.C. frequent envoys went from Ma-han

to the Chinese court. We are also told that off the coast of Ma-han

among the islands lived a tribe called the Chu-ho, a people of smaller

stature than the people of Ma-han, and speaking a different language.

They cut the hair and wore skins for clothing but clothed only the upper

part of the body. They came frequently to Ma-han to barter cattle and

pigs.

Ki-jun’s seventh descendant was Hun, with the title of Wŭn-wang. His

reign began in 57 B.C. during the reign of the Han Emperor Hsuan-ti and

in the second year the great kingdom of Sil-la was founded in Chin-han.

In his twenty-second year the great northern kingdom of Ko-gu-ryŭ was

founded, 35 B.C., and nineteen years later the kingdom of Ma-han fell

before the forces of Păk-je.

Chapter VI.

The founding of Sil-la, Ko-gu-ryu, and Pak-je.... Sil-la.... legend....

growth.... Tsushima a vassal.... credibility of accounts....

Japanese relations.... early vicissitudes.... Ko-gu-ryu.... four

Pu-yus.... legend.... location of Pu-yu.... Chu-mong founds

Ko-gu-ryu.... growth and extent.... products.... customs....

religious rites.... official grades.... punishments.... growth

eastward.... Pak-je.... relations between Sil-la and Pak-je....

tradition of founding of Pak-je.... opposition of wide tribes....

the capital moved.... situation of the peninsula at the time of

Christ.

In the year 57 B.C. the chiefs of the six great Chin-han states,

Yŭn-jun-yang-san, Tol-san-go-hö, Cha-sa-jin-ji, Mu-san-dă-su, Keum

san-ga-ri and Myŭng-whal-san-go-ya held a great council at Yun-chŭn-yang

and agreed to merge their separate fiefs into a kingdom. They named the

capital of the new kingdom Sŭ-ya-bŭl, from which the present word Seoul

is probably derived, and it was situated where Kyöng-ju now stands in

Kyüng-sang Province. At first the name applied both to the capital and

to the kingdom.

They placed upon the throne a boy of thirteen years, named Hyŭk-kŭ-se,

with the royal title Kŭ-sŭ-gan. It is said that his family name was Pak,

but this was probably an afterthought derived from a Chinese source. At

any rate he is generally known as Pak Hyŭk-kŭ-se. The story of his

advent is typically Korean. A company of revellers beheld upon a

mountain side a ball of light on which a horse was seated. They

approached it and as they did so the horse rose straight in air and

disappeared, leaving a great, luminous egg. This soon opened of itself

and disclosed a handsome boy. This wonder was accompanied by vivid light

and the noise of thunder. Not long after this another wonder was seen.

Beside the Yŭn-yüng Spring a hen raised her wing and from her side came

forth a female child with a mouth like a bird’s bill, but when they

washed her in the spring the bill fell off and left her like other

children. For this reason the well was named the Pal-ch’ŭn which refers

to the falling of the bill. Another tradition says that she was formed

from the rib of a dragon which inhabited the spring. In the fifth year

of his reign the youthful king espoused this girl and they typify to all

Koreans the perfect marriage.

As this kingdom included only six of the Chin-han states, it would be

difficult to give its exact boundaries. From the very first it began to

absorb the surrounding states, until at last it was bounded on the east

and south by the sea alone, while it extended north to the vicinity of

the Han River and westward to the borders of Na-han, or to Chi-ri San.

It took her over four hundred years to complete these conquests, many of

which were bloodless while others were effected at the point of the

sword. It was not until the twenty-second generation that the name

Sil-la was adopted as the name of this kingdom.

It is important to notice that the island of Tsushima, whether actually

conquered by Sil-la or not, became a dependency of that Kingdom and on

account of the sterility of the soil the people of that island were

annually aided by the government. It was not until the year 500 A.D. or

thereabouts that the Japanese took charge of the island and placed their

magistrate there. From that time on, the island was not a dependency of

any Korean state but the relations between them were very intimate, and

there was a constant interchange of goods, in a half commercial and half

political manner. There is nothing to show that the _daimyos_ of

Tsushima ever had any control over any portion of the adjacent coast of

Korea.

It gives one a strong sense of the trustworthiness of the Korean records

of these early days to note with what care the date of every eclipse was

recorded. At the beginning of each reign the list of the dates of solar

eclipses is given. For instance, in the reign of Hyŭk-kŭ-se they

occurred, so the records say, in the fourth, twenty-fourth, thirtieth,

thirty-second, forty-third, forty-fifth, fifty-sixth and fifty-ninth

years of his reign. According to the Gregorian calendar this would mean

the years 53, 31, 27, 25, 14, 12 B.C. and 2. A.D. If these annals were

later productions, intended to deceive posterity, they would scarcely

contain lists of solar eclipses. The marvelous or incredible stories

given in these records are given only as such and often the reader is

warned not to put faith in them.

The year 48 B.C. gives us the first definite statement of a historical

fact regarding Japanese relations with Korea. In that year the Japanese

pirates stopped their incursions into Korea for the time being. From

this it would seem that even at that early date the Japanese had become

the vikings of the East and were carrying fire and sword wherever there

was enough water to float their boats. It would also indicate that the

extreme south of Korea was not settled by Japanese, for it was here that

the Japanese incursions took place.

In 37 B.C. the power of the little kingdom of Sil-la began to be felt in

surrounding districts and the towns of Pyön-han joined her standards. It

was probably a bloodless conquest, the people of Pyön-han coming

voluntarily into Sil-la. In 37 B.C. the capital of Sil-la, which had

received the secondary name Keum-sŭng, was surrounded by a wall

thirty-five _li_, twelve miles, long. The city was 5,075 paces long and

3,018 paces wide. The progress made by Sil-la and the evident tendency

toward centralisation of all power in a monarchy aroused the suspicion

of the king of Ma-han who, we must remember, had considered Chin-han as

in some sense a vassal of Ma-han. For this reason the king of Sil-la, in

19 B.C., sent an envoy to the court of Ma-han with rich presents in

order to allay the fears of that monarch. The constant and heavy influx

into Sil-la of the fugitive Chinese element also disturbed the mind of

that same king, for he foresaw that if this went unchecked it might mean

the supremacy of Sil-la instead of that of Ma-han. This envoy from

Sil-la was Ho-gong, said to have been a native of Japan. He found the

king of Ma-han in an unenviable frame of mind and it required all his

tact to pacify him, and even then he succeeded so ill that had not the

Ma-han officials interfered the king would have had his life. The

following year the king of Ma-han died and a Sil-la embassy went to

attend the obsequies. They were anxious to find opportunity to seize the

helm of state in Ma-han and bring her into the port of Sil-la, but this

they were strictly forbidden to do by their royal master who generously

forebore to take revenge for the insult of the preceding year.

As this was the year, 37 B.C., which marks the founding of the powerful

kingdom of Ko-gur-yŭ, we must turn our eyes northward and examine that

important event.

As the founder of Ko-gur-yŭ originated in the kingdom of Pu-yŭ, it will

be necessary for us to examine briefly the position and status of that

tribe, whose name stands prominently forth in Korean history and

tradition. There were four Pu-yŭs in all; North Pu-yŭ, East Pu-yŭ,

Chŭl-bŭn Pu-yŭ and South Pu-yŭ. We have already, under the head of the

Tan-gun, seen that tradition gives to Pu-ru his son, the honor of having

having been the founder of North Pu-yŭ, or Puk Pu-yŭ as it is commonly

called. This is quite apocryphal but gives us at least a precarious

starting point. This Puk Pu-yŭ is said by some to have been far to the

north in the vicinity of the Amur River or on one of its tributaries, a

belief which is sustained to a certain extent by some inferences to be

deduced from the following legend.

It must have been about fifty years before the beginning of our era that

King Hă-bu-ru sat upon the throne of North Pu-yŭ. His great sorrow was

that Providence had not given him a son. Riding one day in the forest he

reached the bank of a swift rushing stream and there dismounting he

besought the Great Spirit to grant him a son. Turning to remount he

found the horse standing with bowed head before a great boulder while

tears were rolling down its face. He turned the boulder over and found

beneath it a child of the color of gold but with a form resembling a

toad. Thus was his prayer answered. He took the curious child home and

gave it the name Keum-wa or “Golden Toad.” Soon after this the kingdom

removed to East Pu-yŭ, or Tong Pu-yŭ, somewhere near the “White Head

Mountain,” known as Păk-tu San.

Arriving at the age of manhood, Keum-wa looked about for a wife. As he

was walking along the shore of U-bal-su (whether river or sea we do not

know) he found a maiden crying. Her name was Yu-wha, “Willow Catkin.” To

his inquiries she replied that she was daughter of the Sea King, Ha-băk,

but that she had been driven from home because she had been enticed away

and ravished by a spirit called Ha-mo-su. Keum-wa took her home as his

wife but shut her in a room to which the sun-light had access only by a

single minute aperture. Marvelous to relate a ray of light entered and

followed her to whatever part of the room she went. By it she conceived

and in due time gave birth to an egg, as large as five “measures.”

Keum-wa in anger threw it to the pigs and dogs but they would not touch

it. Cattle and horses breathed upon it to give it warmth. A stork from

heaven settled down upon it and warmed it beneath her feathers. Keum-wa

relented and allowed Yu-wha to bring it to the palace, where she wrapped

it in silk and cotton. At last it burst and disclosed a fine boy. This

precocious youth at seven years of age was so expert with the bow that

he won the name of Chu-mong, “Skillful Archer.” He was not a favorite

with the people and they tried to compass his death but the king

protected him and made him keeper of the royal stables. Like Jacob of

Holy Writ he brought his wits to bear upon the situation. By fattening

the poorer horses and making the good ones lean he succeeded in

reserving for his own use the fleetest steeds. Thus in the hunt he

always led the rout and secured the lion’s share of the game. For this

his seven brothers hated him and determined upon his death. By night his

mother sought his bed-side and whispered the word of warning. Chu-mong

arose and with three trusty councillors, O-i, Ma-ri and Hyŭp-pu, fled

southward until he found his path blocked by the Eum-ho River. There was

neither boat, bridge nor ford. Striking the surface of the water with

his bow he called upon the spirit of the river to aid him, for behind

him the plain smoked with the pursuing hoof-beats of his brothers’

horses. Instantly there came up from the depths of the river a shoal of

fish and tortoises who lay their backs together and thus bridged the

stream.

Fantastic as this story seems, it may have an important bearing upon the

question of the location of Pu-yŭ. Can we not see in this great shoal of

fish a reference to the salmon which, at certain seasons, run up the

Amur and its tributaries in such numbers that the water is literally

crowded with them? If there is any weight to this argument the kingdom

of Pu-yŭ, from which Chu-mong came, must have been, as some believe,

along the Sungari or some other tributary of the Amur.

Leaving his brothers baffled on the northern bank, Chu-mong fared

southward till he reached Mo-tun-gok by the Po-sul River where he met

three men, Chă-sa, clothed in grass cloth, Mu-gol in priestly garb and

Muk-hŭ, in seaweed. They joined his retinue and proceeded with him to

Chŭl-bon, the present town of Song-ch’ŭn, where he founded a kingdom. He

gave it the name of Ko-gu-ryŭ, from Ko, his family name, and Ku-ryŭ, a

mountain in his native Pu-yŭ. Some say the Ko is from the Chinese _Kao_,

“high,” referring to his origin. This kingdom is also known by the name

Chŭl-bon Pu-yu. It is said that Pu-ryu River flowed by the capital.

These events occurred, if at all, in the year 37 B.C. This was all

Chinese land, for it was a part of the great province of Tong-bu which

had been erected by the Emperor So-je (Chao-ti) in 81 B.C. Only one

authority mentions Chu-mong’s relations with Tong-bu. This says that

when he erected his capital at Chŭl-bon he seized Tong-bu. China had

probably held these provinces with a very light hand and the founding of

a vigorous native monarchy would be likely to attract the semi-barbarous

people of northern Korea. Besides, the young Ko-gu-ryŭ did not seize the

whole territory at once but gradually absorbed it. It is not unlikely

that China looked with complacency upon a native ruler who, while

recognising her suzerainty, could at the same time hold in check the

fierce denizens of the peninsula.

We are told that the soil of Ko-gu-ryŭ was fertile and that the cereals

grew abundantly. The land was famous for its fine horses and its red

jade, its blue squirrel skins and its pearls. Chu-mong inclosed his

capital in a heavy stockade and built store-houses and a prison. At its

best the country stretched a thousand _li_ beyond the Yalu River and

southward to the banks of the Han. It comprised the Nang-nang tribe from

which Emperor Mu-je named the whole north-western portion of Korea when

he divided northern Korea into four provinces. On the east was Ok-ju and

on its north was Pu-yŭ. It contained two races of people, one living

among the mountains and the other in the plains. It is said they had a

five-fold origin. There were the So-ro-bu, Chŭl-lo-bu, Sun-no-bu,

Kwan-no-bu and Kye-ro-bu. The kings at first came from the So-ro-bu line

but afterwards from the Kye-ro-bu. This probably refers to certain

family clans or parties which existed at the time of Chu-mong’s arrival

and which were not discontinued. Chu-mong is said to have married the

daughter of the king of Chŭl-bon and so he came into the control of

affairs in a peaceful way and the institutions of society were not

particularly disturbed.

Agriculture was not extensively followed. In the matter of food they

were very frugal. Their manners and customs were somewhat like those of

Pu-yŭ but were not derived from that kingdom. Though licentious they

were fond of clean clothes. At night both sexes gathered in a single

apartment and immorality abounded. Adultery, however, if discovered, was

severely punished. In bowing it was customary for these people to throw

out one leg behind. While travelling, men more often ran than walked.

The worship of spirits was universal. In the autumn there was a great

religious festival. In the eastern part of the peninsula there was a

famous cave called Su-sin where a great religious gathering occurred

each autumn. Their religious rites included singing and drinking. At the

same time captives were set free. They worshipped likewise on the eve of

battle, slaughtering a bullock and examining the body for omens.

Swords, arrows and spears were their common weapons. A widow usually

became the wife of her dead husband’s brother. When a great man died it

was common to bury one or more men alive with his body. The statement

that sometimes as many as a hundred were killed is probably an

exaggeration. These characteristics were those of the Nang-nang people

as well as of the rest of Ko-gu-ryŭ. The highest official grades were

called Sang-ga-dă, No-p’ă, Ko-ju-dă. Some say their official grades were

called by the names of animals, as the “horse grade” the “dog grade” the

“cow grade.” There were special court garments of silk embroidered with

gold and silver. The court hat was something like the present _kwan_ or

skull-cap. There were few prisoners. If a man committed a crime he was

summarily tried and executed, and his wife and children became slaves.

Thieves restored twelve-fold. Marriage always took place at the bride’s

house. The dead were wrapped in silks and interred, and commonly the

entire fortune of the deceased was exhausted in the funeral ceremony.

The bodies of criminals were left unburied. The people were fierce and

violent and thieving was common. They rapidly corrupted the simpler and

cleaner people of the Ye-măk and Ok-jŭ tribes.

No sooner had Chu-mong become firmly established in his new capital than

he began to extend the limits of his kingdom. In 35 B.C. he began a

series of conquests which resulted in the establishment of a kingdom

destined to defy the power of China for three quarters of a millennium.

His first operations were against the wild people to the east of him.

The first year he took Pu-ryu on the Ya-lu, then in 29 B.C. he took

Hăng-in, a district near the present Myo-hyang San. In 27 B.C. he took

Ok-jŭ, thus extending his kingdom to the shore of eastern Korea. In 23

B.C. he learned that his mother had died in far off Pu-yŭ and he sent an

embassy thither to do honor to her.

The year 18 B.C. beheld the founding of the third of the great kingdoms

which held the triple sceptre of Korea, and we must therefore turn

southward and examine the events which led up to the founding of the

kingdom of Păk-je.

When Chu-mong fled southward from Pu-yŭ he left behind him a wife and

son. The latter was named Yu-ri. Tradition says that one day while

playing with pebbles in the street he accidentally broke a woman’s water

jar. In anger she exclaimed “You are a child without a father.” The boy

went sadly home and asked his mother if it was true. She answered yes,

in order to see what the boy would do. He went out and found a knife and

was on the point of plunging it into his body when she threw herself

upon him saying “Your father is living and is a great king in the south.

Before he left he hid a token under a tree, which you are to find and

take to him.” The boy searched every where but could not find the tree.

At last, wearied out, he sat down behind the house in despair, when

suddenly he heard a sound as of picking, and noticing that it came from

one of the posts of the house he said “This is the tree and I shall now

find the token.” Digging beneath the post he unearthed the broken blade

of a sword. With this he started south and when he reached his father’s

palace he showed the token. His father produced the other half of the

broken blade and as the two matched he received the boy and proclaimed

him heir to the throne.

But he had two other sons by a wife whom he had taken more recently.

They were Pi-ryu and On-jo. When Yu-ri appeared on the scene these two

brothers, knowing how proverbially unsafe the head of a king’s relative

is, feared for their lives and so fled southward. Ascending Sam-gak San,

the mountain immediately behind the present Seoul, they surveyed the

country southward. Pi-ryu the elder chose the country to the westward

along the sea. On-jo chose to go directly south. So they separated,

Pi-ryu going to Mi-ch’u-hol, now In-ch’ŭn near Chemulpo, where he made a

settlement. On-jo struck southward into what is now Ch’ung-ch’ŭng

Province and settled at a place called Eui-rye-sŭng, now the district of

Chik-san. There he was given a generous tract of land by the king of

Ma-han; and he forthwith set up a little kingdom which he named South

Pu-yŭ. The origin of the name Păk-je is not definitely known. Some say

it was because a hundred men constituted the whole of On-jo’s party.

Others say that it was at first called Sip-je and then changed to Păk-je

when their numbers were swelled by the arrival of Pi-ryu and his party.

The latter had found the land sterile and the climate unhealthy at

Mi-ch’u-hol and so was constrained to join his brother again. On the

other hand we find the name Păk-je in the list of original districts of

Ma-han and it is probable that this new kingdom sprang up in the

district called Păk-je and this name became so connected with it that it

has came down in history as Păk-je, while in truth it was not called so

by its own people. It the same way Cho-sŭn is known today by the

medieval name Korea. Not long after Pi-ryu rejoined his brother he died

of chagrin at his own failure.

It must not be imagined that these three kingdoms of Sil-la, Ko-gu-ryŭ

and Păk-je, which represented so strongly the centripetal idea in

government, were allowed to proceed without vigorous protests from the

less civilized tribes about them. The Mal-gal tribes in the north, the

Suk-sin and North Ok-jŭ tribe in the north-east and Ye-măk in the east

made fierce attacks upon them as opportunity presented. The Mal-gal

tribes in particular seem to have penetrated southward even to the

borders of Păk-je, probably after skirting the eastern borders of

Ko-gu-ryŭ. Nominally Ko-gu-ryŭ held sway even to the Japan Sea but

practically the wild tribes roamed as yet at will all through the

eastern part of the peninsula. In the eighth year of On-jo’s reign, 10

B.C., the Mal-gal forces besieged his capital and it was only after a

most desperate fight that they were driven back. On-jo found it

necessary to build the fortresses of Ma-su-sŭng and Ch’il-chung-sŭng to

guard against such inroads. At the same time the Sŭn-bi were threatening

Ko-gu-ryŭ on the north, but Gen. Pu Bun-no lured them into an ambush and

routed them completely. The king rewarded him with land, horses and

thirty pounds of gold, but the last he refused.

The next year the wild men pulled down the fortresses lately erected by

King On-jo and the latter decided that he must find a better site for

his capital. So he moved it to the present site of Nam-han, about twenty

miles from the present Seoul. At the same time he sent and informed the

king of Ma-han that he had found it necessary to move. The following

year he enclosed the town in a wall and set to work teaching agriculture

to the people throughout the valley of the Han River which flowed near

by.

In the year which saw the birth of Christ the situation of affairs in

Korea was as follows. In the north, Ko-gu-ryŭ, a vigorous, warlike

kingdom, was making herself thoroughly feared by her neighbors; in the

central western portion was the little kingdom of Păk-je, as yet without

any claims to independence but waiting patiently for the power of Ma-han

so to decline as to make it possible to play the serpent in the bosom as

Wi-man had done to Ki-ja’s kingdom. In the south was Sil-la, known as a

peaceful power, not needing the sword because her rule was so mild and

just that people from far and near flocked to her borders and craved to

become her citizens. It is one of the compensations of history that

Sil-la, the least martial of them all, in an age when force seemed the

only arbiter, should have finally overcome them all and imposed upon

them her laws and her language.

Chapter VII.

Change of Ko-gu-ryu capital.... Sil-la raided.... Legend of

Suk-ta’l-ba.... fall of Ma-han.... beginning of Chinese enmity

against Ko-gu-ryu....the three kingdoms differentiated.... King

Yu-ri degraded.... extension of Ko-gu-ryu.... Japanese corsairs...

remnant of Ma-han revolts.... fall of Pu-yu.... origin of

_in-gum_.... siege of Ko-gu-ryu capital raised.... Sil-la’s peaceful

policy.... patronymics.... official grades.... unoccupied

territory.... kingdom of Ka-rak.... legends.... position....

dependencies.

We read that in 2 A.D. the king of Ko-gu-ryŭ was about to sacrifice a

pig to his gods, when the pig escaped and taking to its heels was chased

by the courtier Sŭl-chi into the district of Kung-nă. He caught the

animal near Wi-na Cliff, north of the Ch’o-san of today. When he

returned he described the place to the king as being rough and

consequently suitable for the site of a capital. Deer, fish and turtles

also abounded. He gave such a glowing account that the king was fain to

move his capital to that place, where it remained for two hundred and

six years.

In 4 A.D. Hyuk-kŭ-se, the wise king of Sil-la died and seven days later

his queen followed him. It is said that they were so completely one that

neither could live without the other. Nam-hă his son, with the title of

Ch’a-ch’a-ung, reigned in his stead. A remnant of the Nang-nang tribe,

hearing of the death of King Hyŭk-kŭ-se, thought it a fitting time to

make a raid into Sil-la territory, but they were beaten back.

In the third year of his reign, Nam-hă built a shrine to his father and

then put the management of the government into the hands of a man named

Sŭk-t’al-hă who had become his son-in-law. This man is one of the noted

men of Sil-la and his origin and rise are among the cherished traditions

of the people.

Somewhere in north-eastern Japan there was a kingdom known as Ta-p’a-ra

and there a woman, pregnant for seven years, brought forth an egg. The

neighbors thought it a bad omen and were minded to destroy it but the

mother, aware of their intentions, wrapped the egg in silk and cotton

and placing it in a strong chest committed it to the waters of the Japan

Sea. In time it drifted to A-jin Harbor on the coast of Sil-la where an

old fisherwoman drew it ashore and found upon opening it that it

contained a beautiful child. She adopted him and reared him in her

humble home. It was noticed that wherever the child went the magpies

followed him in flocks, so they gave him the name of Sŭk, the first part

of the Chinese word for magpie. The second part of his name was T’al,

“to put off” referring to his having broken forth from the egg, and the

final syllable of his name was Hă meaning “to open” for the fishwife

opened the chest. This boy developed into a giant both physically and

mentally. His foster-mother saw in him the making of a great man, and so

gave him what educational advantages she could afford. When he had

exhausted these she sent him to enter the service of the great statesman

Pyo-gong the same that had acted as envoy to Păk-je. Pyo-gong recognised

his merit and introduced him at court where his rise was so rapid that

ere long he married the king’s daughter and became vicegerent of the

realm, the king resigning into his hands the greater part of the

business of state.

The year 9 A.D. beheld the fall of the kingdom of Ma-han. We remember

that Ki-jun became king of Ma-han in 193 B.C. He died the same year and

was succeeded by his son Ki-t’ak with the title Kang-wang, who ruled

four years. It was in 58 B.C. that Ki-jun’s descendant Ki-hun (Wun-wang)

ascended the throne. It was in the second year of his reign that Sil-la

was founded and in his twenty-second year that Ko-gu-ryŭ was founded.

After twenty-six years of rule he died and left his son, Ki-jŭng, to

hold the scepter. It was this king who, in his sixteenth year gave On-jo

the plot of land which became the seat of the kingdom of Păk-je.

Twenty-six years had now passed since that act of generosity. Păk-je had

steadily been growing stronger and Ma-han had as steadily dwindled,

holding now only the two important towns of Wŭn-san and Köm-hyŭn. In

fact some authorities say that Ma-han actually came to an end in 16 B.C.

at the age of 177 years but that a remnant still held the towns of

Wŭn-san and Köm-hyŭn. The balance of proof is however with the statement

that Ma-han kept up at least a semblance of a state until 9 A.D.

The first sign of hostile intent on the part of Păk-je against her host,

Ma-han, had appeared some years before, when Păk-je had thrown up a line

of breast-works between herself and the capital of Ma-han. The latter

had no intention of taking the offensive but Păk-je apparently feared

that Ma-han would divine her hostile intent. Ma-han hastened to send a

message saying “Did I not give you a hundred _li_ of land? Why do you

then suspect me of hostile designs?” In answer, Păk-je partly from shame

and partly because she saw that Ma-han was wholly unsuspicious of her

ulterior designs, tore down the barriers and things went on as before.

But now that Ma-han was utterly weak, the king of Păk-je decided to

settle the matter by one bold stroke. He organised a great hunting

expedition and under cover of this approached the Ma-han capital and

took it almost without resistance. Thus, as Wi-man had paid back the

kindness of Ki-jun by treachery so now again On-jo paid back this last

descendant of Ki-jun in the same way.

Up to this time China had looked on with complacency at the growth of

Ko-gu-ryŭ but now Wang-mang the usurper had seized the throne of the Han

dynasty. His title was Hsin Whang-ti. One of his first acts seems to

have been directed against the powerful little kingdom that had

supplanted the two provinces of Tong-bu and P‘yŭng-ju into which China

had divided northern Korea. He was probably suspicious of a rapidly

growing and thoroughly warlike power which might at any time gather to

its standards the wild hordes of the north and sweep down into China.

Here was the beginning of a long struggle which lasted with occasional

intermissions until Ko-gu-ryŭ was finally destroyed some eight centuries

later. Ko-gu-ryŭ was uniformly China’s foe and Sil-la was as uniformly

her friend and ally. Păk-je was now one and now the other. It may be in

place to say here that the three powers that divided the peninsula

between them were strongly differentiated. Ko-gu-ryŭ in the north was a

strong, energetic, fierce, unscrupulous military power, the natural

product of her constituent elements. Sil-la was the very opposite;

always inclined toward peace and willing oftentimes to make very large

concessions in order to secure it. Her policy was always to conciliate,

and it was for this mainly that at the last China chose her as the one

to assume control of the whole peninsula. Păk-je differed from both the

others. She was as warlike as Ko-gu-ryŭ but as weak in military

resources as Sil-la. She therefore found her life one scene of turmoil

and strife and she was the first of the three to succumb.

It was in 12 A.D. that Wang-mang sent an envoy to Yu-ri, king of

Ko-gu-ryŭ, demanding aid in the work of subduing the wild tribes of the

north. This was refused by the headstrong Yu-ri, but the Emperor

compelled him to send certain troops to accompany the Chinese army. They

however took advantage of every opportunity to desert, and large numbers

of them formed a marauding band that penetrated the Liao-tung territory

and plundered and killed on every hand. For this cause the Emperor sent

against Ko-gu-ryŭ a strong force under Gen. Om-u, who speedily brought

the recalcitrant Yu-ri to terms, took away his title of royalty and left

him only the lesser title of Hu or “Marquis.” From that day began the

policy of reprisals on Chinese territory which Ko-gu-ryŭ steadily

pursued until it cost her life.

These were stirring days in all three of the kingdoms of the peninsula.

In 14 A.D. Ko-gu-ryŭ extended her territory northward by the conquest of

the Yang-măk tribe and at the same time she seized a strip of land

beyond the Liao River This shows that the castigation inflicted by

Wang-mang had not been very severe.

At the same time Sil-la was being harrassed along her southern sea-board

by Japanese corsairs, and while her small army was busy driving these

out the wild people of Nang-nang attacked her on the north. It is said

that one night a meteor fell in their camp and frightened them back to

their own country and thus Sil-la was saved.

Two years later the king Yu-ri of Ko-gu-ryŭ died and his son Mu-hyŭl

ascended the throne, bestowing on his father the title Tong-myŭng or

“Eastern Brightness.” The same year saw a remnant of the overthrown

kingdom of Ma-han, under the leadership of Captain Chu-geun, attempt to

wrest the scepter from Păk-je and restore the fallen house, but they

were defeated and together with their wives and children were put to the

sword. About this time an ancient royal seal was unearthed in northern

Sil-la, where Kang-neung now lies. It became the royal seal of Sil-la.

The next year Ko-gu-ryŭ, ever on the lookout for aggrandisement, made

the conquest of Pu-yŭ, the land from which Chu-mong had fled. The

tradition is as follows. Ta-so the king of Pu-yŭ, had become possessed

of a red crow with two bodies but only one head. The soothsayers said

“Two countries will be joined under one head”. The king replied “Then it

means that I shall conquer Ko-gu-ryŭ.” So he sent the bird to the king

of Ko-gu-ryŭ as a gage of war, but that astute monarch replied “Red is

the color of the south. I shall therefore conquer you.” Thereupon he

took the initiative and sent a powerful army northward to make good his

threat. The story says that as the army entered Li-mul forest the

soldiers found swords clashing together but wielded by invisible hands.

These they seized and hastened on. Soon they were joined by a gigantic

warrior with a white face who joined their party and gave his name as

Kwe-yu.

Approaching the capital of Pu-yŭ, they brought up at night before an

extensive marsh. The Pu-yŭ king, thinking to surprise them by a night

attack, attempted to cross the marsh, but became mired. The giant Kwe-yu

dashed into the swamp and brought to the Ko-gu-ryŭ king his rival’s

head. Upon this the Pu-yŭ forces surrendered; all but the brother of the

fallen king who fled with a hundred followers and settled near the Ya-lu

River, calling the place Kal-sa. This Ko-gu-ryŭ winked at.

In 24 A.D. the king of Sil-la died, having nominated as his successor

not his son but Sŭk-t’al-hă his son-in-law. After the obsequies had been

performed Sŭk-t’al-hă insisted that the prince assume the throne, but he

in turn insisted that the dead king’s orders be followed. As a

compromise Sŭk-t’al-hă proposed that they should find a man with sixteen

teeth in his upper jaw, as this was a sign of unusual wisdom, and that

upon him the throne should be bestowed. When it came to the test, it was

found that the prince himself was the man. He could no longer refuse and

ascended the throne under the title of Yi-sa-geum, or “Sixteen Teeth.”

The present word In-gum which means “king” was doubtless derived from or

is a corruption of this Sil-la word.

Meanwhile Ko-gu-ryŭ had been pushing her conquests steadily. Kă-ma and

Ku-da, two northern districts or “kingdoms” were absorbed and other

conquests were contemplated. The Emperor beheld these enlargements of

Ko-gu-ryŭ with some concern and in 27 A.D. sent a strong force to bring

her to terms. At the first encounter the forces of Ko-gu-ryŭ were routed

and fell back toward the capital which, as we have seen, was then at or

near the present town of Eui-ju. The king hastily summoned a council of

war at which it was decided to man the walls of the capital and try to

hold out until the enemy should be compelled by lack of food or the

severity of the weather to raise the siege. The Chinese knew that there

was little water within the wall and had high hopes of compelling a

speedy surrender. This was all too true and there was soon much distress

in the city; but a certain courtier said “If you will give me all the

fish in the city I will undertake to make the enemy raise the siege or I

will pay the penalty with my life.” He was given permission and soon he

had the soldiers along the wall going through the motions of a bath,

using fish scales for water. The scales glittered in the sun like drops

of water and the enemy supposing that there must therefore be a good

store of water in the city despaired of taking it by siege and so struck

their tents and returned to China.

The marked difference between Ko-gu-ryŭ and Sil-la was well illustrated

by the events of this year. While Ko-gu-ryŭ was reaching out covetous

hands in every direction and carrying fire and sword into the hamlets of

inoffensive neighbors, Sil-la was pursuing a course of such good will to

all both without and within her borders that natives of the wild tribes

to the north of her came in large numbers and settled on her soil, glad

to become citizens of so kind and generous a land. The king himself made

frequent tours of the country alleviating the distress of widows,

orphans and cripples. It was in 32 B.C. that he changed the name of the

six original families which united in founding Sil-la. The men of

Yang-san, Ko-hŭ, Tă-su, Ul-jin, Ka-ri, and of Myŭng-whal were named

respectively Yi, Ch’oé, Son, Chöng, Pă and Sŭl. These names will be

recognised at once as among the most common patronymics in Korea at the

present day, which adds confirmatory evidence that Korea of to-day is

essentially the Korea of the south. When we add to this the fact that

the names Pak, Kim, An, Ko, Sŭk, Yang, So, Sŭ, Kwŭn, Pă, Im, Na, Hyŭn,

Kwak, Ho, Whang, Chang, Sim and Yu originated in southern Korea the

argument becomes well-nigh conclusive. The only names of importance that

did not originate in southern Korea are Min, Song, Om, Cho, and Han; and

many of these originated in what must have been Ma-han territory. At the

same time the king established seventeen official grades and called them

respectively I-bŭl-son, I-ch’ŭk-son, I-son, P’a-jin-son, Tă-a-son,

A-son, Kil-son, Sa-son, etc.

It must be remembered that as yet neither of the “Three Kingdoms” had

begun to occupy all the territory that nominally belonged to it or that

lay within its “sphere of influence.” Between them lay large tracts of

land as yet unoccupied except by wild tribes. It is more than probable

that at no point did any of these kingdoms actually touch each other.

Ko-gu-ryŭ was broadening out northwards, Păk-je was at a standstill and

Sil-la was growing rather by immigration than by occupation of new

territory. As yet Sil-la had taken but four districts outside of the

original six, and so we see that a large part of the south was still in

the hands of the original inhabitants as given in the list of the

settlements of the three Hans. In 41 A.D. the nine districts whose names

ended in kan, namely A-do-gan, Yö-do-gan, P’i-do-gan, O-do-gan,

Yu-su-gan, Yu-ch’ŭn-gan, Sin-ch’ŭn-gan, Sin-gwi-gan and O-ch’ŭn-gan,

formed a confederacy and called it the “Kingdom of Ka-rak”. They placed

their capital at Ka-rak, the present town of Kim-hă, and made Keum Su-ro

their king. Tradition says that he obtained his Queen in the following

way. A boat approached the shore bearing a beautiful woman, Queen Ho,

whose ornamental name was Whang-ok or “Yellow Jade”. She came from the

far southern kingdom of A-yu-t’a, otherwise known as Ch’ŭn-ch’uk. It is

said that she lived a hundred and fifty-seven years and that the king

survived her one year. All that is told us of the history of this rival

of Sil-la is the list of her kings which will be found in the

chronological tables. After an existence of 491 years it came to an end

in the reign of the Sil-la king Pŭp-heung. It is also affirmed that when

Sil-la fell in 935, some worthless wretches who defiled the grave of

Keum Su-ro were mysteriously killed, one by the falling of a beam, one

by an invisible archer and nine others by a serpent eighteen feet long.

The records say that when the Japanese, at the time of the great

invasion three centuries ago, dug open this king’s grave they found

great store of gold and jade. The skull of the monarch was of prodigious

size, and beside his body lay two women whose features were well

preserved but which dissolved and melted away when exposed to the air.

It is barely possible that we here have an indication that embalming was

practiced, but if so we have no other intimation of it.

Ka-rak extended eastward as far as Wang-san River, six miles to the west

of the present Yang-san; to the north-east as far as Ka-ya San, the

present Ko-ryŭng; to the south and south-west as far as the coast and on

the west to Chi-ri San. From this we see that it was little inferior to

Sil-la in size.

Ka-rak had five dependencies, namely the districts known under the

common name of Ka-ya. They were So-ga-ya, Ko-ryŭng-ga-ya,

Song-san-ga-ya, Tă-ga-ya and A-ra-ga-ya. They correspond respectively to

the present towns of Ko-sŭng, Ham-ch’ang, Ham-ch’ang, Sŭng-ju, Ko-ryŭng

and Ham-an. Tradition says that one day when the chiefs of the nine

tribes of Ka-rak were banqueting they saw upon the slope of Sung-bong,

called also Ku-yii-bong, a singular cloud. From the sky above it came a

voice. They hastened up the mountain and there found a golden box

containing six golden eggs. These opened and disclosed six boys. One of

them was Keum Su-ro who became king of Ka-rak and the other five were

made chiefs of the five Ka-ya, subject to Ka-rak. Of these Ka-ya states

we know the founder of only one. He was descended from Kyŏn-mo-ju, the

female divinity of Ka-ya Mountain who wedded a celestial being,

Yi-ja-ga. Their off-spring was Yi-i-a-si, who founded one of the Ka-ya

states. The Ka-ya states fell before Sil-la some five hundred years

later in the reign of King Chin-heung.

Chapter VIII.

Vicissitudes of Ko-gu-ryu.... last Ma-han chief joins Sil-la.... Pak-je

and Sil-la become sworn enemies.... legend of Kye-rim.... Pak-je

worsted.... Ko-gu-ryu’s strength on the increase.... Sil-la’s rapid

growth.... Ka-ya attacks Sil-la.... Ko-gu-ryu make compact with

Ye-mak.... Su-sŭng’s evil reign.... roads in Sil-la.... Japanese

raid.... legend.... an epicurean.... Pak-je’s victory.... origin of

government loans.... Yun-u’s trickery.... capital of Ko-gu-ryu

moved.... wild tribes attack Sil-la.... democratic ideas in

Sil-la.... Ko-gu-ryu breaks with China.... and attacks Sil-la....

China invades Ko-gu-ryu.... the king retreats.... relieved through

treachery.... capital of Ko-gu-ryu moved to P’yung-yang....

beginning of feud between Korea and Japan.... reforms in Pak-je....

third century closes.... progress of Sil-la.... how Eul-bul became

king of Ko-gu-ryu.... a noble lady of Sil-la is sent to Japan.

Mu-hyŭl, the third king of Ko-gu-ryŭ died in 45, leaving the kingdom to

the tender mercies of his son a worthless debauchee. Four years later he

in turn made way for Hă-u, a member of a collateral branch of the

family. Following the traditions of Ko-gu-ryŭ this ruler professed

loyalty to China on the one hand and seized all the Chinese territory he

could lay hands on, on the other. In 54 he was assassinated by one Tu-no

and the seven year old grandson of king Yu-ri was placed on the throne,

a regent being appointed to carry on the government until the boy

reached his majority. The good work continued. Ten forts were built in

western Liao-tung to guard against Chinese advances, which shows that

she had regained nearly all the territory she had lost at the hands of

the parvenu Wang-mang. The following year she took formal possession of

the territory of Ok-jŭ on the eastern coast.

In the year 58 Yu-ri, the third king of Sil-la died. He must not be

confounded with Yu-ri the second king of Ko-gu-ryŭ. The sound is the

same but the character is different. It was he who had the difference of

opinion with Sŭk-t’al-hă in regard to the succession. As he died without

issue the reins of government naturally passed into the hands of the

aged statesman Sŭk-t’al-hă. He was sixty-two years old when he assumed

the cares of royalty. In his fifth year the one remaining Ma-han chief,

Măng-so, who had escaped the appetite of Păk-je, went over to Sil-la, as

he concluded it was no longer possible to prolong a hopeless struggle

against Păk-je. Pok-am fortress thus passed into the hands of Sil-la.

Strange to say Păk-je not only did not resent this but even made

overtures to Sil-la for a friendly meeting of their respective kings in

the following year. Sil-la refused to sanction this, and the rebuff was

too much for the equanimity of Păk-je. From that day the attitude of

Păk-je toward Sil-la was one of studied hostility, broken only by an

occasional spasmodic attempt at reconciliation. Among the three

kingdoms, Sil-la was the only one that preserved her dignity intact and

kept herself untainted by the charge either of avarice or pusilanimity.

The year 66 brought forth another of those wonders that embellish the

legendary lore of Korea. The king of Sil-la was wakened one night by the

loud cackling of a hen, which seemed to come from a forest to the south.

A messenger was sent to see what was the cause of the disturbance and he

found a box hanging from the branch of a tree, while on the ground

beneath it there cluttered a white hen. When the box was placed before

the king and he had opened it a handsome child was found. It received

the name Keum Yun-ji. Some say this Yŭn-ji was merely a part of the name

while others affirm that it is a pure Sil-la word meaning “baby”. Up to

this time the kingdom had been called Sŭ-ra-bŭl but now the king changed

it to Kye-rim, _kye_ meaning “hen” and _rim_ meaning “woods.” So the

kingdom was called “Hen in the Woods”, not a very dignified name but

one, perhaps, that fitted well the military prowess of the kingdom.

In 68 Păk-je deemed herself strong enough to undertake operations

against Sil-la. She began by seizing the fortress of Wa-san. She enjoyed

possession of it for nine years but in the end she paid dear, for it was

retaken by Sil-la and the Păk-je garrison was put to the sword. This

year also saw a continuation of Ko-gu-ryŭ’s forward policy and the

little settlement of Kal-sa which had been make by Pu-yŭ fugitives was

absorbed. She followed this up by the conquest of Chu-ra farther north.

Her military strength seems to have been on the rapid increase.

In 80 the great Sŭk-t’al-hă died and was succeeded by the son of King

Nam-hă. He must have been of advanced age and yet not so old as to

prevent his becoming the greatest conqueror that Sil-la ever produced.

During the thirty-two years of his reign he added to the Sil-la crown

the districts of Eum-jip-pŭl, Ap-to, Pi-ji, Ta-bŭl, Ch’o-p’al, and

Sil-jik. These together with U-si and Kŭ-ch’il, which and been added the

year before his accession, formed a considerable increase in the

territory of the kingdom and added not a little to Sil-la’s reputation

as a military power. This king, P’a-sa, was one of those men who seem to

take hold of affairs by the right end and wring success from seeming

failure. He was as great an administrator as he was mild a conqueror. He

attended so carefully to the needs of the people that it is said that

during most of his reign food was so plentiful that the wayfarer needed

no money to pay for food or lodgings along the road.

The kingdom of Ka-ya, whose origin we noted in the previous chapter, now

assumed the offensive against Sil-la. The first intimation we have of

this is the fact that Sil-la in 88 built two forts named Ka-so and

Ma-du, the first of which was to guard against the encroachments of

Păk-je and the second to guard against those of Ka-ya. It was not till

three years later that Ka-ya actually opened hostilities by inaugurating

an expedition against Sil-la. As the event is not disclosed by the

annalists we may conclude that it was unsuccessful.

Ko-gu-ryŭ now extended the field of her military operations. She made

friends with the people of Ye-măk, to the east, and together with them

began a series of raids into Chinese territory beyond the northern

borders. The sixth king of Ko-gu-ryŭ, T’ă-jo Wang, had now reached the

sixty-ninth year of his reign so he turned over to his brother, Su-sŭng,

the administration of affairs. This brother was as ambitious as the king

and continued the league with Ye-măk and the encroachments upon China.

But he was disloyal to his brother and tried to form a combination

against him. In this he was not successful. The reign of this T’ă-jo

Wang was the longest one on record in Korean annals. He held the scepter

ninety-four years, thereby sorely trying the patience of his heir

apparent. That gentleman came to the throne at the green old age of

seventy-six, in the year 147 A.D. He showed however that his memory had

not yet failed him for one of his first acts was to arrest and put to

death all the wise men who had chidden him for attempting to unseat his

brother. Ko Pok-chang a celebrated scholar of that day was so

overwhelmed in view of this barbarous act that he asked to be destroyed

with the rest of the wise men, a wish that was probably granted. One day

this singular monarch having seen a white fox cross his path, an evil

omen, asked a soothsayer what it might portend. That individual

suggested that if the king should reform even the worst of omens would

turn out happily. The soothsayer lost his head as a result of his

candor; but from that day on, whenever the king wanted to consult a

soothsayer he found that they were all engaged in important work at some

distant point.

King Il-seung of Sil-la whose reign began 134 was the first to pay

attention to the building of good roads throughout the country. In his

fifth year he built a road from his capital to Chuk-yŭn, now Pung-geui,

and another one over Kye-ip Pass. These became very important

thoroughfares. We also find that his successor continued this good work

by opening roads thro to the north of the kingdom. These kings were not

many years behind the Romans in recognising the vast importance of good

roads both for administrative and military purposes.

The relations between Sil-la and Japan are graphically described in the

single statement that when someone circulated in the capital the rumor

that a company of Japanese were coming the people fled precipitately

from the city until it was half depopulated. When the mistake was

discovered they gradually came back.

The interesting legend of Yŭng-o and Se-o belongs to the year 158,

though it scarcely merits the “once upon a time” of a nursery tale.

Yŭng-o a poor fisherman lived with his wife Se-o beside the waters of

the Japan Sea on the eastern shore of Sil-la. One day as Yŭng-o was

seated on a great boulder beside the water, fishing, he felt the rock

tremble and then rise straight in air. He was carried, to his great

consternation, eastward across the sea and deposited in a Japanese

village. The Japanese folk took him for a god and made him their king at

once. When his wife found that he did not return from fishing she went

in search of him. Ascending the same rock that had carried him to Japan

she experienced the same novel extradition that had so surprised her

spouse. She found him metamorphosed into a king and was nothing loath to

become queen. But their departure brought disaster to Sil-la for the sun

and moon were darkened and the land was shrouded in gloom. The

sooth-sayers said it was because someone had gone to Japan. An envoy was

sent post haste to those islands in search of the fugitives, but found

to his dismay that they had become king and queen of one of the kingdoms

there. He told his story and besought them to return, but they seemed

well satisfied with the change. Se-o however brought out a roll of silk

and gave it to the envoy saying that if the king of Sil-la would spread

it out and sacrifice upon it the light would return. The event proved

the truth of her statement and when the king uttered the words of

invocation the sunlight burst forth again and all was well. It is an

interesting but melancholy fact that most of the arguments used to show

a Korean origin of things Japanese are based upon evidence nearly if not

quite as credible as this story. The Japanese work entitled the Kojiki

bears the same relation to the carefully detailed history of Sil-la that

the Niebelungenlied bears to the works of Tacitus.

When the time came for Su-sŭng, the sanguinary king of Ko-gu-ryŭ to die

a young scapegrace by the name of Ch’a-da came to the throne. His idea

of royalty was that it consisted in one long orgie. He attempted to

carry out his ideal but was cut short within a year by the assassin’s

knife. His motto, in his own words, was “Who does not wish to enjoy

life?” Epicureanism may have existed in Korea before but it had never

had so frank a disciple. Păk-ko a relative of the murdered king was

called from a mountain fastness whither he had fled for safety. They had

to ask him three times before they could convince him that it was not a

mere decoy.

By the year 168 either Păk-je had grown so strong or Sil-la so weak that

the former deemed it a fit time to make a grand demonstration all along

Sil-la’s western border. It is said she carried back a thousand captives

to grace her triumph. Sil-la, though filled with rage, was not in

condition to return the compliment in kind. She however sent an urgent

letter pointing out the advantages of peace and asking that the captives

be returned. We may imagine how this was received by the proud army

flushed as it must have been by an unwonted victory.

About this time was begun one of the ancient customs of Korea that has

ever since exerted an important influence upon the life of the people.

While hunting the king met a man weeping bitterly and upon being asked

what was the matter replied that he had not a grain of food to give his

parents. Thereupon the king gave him an order on the government granary

with the understanding that when autumn came he should pay it back. Thus

originated the _whan-sang_ or custom of making government loans in the

spring to be paid back with interest in the autumn. When this king died

he was succeeded by the grandson of old Sŭk-t’al-hă. He took in hand the

work of instilling new life into the well-nigh dead bones of Sil-la. His

first action was to establish two military stations at the capital so

that it might not be at the mercy of the first adventurer that might

pass that way. He also ordered the people to pay less attention to the

construction of fine government buildings and more to agriculture, the

back bone of the state.

Nam-mu the tenth king of Ko-gu-ryŭ died at night and the queen, desiring

to gain an extension of her power, slipped out of the palace and

hastened to the house of the king’s oldest brother Pal-gi. She stated

the case and urged him to hasten to the palace and assume the royal

prerogative. He refused to believe that the king was dead and accused

her of immodesty. She then hurried to the house of the younger brother

Yŭn-u and repeated the story. The young man accompanied her and when

morning broke it was found that he was established in the palace and

ready to meet all comers. Pal-gi raged and cursed. He stormed the palace

with his retainers, but being unsuccessful, was fain to beat a retreat

to Liao-tung.

The dawn of the third century saw the three states of Korea in the same

relative position as before. Ko-gu-ryŭ was still the same ambitious

military power, Păk-je was still her own worst enemy though flaunting

for the time being in the gay colors of a temporal triumph, Sil-la was

plodding along quietly paying more attention to internal improvements

and so earning the right which she afterward enjoyed of holding sway

over the whole peninsula. The first twenty-five years of the century

witnessed unusual activity on the part of the surrounding savages who in

view of the constantly increasing power of the three states beheld their

territories diminishing. The wild people of Kol-p’o, Chil-p’o and Ko-p’o

ravaged the borders of Sil-la but were driven back. On the south she

attacked and burned a settlement of Japanese corsairs who had apparently

gained a foothold on the mainland. Păk-je was also attacked on the east

by the savages and was obliged to build a wall at Sa-do to keep them

back. This period saw over a thousand Chinese refugees cross the Yalu

and find asylum in Ko-gu-ryŭ. It also saw U-wi-gŭ, the fruit of a

liaison between the eleventh king of Ko-gu-ryŭ and a farmer girl whom he

met while hunting, ascend the throne of Ko-gu-ryŭ. It witnessed a

remarkable exhibition of democratic feeling in Sil-la when the people

rejected Prince Sa-ba-ni and in his place set up Ko-i-rŭ to be king.

The year 240 was an important one in the history of Ko-gu-ryŭ. King

U-wi-gŭ was a man of boundless ambition and his temerity was as great as

his ambition. Ko-gu-ryŭ had been at peace with China for eight years

when, without warning, this U-wi-gŭ saw fit to cross the border and

invade the territory of his powerful neighbor. The town of

An-p’yŭng-hyŭn in western Liao-tung fell before the unexpected assault.

This unprovoked insult aroused the slumbering giant of the Middle

Kingdom and the hereditary feud that had existed for many years between

Ko-gu-ryŭ and China was intensified. At the same time U-wi-gŭ turned his

eyes southward and contemplated the subjugation of Sil-la. To this end

he sent an expedition against her in the following year. It was met on

the Sil-la border by a defensive force under Gen. Sŭk U-ro who withstood

the invaders bravely but was driven back as far as the “Palisades of

Ma-du” where he took a firm stand. As he could not be dislodged the

invading army found itself checked. Meanwhile a dark cloud was rapidly

overspreading Ko-gu-ryŭ’s western horizon. The great Chinese general, Mo

Gu-geum, with a force of 10,000 men advanced upon the Ko-gu-ryŭ outposts

and penetrated the country as far as the present Sŭng-ch’ŭn where he met

the Ko-gu-ryŭ army under the direct command of king U-wi-gŭ. The result

was an overwhelming victory for Ko-gu-ryŭ whose soldiers chased the

flying columns of the enemy to Yang-băk-kok where dreadful carnage

ensued. “Whom the gods would destroy they first make mad” proved true in

this case. U-wi-gŭ was so elated over the victory that he declared that

a handful of Ko-gu-ryŭ troops could chase an army of Chinese. Taking

five hundred picked cavalry he continued the pursuit; but he had boasted

too soon. Gen. Mo Gu-geum’s reputation was at stake. Rallying a handful

of his braves the latter turned upon his pursuers and handled them so

severely that they turned and fled. The Chinese followed up the timely

victory and threw themselves upon the army of Ko-gu-ryŭ so fiercely that

the tables were completely turned. It is said that in the engagement

that followed Ko-gu-ryŭ lost 18,000 men. King U-wi-gŭ, seeing that all

was lost, fled back to his capital and awaited developments. But Gen.

Wang-geui, Mo Gu-geum’s associate, pursued the king across the Yalu and

gave him no rest until he had fled eastward to the territory of Ok-jŭ on

the eastern coast. On his way thither he crossed Chuk-nyŭng Pass where

all his remaining guard forsook him and fled. One of his officials,

Mil-u, said “I will go back and hold the enemy at bay while you make

good your escape”. So with three or four soldiers he held the narrow

pass while the king found a retreat in a deep valley, where he succeeded

in getting together a little band of soldiers. He offered a reward to

anyone who should go and bring Mil-u safely to him. U Ok-ku volunteered

to go. Finding Mil-u wounded and lying on the ground he took him in his

arms and carried him to the king. The latter was so delighted to recover

his faithful follower that he nursed him back to life by his own hand. A

few days later the pursuit continued and the king was again hard

pressed. A courtier, Yu-ryu, offered to go to the enemy’s camp and in

some way stop the pursuit. Taking some food he went and boldly announced

that the king desired to surrender and had sent this gift ahead to

announce his coming. His words were believed and the general received

the gift. But Yu-ryu had concealed a short sword beneath the dishes and

when he approached the general he whipped out the weapon and plunged it

into the enemy’s breast. The next moment he himself was cut down by the

attendants. When the king learned that the pursuers had lost their

general he rallied his little force, threw himself upon them and put

them to flight. The following year U-wi-gŭ, recognising that his capital

was too near the border, decided to remove the court to P‘yŭng-yang

which had been the capital for so many centuries. Two years later he

made a treaty with Sil-la which remained unbroken for a century. He had

been cured of some of his over-ambitiousness. Yŭn-bul was his successor.

In the third year of King Ch’ŭm-hă of Sil-la, 249 A.D. the first envoy

ever received from Japan arrived at the shore of Sil-la. He was met by

Gen. Sŭk U-ro who addressed him in the following unaccountable manner,

“It would be well if your king and queen should come and be slaves in

the kitchen of the king of Sil-la”. Without a word the envoy turned

about and posted back to Japan. An invasion of Korea was determined upon

and soon a powerful force landed on the coast of that country. Gen. Sŭk

U-ro was filled with dismay and remorse. He confessed to the king that

he was the cause of this hostile display and begged to be allowed to go

alone and propitiate the advancing enemy. It was granted and he walked

straight into the Japanese camp and confessed his crime and asked that

he alone be punished. The Japanese took him at his word, burned him

alive in their camp and returned to their own land without striking a

blow. The following year the same envoy came again and was well received

by the king, but the widow of Gen. Sŭk U-ro desiring to avenge the blood

of her husband, obtained permission to work in the kitchen of the

envoy’s place of entertainment. There she found opportunity to poison

his food and thus accomplish her purpose. This of course put an end to

all hope of amity between the two countries and that event marks the

beginning of the feud which in spite of occasional periods of apparent

friendship, existed between the people of Japan and Korea until the year

1868. Hostilities did not however begin at once.

The latter half of the third century beheld few events of special

interest in the peninsula. During this period Păk-je seems to have made

a spasmodic effort at reform, for we read that she reorganised her

official system and set a heavy penalty for bribery, namely imprisonment

for life. She also patched up a shallow peace with Sil-la. In Ko-gu-ryŭ

a concubine of King Pong-sang tried to incense him against the queen by

showing him a leathern bag which she claimed the queen had made to drown

her in. The king saw through the trick and to punish the crafty

concubine had her killed in the very way she had described. A chief of

the Sŭn-bi tribe invaded Ko-gu-ryŭ and desecrated the grave of the

king’s father. The wild men of Suk-sin attempted to overthrow Sil-la but

the king’s brother drove them back and succeeded in attaching their

territory to the crown of Sil-la. It is said that when Sil-la was hard

pressed by a band of savages strange warriors suddenly appeared and

after putting the savages to flight, as suddenly disappeared. Each of

these strange warriors had ears like the leaves of the bamboo and when

it was discovered next day that the ground around the king’s father’s

grave was covered with bamboo leaves it was believed that he had come

forth from his grave with spirit warriors to aid his son.

With the opening of the fourth century the fifteenth king of Sil-la,

Ki-rim, made an extensive tour of his realm. He passed northward as far

as U-du-ju near the present Ch’un-ch’ŭn. He also visited a little

independent “kingdom” called Pi-ryul, now An-byŭn, and made many

presents, encouraged agriculture and made himself generally agreeable.

Not so with the king of Ko-gu-ryŭ. He was made of sterner stuff. He

issued a proclamation that every man woman and child above fifteen years

old should lend their aid in building a palace. Ko-gu-ryŭ had of late

years passed through troublous times and the people were in no mood to

undertake such a work. An influential courtier, Ch’ang Cho-ri, attempted

to dissuade the king but as he was not successful he settled the

question by assassinating the king. Eul-bul, who succeeded him, had a

chequered career before coming to the throne. Being the king’s cousin he

had to flee for his life. He first became a common coolie in the house

of one Eun-mo in the town of Sil-la. By day he cut wood on the hill

sides and by night he made tiles or kept the frogs from croaking while

his master slept. Tiring of this he attached himself to a salt merchant

but being wrongfully accused he was dragged before the magistrate and

beaten almost to death. The official Ch’ang Cho-ri and a few others knew

his whereabouts and, hunting him up, they brought him to the “Pul-yu

water” a hundred and ten li from P’yŭng-yang, and hid him in the house

of one O Măk-nam. When all was ripe for the final move, Ch’ang Cho-ri

inaugurated a great hunting party. Those who were willing to aid in

dethroning the king were to wear a bunch of grass in the hat as a sign.

The king was seized and imprisoned, and there hanged himself. His sons

also killed themselves and Eul-bul was then elevated to the perilous

pinnacle of royalty.

It was about the beginning of this century also that the Japanese,

during one of those spasmodic periods of seeming friendship asked the

king of Sil-la to send a noble maiden of Sil-la to be their queen. The

king complied and sent the daughter of one of his highest officials,

A-son-geup-ri.

Chapter IX.

Rise of Yŭn.... rebellion against China.... siege of Keuk Fortress

raised.... Ko-gu-ryŭ surrenders to Yŭn.... Ko-gu-ryŭ disarmed....

Japanese attack Sil-la.... Păk-je’s victory over Ko-gu-ryŭ.... moves

her capital across the Han.... Păk-je people in Sil-la.... Yŭn is

punished.... Buddhism introduced into Ko-gu-ryŭ.... and into

Păk-je.... amnesty between Ko-gu-ryŭ and Păk-je.... but Ko-gu-ryŭ

continues the war.... Păk-je in danger.... envoy to Japan....

Ch’ŭm-nye usurps the throne of Păk-je.... and is killed.... Sil-la

princes rescued.... Ko-gu-ryŭ and Păk-je receive investiture from

China.... China’s policy.... Nul-ji’s reign.... Ko-gu-ryŭ and Păk-je

transfer their allegience.... Yŭn extinct.... beginning of

triangular war.... diplomatic relations.... Ko-gu-ryŭ falls from

grace.... first war vessel.... diplomatic complications.... Păk-je

humiliated.... her capital moved.

We have now come to the events which marked the rise of the great Yŭn

power in Liao-tung. They are so intimately connected with the history of

Ko-gu-ryŭ that we must give them in detail. For many years there had

been a Yŭn tribe in the north but up to the year 320 it had not come

into prominence. It was a dependency of the Tsin dynasty of China. Its

chiefs were known by the general name Mo Yong. In 320 Mo Yong-we was the

acting chief of the tribe. He conceived the ambitious design of

overcoming China and founding a new dynasty. The Emperor immediately

despatched an army under Gen. Ch’oe-bi to put down the incipient

rebellion. Ko-gu-ryŭ and the U-mun and Tan tribes were called upon to

render assistance against the rebels. All complied and soon the

recalcitrant chieftain found himself besieged in Keuk Fortress and was

on the point of surrendering at discretion when an event occurred which,

fortunately for him, broke up the combination and raised the siege. It

was customary before surrendering to send a present of food to the one

who receives the overtures of surrender. Mo Yong-we, in pursuance of

this custom, sent out the present, but for some reason it found its way

only into the camp of the U-mun forces while the others received none.

When this became known the forces of Ko-gu-ryŭ, believing that Mo

Yong-we had won over the U-mun people to his side, retired in disgust

and the Chinese forces, fearing perhaps a hostile combination, likewise

withdrew. The U-mun chiefs resented this suspicion of treachery and

vowed they would take Mo Yong-we single-handed. But this they could not

do, for the latter poured out upon them with all his force and scattered

them right and left. From this point dates the rise of Yŭn. Gen.

Ch’oe-bi fearing the wrath of the Emperor fled to Ko-gu-ryŭ where he

found asylum. Here the affair rested for a time. The kingdom of Yŭn

forebore to attack Ko-gu-ryŭ and she in turn was busy strengthening her

own position in view of future contingencies. Ten years passed during

which no events of importance transpired. In 331 Eul-bul the king of

Ko-gu-ryŭ died and his son Soé began his reign by adopting an active

policy of defense. He heightened the walls of P’yŭng-yang and built a

strong fortress in the north, called Sin-sŭng. He followed this up by

strengthening his friendly relations with the court of China. These

facts did not escape the notice of the rising Yŭn power. Mo Yong-whang,

who had succeeded Mo Yong-we, hurled an expedition against the new

Sin-sŭng Fortress and wrested it from Ko-gu-ryŭ. The king was compelled,

much against his will, to go to Liao-tung and swear fealty to the Yŭn

power. Two years later the capital was moved northward to Wan-do, in the

vicinity of the Eui-ju of today. This was done probably at the command

of Yŭn who desired to have the capital of Ko-gu-ryŭ within easy reach in

case any complications might arise.

Mo Yong-whang desired to invade China without delay but one of his

relatives, Mo Yong-han, advised him to disarm Ko-gu-ryŭ and the U-mun

tribe so that no possible enemy should be left in his rear when he

marched into China. It was decided to attack Ko-gu-ryŭ from the north

and west, but the latter route was to be the main one, for Ko-gu-ryŭ

would be expecting the attack from the north. The strategem worked like

a charm. Mo Yong-han and Mo Yong-p’ă led a powerful army by way of the

sea road while General Wang-u led a decoy force by the northern route.

The flower of the Ko-gu-ryŭ army, 50,000 strong, marched northward under

the king’s brother Mu to meet an imaginary foe while the king with a few

undisciplined troops held the other approach. As may be supposed, the

capital fell speedily into the enemy’s hands but the king escaped. The

Ko-gu-ryŭ forces had been successful in the north and might return any

day, so the Yun forces were forbidden to go in pursuit of the king. To

insure the good behavior of the king, however, they burned the palace,

looted the treasure, exhumed the body of the king’s father and took it,

together with the queen and her mother, back to the capital of Yŭn. With

such hostages as these Yŭn was safe from that quarter. The next year the

king offered his humble apologies and made a complete surrender, in view

of which his father’s body and his queen were returned to him but his

mother-in-law was still held. The same year Ko-gu-ryŭ moved her capital

back to P’yŭng-yang. A few years later by sending his son as substitute

he got his mother-in-law out of pawn.

In 344 new complications grew up between Sil-la and Japan. The Japanese

having already obtained one Sil-la maiden for a queen made bold to ask

for a royal princess to be sent to wed their king. This was peremptorily

refused and of course war was the result. A Japanese force attacked the

Sil-la coastguard but being driven back they harried the island of

P‘ung-do and finally worked around until they were able to approach the

capital. Finding the gates fast shut they laid siege to the city. But

their provisions were soon exhausted and they were compelled to retire.

Then the Sil-la forces swarmed out and attacked them in the rear and put

them to an ignominious flight. Some years later the Japanese made a

similar attempt but were outwitted by the Sil-la soldiers who made

manikins of grass to represent soldiers, and the Japanese, seeing these,

supposed that Sil-la had been reinforced and so retired from the

contest.

Ko-gu-ryŭ had been so severely handled by her northern neighbor that she

gave up for the time being her plans of conquest in that direction.

Instead of this she turned her attention toward her southern neighbor

Păk-je whose territory was a morsel not to be despised. About the year

360 she erected a fort at Ch’i-yang not far from the Păk-je capital

which was then at Nam-han. Into this she threw a large force consisting

of 20,000 infantry and cavalry. They began a systematic plundering of

Păk-je. The army of the latter, under the leadership of the Crown

Prince, fell suddenly upon this fort and gained a victory, for, when the

Ko-gu-ryŭ forces retired, they left 5,000 dead upon the field. Păk-je

followed up this victory by throwing up a line of breastworks along the

southern bank of the Han river to insure against a future surprise on

the part of her unscrupulous northern neighbor. But Păk-je’s victories

had shown her the weakness of Ko-gu-ryŭ and reprisals were therefore in

order. She equipped an army of 30,000 men and penetrated the country of

the enemy. She met no resistance until her army stood beneath the walls

of P‘yŭng-yang. An attempt was made to storm the town, during which the

king of Ko-gu-ryŭ was mortally wounded by an arrow, but the assault

failed and the Păk-je army withdrew in good order. The king of Păk-je,

elated over so many evidences of his growing power, promptly moved his

capital across the Han River into Ko-gu-ryŭ territory. Some say he

settled at Puk-han the great mountain fortress back of Seoul while

others say he settled at Nam P’yŭng-yang or “South P’yŭng-yang,” by

which is meant the present city of Seoul. Others still say it was at a

point a short distance outside the east gate of Seoul. But in spite of

the apparent successes of Păk-je it appears that the people were not

satisfied. It may be that military exactions had alienated their good

will, or it may be that they saw in these ambitious advances the sure

presage of speedy punishment at the hands of Ko-gu-ryŭ; but whatever the

cause may have been over a thousand people fled from Păk-je and found

asylum in Sil-la. The king set aside six villages as their place of

residence, and when Păk-je demanded to have them sent back answer was

returned that Sil-la could not drive from her borders those who had

sought asylum from the ill-treatment of Păk-je.

Three years before this, in 372, the Chinese had gained a signal victory

over the Yŭn kingdom and its king, Mo Yong-p’ung, had fled for safety to

Ko-gu-ryŭ. It must have been his last resource, for he was likely to

find little sympathy there. And so it proved for the king immediately

seized him and sent him a captive to China.

The year 372 beheld an event of prime importance in the history of

Ko-gu-ryŭ and of the whole peninsula. It was the introduction of

Buddhism. It is probable that before this time some knowledge of

Buddhism was current in Korea, but as it is eminently a sacerdotal

institution but little more than indefinite reports could have been

circulated previous to the coming of the monks. We are not told whether

this was done at the request of Ko-gu-ryŭ or whether it was at the

advice of Pu-gyŭn, one of the petty kings who then divided between them

the north of China. Be that as it may, in 372 A.D. images of Buddha were

brought by a monk, Sun-do, and also a Buddhist book called Pul-gyŭng.

For this the king of Ko-gu-ryŭ returned hearty thanks and forthwith set

his son and heir to learning the new doctrine. At the same time he gave

an impetus to the study of the Confucian code. It is quite probable that

to this new departure is due the fact that the next year the laws of the

country were overhauled and put in proper shape for use. In 375 two

great monasteries were built in the capital of Ko-gu-ryŭ. They were

called Cho-mun and I-bul-lan. It should be noticed that the introduction

of Buddhism into Korea was a government affair. There had been no

propagation of the tenets of this cult through emmisaries sent for the

purpose, there was no call for it from the people. In all probability

the king and his court were pleased at the idea of introducing the

stately ceremonial of the new faith. In fact it was a social event

rather than a religious one and from that date to this there has not

been a time when the people of Korea have entered heartily into the

spirit of Buddhism, nor have her most distinguished representatives

understood more than the mere forms and trappings of that religion which

among all pagan cults is the most mystical.

Păk-je was not long in following the example of her powerful neighbor.

In the year 384 a new king ascended the throne of Păk-je. His name was

Ch’im-yu. One of his first acts was to send an envoy to China asking

that a noted monk named Mararanta be sent to Păk-je to introduce the

Buddhist ritual. We notice that this request was sent to the Emperor

Hyo-mu (Hsia-wu), the proper head of the Eastern Tsin dynasty, while

Ko-gu-ryŭ had received hers at the hands of one of those petty kings who

hung upon the skirts of the weakening dynasty and waited patiently for

its dissolution. Each of these petty states, as well as the central

government of the Tsin, was on the lookout for promising allies and such

a request as this of Păk-je could scarcely be refused. Mararanta, whose

name smacks of the south and who certainly cannot have been a Chinaman,

was sent to the Păk-je capital. He was received with open arms. His

apartments were in the palace where he soon erected a Buddhist shrine.

Ten more monks followed him and Buddhism was firmly established in this

second of the three Korean states. The greatest deference was paid to

these monks and they were addressed by the honorific title To-seung.

Sil-la received Buddhism some fifty years later.

All this time fighting was almost continuous along the Ko-gu-ryŭ-Păk-je

border. The latter stood on the defensive and found it necessary in 386

to build a line of breastworks along the border, extending from

Ch’ŭng-mok-yŭng northward to P’al-gon-sung and thence westward to the

sea. An amnesty was brought about through a happy accident. A groom who

had accidentally broken the leg of a Păk-je prince’s horse had fled to

Ko-gu-ryŭ to escape punishment. Returning now to Păk-je, he purchased

pardon by informing the king that if, in battle, the Păk-je forces

should direct their whole force against that part of the enemy’s line

where they should see a red flag flying they would surely be successful.

This turned out to be true and Păk-je was once more successful, but

followed up her success only to the extent of securing a definite

cessation of hostilities and the erection of a boundary stone at

Su-gok-sŭng to witness forever against him who should dispute the point.

But when King Ch’im-yu of Ko-gu-ryŭ died in 392 and his son Tam-dok came

into power all previous obligations were swept away and he proceeded to

reopen the wound. He attacked Păk-je fiercely and took ten of her towns.

Then he turned northward and chastised the Kŭ-ran tribe. When this was

done he came back to the charge again and seized Kwang-nu Fortress. This

was an almost inaccessible position on a high rock surrounded by the

sea, but the hardy soldiers of Ko-gu-ryŭ after twenty days of siege

found seven paths by which the wall could be reached, and they finally

took the place by a simultaneous assault at these various points. When

the court of Păk-je heard of this well-nigh impossible feat, all hope of

victory in the field was taken away, and they could only bar the gates

of the capital and await the turn of events. This king, Tam-dok, was as

enthusiastically Buddhistic as his father. He made a decree that all the

people of Ko-gu-ryŭ should adopt the Buddhistic faith and a few years

later built nine more monasteries in P’yŭng-yang.

A year later King A-sin of Păk-je sent his son, Chön-ji, to Japan as an

envoy. It is likely, but not certain, that it was a last resource of

Păk-je to secure help against Ko-gu-ryŭ. This is the more likely from

the fact that he went not only as an envoy but also as a hostage, or a

guarantee of good faith. If this was the hope of Păk-je it failed, for

no Japanese army was forthcoming. As another means of self-preservation

King A-sin formed a great school of archery, but the people did not like

it; for exercise in it was compulsory, and many of the people ran away.

In 399 Ko-gu-ryŭ sent an envoy to the Yŭn capital to pay her respects,

but the king of that country charged Ko-gu-ryŭ with ambitious designs

and sent an army of 30,000 men to seize the fortresses of Sin-sŭng and

Nam-so, thus delimiting the frontier of Ko-gu-ryŭ to the extent of 700

_li_. They carried back with them 5,000 “houses,” which means

approximately 25,000 people, as captives. It is difficult to believe

this enumeration unless we conclude that it means that the people living

within the limit of the 700 _li_ were taken to be citizens of Yŭn.

The fifth century of our era dawned upon a troubled Korea. The tension

between the three rival powers was severe, and every nerve was strained

in the struggle for preeminence. In 402 Nă-mul, the king of Sil-la, died

and Sil-sŭng came to the throne. He sent out feelers in two directions,

one toward Ko-gu-ryŭ in the shape of a hostage, called by euphemism an

envoy, and another of the same sort to Japan; which would indicate that

Sil-la was still suffering from the depredations of the Japanese

corsairs. The envoy to Ko-gu-ryŭ was the king’s brother, Pok-ho, and the

one to Japan was also his brother, Mi-sa-heun. We remember that Păk-je

already had an envoy in Japan in the person of the king’s eldest son

Chön-ji. Now in 405 the king of Păk-je died. Chön-ji was the rightful

heir but as he was in Japan the second son should have assumed the reins

of government. As a fact the third son Chŭng-nye killed his brother and

seized the scepter. Hearing of his father’s death, Chön-ji returned from

Japan with an escort of a hundred Japanese, but learning of his

brother’s murder he feared treachery against himself and so landed on an

island off the coast where he remained until the people, with a fine

sense of justice, drove Ch’ăm-nye from the throne and welcomed back the

rightful heir.

Meanwhile interesting events were transpiring in Sil-la. In 403

Sil-sung, King of that land, fearing lest harm overtake his two brothers

whom he had sent the year before to Ko-gu-ryŭ and Japan, was seeking for

some means of getting them back. This might not be an easy thing to do,

for to ask their return so soon would perhaps arouse the suspicion of

these neighbors, and precipitate a war. Ko-gu-ryŭ had often taken up

arms for a less affront than this. An official, Pak Che-san, volunteered

to undertake this delicate mission even though it cost him his life. He

went first to Ko-gu-ryŭ and there proved so skillful a diplomat that he

soon brought Prince Pok-ho back to Sil-la. The mission to Japan was a

different matter, but he was equal to the occasion. Before starting out

he said to the king: “I will bring the Prince back though it cost my

life; only, before I go, I must ask you to _imprison my family_;

otherwise I cannot succeed.” The king acceded to this strange request

and Pak Che-san, starting immediately as if in flight, without even

changing his garments, fled until he came to the Yul Harbor. Even his

wife he repulsed, exclaiming “I have determined to die.” He apparently

feared that the sight of her might shake his loyal purpose. He arrived

in Japan as a political fugitive, but the king suspected him until news

came that his family had been imprisoned. This seemed to prove his

statement and he was received graciously. He pretended that he wished to

lead a Japanese force against Sil-la. Mi-sa-heun, the Prince whom he had

come to rescue, was in the secret and heartily seconded the plan. The

king made them joint leaders of an expedition. The fleet arrived at a

certain island and there Pak succeeded in spiriting Mi-sa-heun away by

night in a little boat while he himself remained behind, to delay the

inevitable pursuit. Mi-sa-heun begged him with tears to accompany him

but he refused to jeopardise Mi-sa-heun’s chances of escape by so doing.

In the morning he pretended to sleep very late and no one suspected the

flight of the Prince until late in the day when concealment was no

longer possible. When the Japanese found that they had been duped they

were in a terrible rage. They bound Pak and went in pursuit of the

run-away. But a heavy fog settled upon the sea and frustrated their

plan. Then they tortured their remaining victim and to their inquiries

he replied that he was a loyal subject of Kye-rim (the name of Sil-la at

that time) and that he would rather be a Kye-rim pig than a subject of

Japan; that he would rather be whipped like a school-boy in Kye-rim than

receive office in Japan. By these taunts he escaped a lingering death by

torture. They burned him alive there on the island of Mok-do. When the

king of Sil-la heard of his brave end he mourned for him and heaped upon

him posthumous honors, and Mi-sa-heun married his preserver’s daughter.

The wife of the devoted Pak ascended the pass of Ap-sul-yŭng whence she

could obtain a distant view of the islands of Japan. There she gave

herself up to grief until death put an end to her misery.

In 413 a new king came to the throne of Ko-gu-ryŭ. called Kö-ryŭn. As

China and Ko-gu-ryŭ had been kept apart by the intervening Yun, and had

acquired some power of sympathy through mutual fear of that power, we

are not surprised that the new king of Ko-gu-ryŭ condescended to receive

investiture from the Emperor, nor that the latter condescended in turn

to grant it. It was formally done, and the act of Ko-gu-ryŭ proclaimed

her vassalage to China. From that time on excepting when war existed

between them, the kings of Ko-gu-ryŭ were invested by the Emperor with

the insignia of royalty. Two years later the Emperor conferred the same

honor upon the king of Păk-je. It was always China’s policy to keep the

kingdoms at peace with each other so long as they all wore the yoke of

vassalage; but so soon as one or the other cast it off it was her policy

to keep them at war.

In 417 Nul-ji came to the throne of Sil-la and began a reign that was to

last well on toward half a century. He was a regicide. He had been

treated very harshly by the king and had more than once narrowly escaped

with his life. It is therefore the less surprising, though none the less

reprehensible, that when the opportunity presented of paying off old

scores he succumbed to the temptation. He ascended the throne not with

the title of I-sa-geum, which had been the royal title for centuries,

but with the new title of Ma-rip-kan. However doubtful may have been his

title to the crown his reign was a strong one. Among the far-reaching

effects of his reign the introduction of carts to be drawn by oxen was

the most important.

The friendly relations of Ko-gu-ryŭ with the Tsin dynasty were cut short

by the extinction of that dynasty in 419 but in 435 Ko-gu-ryŭ made

friendly advances toward the Northern Wei dynasty and, finding

sufficient encouragement, she transferred her allegience to that power.

Meantime Păk-je had transferred hers to the Sung dynasty which arose in

420.

It was in 436 that P’ung-hong, the “Emperor” of Yun, found himself so

weak that he could not withstand the pressure from the Chinese side and

asked the king of Ko-gu-ryŭ to grant him asylum. Consent was given and

an escort was sent to conduct him to the Ko-gu-ryŭ capital. He found

that this sort of life had its drawbacks; for, to begin with, the king

did not address him as emperor but simply as king. This was a great

affront to his dignity and, though he was treated very handsomely, he

assumed such a supercillious bearing that the king had to curtail his

retinue and his income. He had been given quarters in Puk-p’ung and from

there the mendicant emperor applied to the Sung Emperor for asylum. It

was granted, and seven thousand soldiers came to escort him; but ere

they arrived the king of Ko-gu-ryŭ sent two generals, Son-su and Ko-gu,

who killed the imperial refugee and nine of his attendants. The Sung

troops, arriving on the instant, discovered the crime and caught and

executed the two generals who had perpetrated it.

In 449 a Ko-gu-ryŭ general was out on a hunting expedition and the chase

brought him into Sil-la territory near the present town of Kang-neung.

The prefect of the district, in an excess of patriotic enthusiasm,

seized him and put him to death. An envoy came in haste to the Sil-la

capital demanding why this outrage had been committed. War would have

been declared on the spot had not Sil-la been profuse in apologies. She

might have spared herself this humiliation for war was sure to break out

soon in any case. When ng came to the throne of Păk-je in 455, Ko-gu-ryŭ

took advantage of the confusion, consequent upon the change, to attack

her. Sil-la, who, though ordinarily a peaceful power, had been perforce

drawn into war-like operations and had acquired some military skill, now

sided with Păk-je. Sending a considerable number of troops she

reinforced Păk-je to the extent of warding off the threatened invasion.

But Păk-je, though glad to find herself extricated from her position of

danger, would allow no feelings of gratitude to stand in the way of her

ancient feud against Sil-la; so this act of friendship not only did not

help toward peace but on the contrary, by showing Sil-la the fickleness

of Păk-je, made peace all the more impossible. The middle of the fifth

century marks the point when all friendly relations between the three

Korean states were broken off and an actual state of war existed between

them from this time on, though active military operations were not

constant. This we may call the Triangular War.

The key to this great struggle, which resulted in the advancement of

Sil-la to the control of the whole peninsula, lay not so much in the

relative military strength of the three rival kingdoms as in the skill

which each developed in diplomacy. Each was trying to gain the active

support of China, knowing very well that if China should once become

thoroughly interested in favor of any one of the three powers the other

two would be doomed.

We will remember that Ko-gu-ryŭ had cultivated friendly relations with

the Sung dynasty while Păk-je had made herself agreeable to the Wei

dynasty. In this Păk-je chose the wiser part for the Wei power was

nearer and more powerful. In 466 Ko-gu-ryŭ lost a splendid opportunity

to establish herself in the good graces of the Wei Emperor, and so

insure her preeminence in the peninsula. The Emperor Hsien-wen made

friendly advances and requested the daughter of the king of Ko-gu-ryŭ

for his wife. With a short-sightedness that is quite inexplicable this

request was put off by the lame excuse that his daughter was dead. This

being easily proved a falsehood, Ko-gu-ryŭ fell from the good graces of

the very power whose friendship she should have cultivated.

The year 467 witnessed an important innovation in Korea. Sil-la took the

lead in the construction of war vessels. The one made at that time was

doubtless intended for use against the Japanese corsairs. That Sil-la

had been gaining along military lines is shown by her successful repulse

of a Ko-gu-ryŭ invasion in this year, in which the wild people of some

of the Mal-gal tribes assisted Ko-gu-ryŭ. After the latter had been

driven back, Sil-la built a fortress at Po-eun on her northern border to

guard against a repetition of this invasion.

Ko-gu-ryŭ and Păk-je were now exerting themselves to the utmost to make

capital out of their Chinese alliances. Ko-gu-ryŭ sent rich presents and

richer words to the Sung capital and so won the confidence of that

power. Păk-je, on the other hand, sent word to the Wei Emperor that

Ko-gu-ryŭ was coquetting with the Sung court and with the wild Mal-gal

tribes, insinuating that this was all detrimental to the interests of

Păk-je’s patron.

As this was without result, she sent and asked openly that the Wei

Emperor send an army and chastise Ko-gu-ryŭ. The Emperor replied that

until Ko-gu-ryŭ committed some overt act of more hostile import than the

mere cementing of peaceful alliances no notice could be taken of her. In

other words the Wei power refused to be the aggressor, much to Păk-je’s

chagrin. The Wei Emperor sent this answer by way of Ko-gu-ryŭ and the

king of that country was ordered to grant the messenger a safe conduct

through his territory. But Ko-gu-ryŭ, as though bent on

self-destruction, refused to let him pass, and so the great northern

kingdom approached one step nearer the precipice which was to prove her

destruction. Upon learning the news of this affront the Emperor was

highly incensed and tried to send the messenger by way of a southern

port; but stress of weather rendered this impossible and Păk-je,

receiving no answer to her missive, took offense and would have nothing

more to do with China, for a time. By the time she had recovered her

temper, Ko-gu-ryŭ had in some way patched up her difficulty with the Wei

court and so scored a point against Păk-je. And for a time she was on

friendly terms with both the Wei and Sung dynasties.

At this point Ko-gu-ryŭ decided upon a bold attempt to swallow Păk-je

bodily. It was to be done partly by strategem and partly by force. A

monk of Ko-gu-ryŭ named To-rim, a fellow of excellent craft, arrived at

the Păk-je capital as if seeking refuge. The king received him with open

arms and, finding him an excellent chess player, made him his trusty

councilor. This monk told the king that the palaces, walls, tombs and

public buildings ought to be thoroughly repaired, and so induced him to

drain the public treasury in this work, and also in bringing a huge

monolith from Uk-nyi to the capital. This done the monk fled back to

Ko-gu-ryŭ and announced that the treasury of Păk-je was empty and it was

a good time to attack her. A large army was put in the field, guided by

one Kŭl-lu, a Păk-je fugitive from justice. Almost before Păk-je was

aware, her capital was surrounded. She had applied to Sil-la for help,

but too late. First the suburbs were laid in ashes, and then access

being gained, the palace was fired. The king fled with ten attendants

out the west gate, but Kŭl-lu the renegade followed and overtook him.

The king begged for mercy upon his knees but Kŭl-lu spit thrice in his

face, bound him and sent him to the fortress of A-han where lie was

killed. Then the Ko-gu-ryŭ army went back north carrying with them 8,000

captives, men and women.

Meanwhile Prince Mun-ju had obtained help from Sil-la and with 10,000

troops was hastening homewards. He found the city in ashes, his father

dead, the people mourning their lost, who had been dragged away captive.

He promptly assumed control of affairs, moved the capital southward to

Ung-jin the present Kong-ju, took all the Păk-je people away from

Han-yang (Seoul) and moved them back across the Han River and abandoned

all the territory beyond that natural barrier to Ko-gu-ryŭ to whom it

had originally belonged. The following year he tried to send a message

to the Sung Emperor by way of Ko-gu-ryŭ but the messenger was

intercepted and the message stopped.

Chapter X.

Quelpart.... origin of T’am-na.... new alliances.... advances in

Sil-la.... but not in Păk-je nor Ko-gu-ryŭ.... temporary peace....

Buddhism in Sil-la.... remnants of barbarism.... influence of

Chinese literature.... important reforms.... Ko-gu-ryŭ’s foreign

relations.... conquest of Dagelet Island.... posthumous titles....

colors in official grades.... Wei displeased.... the “miracle” of Yi

Cha-don.... end of Ka-rak.... Sil-la rejects Chinese calendar....

confusion in China.... Păk-je attempts reform.... history of

Sil-la.... two alliances.... Păk-je and Ko-gu-ryŭ envoys to

China.... advance of Buddhism in Sil-la.... music in Sil-la.... war

between Păk-je and Sil-la.... retrogression in Sil-la because of

Buddhism.... Ko-gu-ryŭ and the Sui Emperor.... the _Ondali_.

Tradition says that in the dawn of history when the island of Che-ju

(Quelpart) was covered only with a tangled forest three sages arose from

a crevice in the ground. This spot is shown to this day by the people of

Che-ju. These three men were Ko-ŭlla, Yang-ŭlla and Pu-ŭlla. As they

stood upon the shore they saw three stout chests floating in from the

south-east. Drawing them to land and opening them the three wise men

discovered that each chest contained a calf, a colt, a dog, a pig and a

woman, together with sundry seeds, such as beans, wheat, barley, millet

and rice. By the three families thus organised the island was populated.

During the early days of Sil-la a certain court astrologer announced

that the “Friend Star” was visible in the south and that a distinguished

visitor would soon arrive. Soon after this three men came by boat from

Quelpart, landing at the harbor of T’am-jin, now Kang-jin. They came

straight to the court of Sil-la where they were hospitably entertained.

One of the visitors was Ko-hu, one was Ko-ch’ŭng, but the name of the

third is lost. The king called the first Sŭng-ju or “Lord of the Star,”

the second Wang-ja or “King’s Son” and the third To-nă or “The One who

has Come.” He named their country _T’am_ from the name of the port where

they landed, and _na_, which seems to have meant “Kingdom”, for we find

that the last syllable of Sil-la is this same _na_ changed by euphonic

laws to _la_. It is the root of the present Korean word _na-ra_ or

“kingdom.” So the kingdom was called T’am-na. The authorities are at a

loss to tell the date or even the reign during which these events

transpired. In the year 477 the little kingdom of T’am-na sent an envoy

to the court of Păk-je with gifts. This is the first really authentic

mention of the place. If tradition is of any value it must be confessed

that the story of the peopling of Quelpart points toward a southern

origin.

In 479 the aged king of Ko-gu-ryŭ, Kö-ryŭn, now in the sixty-eighth year

of his reign, sought and obtained recognition from Emperor Ko-je

(Kao-ti) the founder of the Ch’i dynasty in China. That this occurred in

the very first year after the founding of that dynasty shows how

sedulously Ko-gu-ryŭ was cultivating the good-will of the Chinese.

Păk-je was not far behind, for she swore allegiance to the same Emperor

only two years later.

During all these years it is to Sil-la that we must look for any signs

of internal improvement, any of those innovations which are the

mile-stones of progress. We saw above how she introduced the use of the

cart and so raised a great burden from the shoulders of the people. The

wheel is the great burden bearer of history. And now we find her

introducing further reforms. The first was the horse relay system called

the _yong-ma_. It did not bear so directly upon the condition of the

people but it afforded an opportunity for the rapid transmission of

official information and thus indirectly had an important bearing upon

the welfare of the masses. In the next place, she organised a general

market where at stated intervals merchants from the various districts

could meet and exchange commodities. These are things that we look upon

as matters of course and we do not realise their importance till we

imagine ourselves deprived of the comforts that spring from the

possibility of rapid communication and exchange of commodities. That

Ko-gu-ryŭ had not made similar advances in the line of industrial reform

is shown by the fact that when the Emperor of the Wei dynasty sent to

grant investiture to Na-un the twenty-first king of Ko-gu-ryŭ in 499 he

presented him with suits of clothes, flags, a crown and a cart. This

shows that carts were not as yet in common use in Ko-gu-ryŭ. As for

Păk-je, disaster was following upon disaster. At one time a thousand

people were swept away in a flood. Then famine carried away three

thousand. A few years later ten thousand people passed over into Sil-la

to save themselves from starvation.

The sixth century dawned upon a comparatively peaceful Korea; for the

time being the dogs of war were held in leash and feuds seem to have

been laid on the shelf. The three kingdoms employed their time in

different but characteristic ways. The king of Păk-je built an enormous

pleasure-house and adorned it with all manner of curious flowers and

animals. To the expostulations of his ministers he turned a deaf ear. A

few years later he was murdered by one of his courtiers. In truth, peace

was nearly as bad for Păk-je as war.

In Sil-la Buddhism had been introduced during the reign of Nul-ji,

417-458. A monk named Muk Ho-ja had been well received and was lodged in

the palace. But, at the first, Buddhism did not find congenial soil in

Sil-la. Tradition gives the following account of the first set-back

which it suffered there. In 502 while the king was idling an hour away

in a favorite summer-house outside the city, a raven appeared bearing in

its beak a letter. It laid the missive at the king’s feet and flew away.

The superscription said “If the king opens and reads this note two

people will die; if he does not open it one will die”. He determined not

to open it, but one of his attendants said, “The one referred to is Your

Majesty and therefore you should open it even though two lives are

sacrificed”. He broke the seal and read the strange words “Let the king

take his trustiest bow, hasten to the palace and shoot an arrow through

the zither case”. The king obeyed the mandate, hastened back to the

palace by a private gate, entered the queen’s apartments unannounced and

shot an arrow through a zither case that stood against the wall. The

arrow pierced the zither case and the High Priest who was hidden behind

it. The latter had taken advantage of the king’s absence to attack his

honor. He was strangled together with the guilty queen.

With all her attempts at progress some evidences of the grossest

barbarity still lingered in Sil-la. It was not, so the records tell us,

until the year 503 that Sil-la discontinued the horrible custom of

burying people alive when a king’s body was interred. It had been

customary to bury five boys and five girls alive on such occasions, but

in 503 the king published a decree forbidding the continuance of the

custom. The very barbarity of the custom renders its abolition the more

striking and places the name of king Chi-jeung, the twenty-second of his

line, among the names of Korea’s benefactors. At the same time the

custom of plowing with oxen was introduced, an innovation that had a

most far-reaching effect upon society. It was in the beginning of the

sixth century that Sil-la began to show evidences of the influence of

Chinese literature and thought. In 504 she adopted the Chinese word Wang

as the title of her kings in place of the pure Korean words I-sa-geum or

Ma-rip-kan. She also changed the name of the kingdom from Kye-rim to

Sil-la. We have been speaking of this kingdom under the name Sil-la but

as a matter of fact it was not so designated until the year 504 A.D.

Before that time it had been variously styled Sŭ-ya-bŭl, Sa-ro, and

Kye-rim. The word Sil-la is said to have been composed of the Chinese

words _Sin_ and _ra_, which when united become Sil-la according to

Korean laws of euphony. It is more than probable that it was merely an

adaptation of Chinese characters to pure Korean words, for the last

syllable _la_ or _na_ is the same as that used in other words, centuries

before that time, in southern Korea. The _na_ of T’am-na is the same

character. To the word Sil-la was added the word _Kuk_ or “kingdom”

which put her in line with the other vassals of China. The Confucian

code must have been making headway too, for in the following year the

custom was adopted of assuming a mourning garb for three years upon the

death of a parent. It was at this time that the influence of China upon

Korea began to bear its legitimate fruit. Chinese religion, literature,

government and art were beginning to mould the thought and life of the

Korean people. Many Chinese words had been introduced into Korea before

this time but the use of the Chinese character had not been general.

In the mean time Ko-gu-ryŭ had been paying attention not so much to

internal reforms as to external alliances. She sent to the Wei Emperor

begging him to remit the revenue in gold and jade, as they were

obtained, the one in Pu-yŭ, which she claimed the Mal-gal savages had

seized, and the other in Sŭp-na which she averred the wicked Păk-je had

feloniously taken. But she added “Of course all that Ko-gu-ryŭ has is

yours”. The Emperor good-naturedly remitted the revenue but urged his

vassal to continue the good work of subduing the wild tribes of the

peninsula. It is said that in a single year Ko-gu-ryŭ sent three

separate embassies to the Wei court. At the same time she was

coquetting, _sub rosa_, with the new Liang power which had arisen in

502. In this Păk-je of course followed suite. We thus see that the three

kingdoms spent their time in different ways; Sil-la in internal

improvement, Păk-je in self-gratification and Ko-gu-ryŭ in strengthening

her foreign relations.

In the year 512 the kingdom of U-san was added to the crown of Sil-la.

This was the little island of Dagelet, off the eastern coast of Korea,

about opposite the prefecture of Kang-neung. How Sil-la happened to

branch out in a policy of conquest we are not told, but having decided

to do so she did it very neatly. The expedition was led by Gen. Yi

Sa-bu. He ordered the construction of several lions with gaping mouths

and enormous fangs. They were carved from wood. He placed one of these

in the prow of each of the boats and when the little flotilla approached

the shores of the island the natives were called upon to lay down their

arms and surrender, or the lions would be set loose among them and would

tear them to pieces. This, it is averred, brought the trembling

islanders to their knees at once and Sil-la won a bloodless victory.

This is among the most cherished traditions of the Korean people.

With the accession of Wŭn-jong to the throne of Sil-la in 514 the

Chinese custom of conferring a posthumous title upon a deceased king was

introduced for the first time into Korea. Long before this the custom

had prevailed in Ko-gu-ryŭ of naming a dead king after the place in

which he was buried but to the very last the Ko-gu-ryŭ kings did not

receive posthumous honorific titles. Păk-je however followed Sil-la’s

example ten years later.

King Pŭp-heung of Sil-la in 520 reorganised the official list and

indicated the different grades of rank by different colors. The grades

called _t’a-do_, _kak-kan_ and _ta-a-son_ wore lavender. Those called

_a-son_ and _keup-son_, wore red, and carried the ivory memo tablets

that are common today. The _ta-na-ma_ and the _na-ma_ wore blue. The

_ta-sa_ and _sun-jo-ji_ wore hats of silk, shaped like the

broad-brimmed, round crowned hats of the chair-coolie of the present

day. The _pa-jin-son_ and the _ta-a-son_ wore red silk hats. The

_sang-dang_, _chuk-wi_ and _ta-sa_ wore red hat strings. The

kaleidoscopic colors of a royal Korean procession of today indicate what

a prominent role the love of color plays in the oriental temperament.

The Wei power in China was not pleased with the friendship that was

springing up between Ko-gu-ryŭ and the Liang court. This came to a

climax when she stopped a Liang envoy who was on his way to Ko-gu-ryŭ to

confer investiture upon the king. It may be that Ko-gu-ryŭ realised that

the Wei dynasty was waning to its close and that it was well to

cultivate the good-will of the young and rising Liang power; but if so

the forecast was false for the Liang power outlived the Wei only

twenty-four years.

The year 524 gave Sil-la Buddhism a new lease of life. Its most

celebrated representative was a monk named Muk Ho-ja who lived about the

middle of the fifth century. Coming from Ko-gu-ryŭ he had settled at the

town of Il-sŭng-gun where a Sil-la citizen had made him a cave dwelling.

The king of Sil-la received a gift of incense from China, but did not

know how to use it till this monk Muk Ho-ja showed him how. He told the

king to burn it and ask anything of the spirits, and they would grant

it. The king’s daughter was very ill at the time and the king burned the

incense and asked that his daughter be healed. The story says that she

immediately arose from her bed a well woman. This of course gave

Buddhism a long start. Since that time, as we have seen, Buddhism had

suffered a severe drawback in the person of the wicked monk who was

discovered in the act of abusing his sacerdotal function. It had

recovered from that shock however and had again assumed large

proportions in the state of Sil-la. The king had come so completely

under the influence of the monks that now in 524 the courtiers feared

that their power would be seriously threatened. They therefore used

every means to induce the king to moderate his views. The king gave his

reluctant assent to the execution of the high priest, Yi Cha-don.

Tradition says that when he was brought to execution he exclaimed “When

you slay me, my blood will flow not red like blood but white as milk and

then you will know that Buddhism is true.” And so it proved, for when

his head was severed from the trunk his blood flowed white like milk.

None could gainsay this evidence and from that day Buddhism advanced

with rapid steps. The following year the king made a law against the

killing of animals.

The kingdom of Ka-rak had existed side by side with Sil-la on terms of

mutual friendship for four hundred and eighty-two years, but in 527 her

king, Kim Ku-hyŭng, gave up his sovereign power and merged his kingdom

into that of Sil-la. He was however retained at the head of the Ka-rak

state under appointment by the king of Sil-la. It does not appear from

the scanty records that this was other than a peaceful change. Ka-rak

had long seen the growing power of Sil-la and doubtless recognised that

more was to be gained by becoming part of that kingdom than by standing

aloof and running the chance of becoming disputed territory between the

rival powers of the peninsula. She had been founded in 41 A.D. and now

she came to an end in 527, so her lease of life seems to have been four

hundred and eighty-six years rather than four hundred and eighty-two as

the records state. As the dates of her beginning and end are both taken

from the records the discrepancy must be laid at the door of the

recorder.

[Illustration: _READY FOR THE ROAD._]

About this time Sil-la discovered that it was useless to cultivate the

friendship of the Chinese powers. The Chinese territory was divided into

a number of petty kingdoms and more were on the eve of being founded.

None of them had strength enough to hold her own against the others,

much less to be of any avail in case of trouble in the peninsula.

Perhaps it was for this reason that in 535 Sil-la rejected the Chinese

calendar and named the year according to a plan of her own. In China the

Liang dynasty, the Northern Wei, and the Eastern Wei were all in the

field, while the Ch’en, the Northern Ch’i, the Northern Chu and the Sui

dynasties were just about to make their appearance and all to pass away

like summer clouds before the power of the mighty T’ang.

About the year 540 Păk-je moved her capital again; this time it was to

Sa-ja the site of the present prefecture of Pu-yŭ in the province of

Ch’ung-ch’ŭng. She seems to have had some aspirations after better

things, for in 541 she sent to the Liang court asking that books of

poetry, teachers of literature, Buddhist books, artisans and picture

painters be sent to help in creating a taste for literature and art in

that country. The request was granted.

The year 543 marks an important event in the life of Sil-la. The history

of that country existed as yet only in the form of notes, but now the

king ordered that a congress of the best scholars of the land set to

work compiling a proper history under the leadership of the great

scholar Kim-gŭ Ch’il-bu. We will notice that this was about two hundred

years before the earliest date that is set for the publication of the

Japanese work entitled the Kojiki. And it should be noticed likewise

that this history of Sil-la was not a collection of myths and stories

only, but a proper history, worked up from government records which a

certain degree of knowledge of Chinese had rendered the officials

capable of making and transmitting. One needs but to compare the Kojiki

with the Sam-guk-sa or “History of the Three Kingdoms” founded on these

records to see how immeasurably the latter excels the former as a source

of accurate historical evidence.

It was about this time that the wild tribes of the Mal-gal and Ye-măk

began to realise that the continued progress of Păk-je and Sil-la meant

extinction for themselves. So in 547 they joined Ko-gu-ryŭ in an attack

upon Păk-je; but Sil-la and Ka-ya rendered aid to Păk-je and the

northern allies were driven back. From this time on, during a period of

several years, Ko-gu-ryŭ, Ye-măk and Mal-gal were allies, and Sil-la,

Păk-je and Ka-ya were allies; a sort of dual arrangement, which

preserved a nice equilibrium in the peninsula.

In 549 the king of Păk-je sent an envoy to present his compliments to

the Liang Emperor. When he arrived at the capital of the Liang power he

found the palace in ashes and the reins of government in the hands of

the usurper Hu-gyŭng; so he took his stand before the Tan-mun (gate) and

wept aloud from morning till night. The passers-by, hearing his story,

stopped and wept with him. This of course did not please the usurper,

and the envoy was seized and thrown into prison where he stayed until

the rebellion was put down and the Emperor returned. As the Ch’i dynasty

arose in 550 we are not surprised to learn that Ko-gu-ryŭ sent an envoy

immediately to do obeisance and get into the good graces of the new

power.

It must be confessed that meantime Buddhism had been making rapid

strides in Sil-la. Monasteries had been erected and the new cult was

winning its way into the hearts of the people. In 551 the public

teaching of the eight laws of Buddhism against (1) the slaughter of

animals, (2) theft. (3) licentiousness, (4) lying, (5) drunkenness, (6)

ambition, (7) the eating of garlic, (8) levity, was decreed.

It is probable that the art of music was not highly developed at this

time but in 552 the king of Sil-la sent three men to the Ka-ya country

to learn music from a celebrated master named U Reuk; but that learned

man had come to realise that Ka-ya was doomed and, taking his

twelve-stringed instrument under his arm he went with his disciple Ni

Mun to the court of Sil-la. The three men, Pŭp-ji, Kye-go and Man-dok,

whom the king had appointed to study music, entered upon their duties

under this mail’s tutelage. One of them studied singing, another the use

of the instrument and a third dancing. When they had perfected

themselves in these ornamental arts they proposed to alter some of the

songs, on the plea that they were too licentious, but old U Reuk

violently objected to expurgated editions of his works, and so it was

stopped. From that time music became very popular and in many cases

students of this great branch of art went among the mountains and spent

years in practice. The instrument was called a _Ka-ya-geum_ from Ka-ya

where it originated. It is now called the _ka-go_ and is shaped like a

Korean zither but is smaller. Among the favorite songs that have come

down to the present time are “The Ascent of the Mountain,” “The Descent

of the Mountain,” “The Rustling Bamboo,” “The Stork Dance,” “The Blowing

Wind” and “The Monastery on the Mountain.” But music was not the only

art that flourished, for we are gravely told that an artist painted a

tree on the wall of “Yellow Dragon Monastery” with such skill that birds

tried to alight on its branches.

In 555 war broke out between Sil-la and Păk-je. We are not told its

cause but Sil-la was victorious and added to her territory a large tract

of country along the eastern side of Păk-je, which she erected into a

prefecture under the name of Wan-san-ju (now Chŭn-ju). One authority

says that in this war Păk-je lost one half of her territory to Sil-la.

It seems that Sil-la had by this time developed the taste for diplomatic

intercourse with China. Frequent embassies were sent on the long and

costly journey. Each of the three powers sent two and three times a year

to one or other of the various Chinese courts. The Emperor of the Ch’i

dynasty sent Sil-la great store of Buddhistic books. It is said that as

many as 1700 volumes were sent at one time.

When Păk-jong ascended the throne of Sil-la in 570 the Buddhistic

tendencies had begun to bear their legitimate fruits. The king was so

given over to it that he became a monk and the queen became a nun. All

thought of progress seems to have been given up and the revenues were

squandered in sending useless embassies to China. The style of Buddhism

prevalent in Sil-la is illustrated by the fact that in the second year

of this reign the minister of war took the king severely to task for

spending so much time in the chase, though the killing of animals is the

first prohibition of the Buddhist law. Tradition says that this faithful

minister, Hu-jik, plead in vain, and finally, when dying, asked to be

buried near the road the king usually took when going to hunt. It was

done and the king when passing the grave heard a noise of warning

proceeding from it. When he was told that it was the faithful but

neglected Hu-jik, the king determined on the spot that he would reform,

and so the faithful minister did more by his death than by his life.

It was in the year 586 that Ko-gu-ryŭ again moved her capital northward

to the old place near the present Eui-ju. Soon after this the Tsin

dynasty in China fell before the victorious Sui, and Ko-gu-ryŭ, who had

been friendly with the Tsin but had never cultivated the Sui, was left

in an extremely delicate position. She immediately began preparations

for repelling a Sui invasion. The Emperor however had no such intentions

and sent a swift messenger chiding the king for his unjust suspicions

and opening the way for a friendly understanding. This seemed a little

strained to the king and he feared treachery; so, while he greatly

desired to send an envoy, he hardly ventured to do so.

One of the famous traditions of Korea centers about this king. His

daughter when of tender years cried so much that on one occasion the

king impatiently exclaimed “When you grow up you cannot marry a man of

the nobility but we will marry you to an _ondali_.” Now an _ondali_ is a

very ignorant, foolish fellow, a boor. When the girl reached a

marriageable age the king who had forgotten all about his threat was for

marrying her to a high noble but the girl called to his remembrance the

words he had spoken and said she would marry no one but an _ondali_. The

king bound ten golden hairpins to her arm and drove the away from the

palace. She fled to the hut of an _ondali_ on the outskirts of the town

but he was away in the hills gathering elm bark to eat. His mother, old

and blind, said “You smell of perfume and your hands are soft and

smooth. My boy is only an ignorant _ondali_ and no match for you.”

Without answering, the maiden hastened to the hills and found the boy,

but he thought her a spirit and took to his heels and ran home as fast

as he could go. She followed and slept before his door that night. At

last the youth comprehended the situation and accepted the hand of the

princess. With the ten golden hairpins she set him up in the

horse-raising business. He bought the broken-down palace ponies and by

careful treatment made them sound and fleet again. In the chase he

always led the rout and when the King asked who he might be the answer

was “Only an _ondali_.” From this the youth advanced until he became a

famous general and had the honor of defeating a Chinese army in

Liao-tung. He was killed during an invasion of Sil-la but no one was

able to lift his dead body till his wife came and knelt beside it saying

“The dead and living are separated.” Then it was lifted and carried back

to Ko-gu-ryŭ.

Chapter XI.

Ko-gu-ryŭ relations with the Sui court.... Ko-gu-ryŭ suspected.... takes

the offensive.... submits.... the Emperor suspicious.... the great

Chinese invasion.... Chinese allies.... Ko-gu-ryŭ’s allies....

Chinese cross the Liao.... go into camp.... naval expedition....

defeated at P‘yŭng-yang.... routes of the Chinese army.... Ko-gu-ryŭ

spy.... Ko-gu-ryŭ lures the Chinese on.... pretense of surrender....

Chinese retreat.... terrible slaughter.... Păk-je neutral.... second

invasion.... siege of Liao-tung fortress.... Chinese retire.... and

give up the contest.... treaty with the T’ang Emperor.... triangular

war renewed.... China neutral.... guerilla warfare.... first woman

sovereign.... Păk-je retrogrades.... attacks Sil-la.... Păk-je’s

terrible mistake.... Chinese spy.... rise of Hap So-mun.... the

tortoise and the rabbit.... Taoism introduced.... China finally

sides with Sil-la.... and announces her program.... preparations for

war.... the invasion.... siege of Liao-tung Fortress.... siege of

An-si Fortress.... Chinese retire.

We have seen that Ko-gu-ryŭ did not respond freely to the friendly

advances of the Sui power in China. Although a Sui envoy came and

conferred investiture upon the king in 590, yet the relations were not

cordial. Something was lacking. A mutual suspicion existed which kept

them both on the watch for signs of treachery. But two years later the

king did obeisance to the Emperor and was apparently taken into his good

graces. And now the net began to be drawn about Ko-gu-ryŭ. Her position

had always been precarious. She was the largest of the peninsular

kingdoms and the nearest to China. She was also nearest to the wild

tribes who periodically joined in an attempt to overthrow the Chinese

ruling dynasty. So Ko-gu-ryŭ was always more or less suspected of

ulterior designs and she seems to have realised it, for she always

sedulously cultivated the good-will of the Emperors. She knew very well

that with Sil-la and Păk-je, hereditary enemies, at her back, the day

when she fell under the serious suspicion of any strong dynasty in China

would be her day of doom. And so it proved in the end. She had now

thoroughly alienated the good-will and aroused the suspicions of the Sui

Emperor; Sil-la and Păk-je were in his good graces, and stirring times

were at hand. These two rival powers sent envoys to China urging the

Emperor to unite with them in invading Ko-gu-ryŭ and putting an end to

her once for all. To this the Emperor assented. Ko-gu-ryŭ knew that the

fight was on and, being the warlike power that she was, she boldly

determined to take the offensive. Drawing on her faithful allies the

Mal-gal for 10,000 troops she despatched these, together with her own

army, to western Liao-tung and across the river Liao, where the town of

Yŭng-ju was attacked and taken. This was her declaration of war. The

Emperor in 598 proclaimed the royal title withdrawn from the king of

Ko-gu-ryŭ and an army of 300,000 men was put in motion toward the

frontier. At the same time a naval expedition was fitted out. But

reverses occurred; storms by sea and bad management of the commissariat

by land rendered the expedition a failure. It opened the eyes of the

Ko-gu-ryŭ king however and he saw that the Emperor was fully determined

upon his destruction. He saw but one way to make himself safe and that

was by abject submission. He therefore hastened to tell the Emperor, “I

am a base and worthless subject, vile as ordure,” which was received by

the Emperor with considerable complaisancy, and a show of pardon was

made; but it was probably done only to keep Ko-gu-ryŭ from active

preparations until China could equip a much larger army and put it in

the field. Păk-je, who did not like to see affairs brought to a halt at

this interesting juncture, sent an envoy to China offering to act as

guide, to lead a Chinese army against the foe. When Ko-gu-ryŭ learned of

this her anger knew no bounds and she began to make reprisals upon

Păk-je territory.

About this time the Sui Emperor had business in the north. The Tol-gwŭl

tribe needed chastisement. When the Chinese forces entered the chief

town of the humbled tribe they found a Ko-gu-ryŭ emissary there. This

fed the Emperor’s suspicions for it looked as if Ko-gu-ryŭ were

preparing a league of the wild tribes for the purpose of conquest. He

therefore sent to Ko-gu-ryŭ saying “The king should not be afraid of me.

Let him come himself and do obeisance. If not, I shall send and destroy

him.” We may well imagine that this pressing invitation was declined by

the king.

The last year of the sixth century witnessed the compilation of the

first great history of Ko-gu-ryŭ, in 100 volumes. It was named the

Yu-geui or “Record of Remembrance.”

It took China some years to get ready for the carrying out of her plan,

but at last in 612 began one of the mightiest military movements in

history. China massed upon the western bank of the Liao River an army of

1,130,000 men. There were forty regiments of cavalry and eighty of

infantry. The army was divided into twenty-four battalions, marching

with an interval of forty _li_ between each, so that the entire army

stretched for 960 _li_ or 320 miles along the road. Eighty _li_ in the

rear came the Emperor with his body-guard.

When this enormous army reached the banks of the Liao they beheld on the

farther bank the soldiers of Ko-gu-ryŭ. Nothing can better prove the

hardihood of the Ko-gu-ryŭ soldiery than that, when they saw this

well-nigh innumerable host approach, they dared to dispute the crossing

of the river.

The Chinese army was composed of Chinese regulars and of allies from

twenty-four of their dependencies whose names are given as follows.

Nu-bang, Chang-jam, Myŭng-hă, Kă-ma, Kön-an, Nam-so, Yo-dong, Hyŭn-do,

Pu-yŭ, Nang-nang, Ok-jŭ, Chŭm-sŭn, Ham-ja, Hon-mi, Im-dun, Hu-sŭng,

Che-hă, Tap-don, Suk-sin, Kal-sŭk, Tong-i, Tă-bang and Yang-p’yŭng. One

would suppose from this long list that there could be few left to act as

allies to Ko-gu-ryŭ, but when we remember that the Mal-gal group of

tribes was by far the most powerful and warlike of all the northern

hordes we will see that Ko-gu-ryŭ was not without allies. In addition to

this, Ko-gu-ryŭ had two important factors in her favor; in summer the

rains made the greater part of Liao-tung impassable either for advance

or retreat, and in winter the severity of the weather rendered military

operations next to impossible. Only two courses were therefore open to

an invading army; either it must make a quick dash into Ko-gu-ryŭ in the

spring or autumn and retire before the summer rains or winter storms, or

else it must be prepared to go into camp and spend the inclement season

in an enemy’s country, cut off from its base of supplies. It was in the

spring that this invasion took place and the Emperor was determined to

carry it through to a finish in spite of summer rains or winter storms.

No sooner had the Chinese army reached the Liao River than the engineers

set to work bridging the stream. So energetically was the work done that

in two days a double span was thrown across. There had been a

miscalculation however, for it fell six feet short of reaching the

eastern bank, and the Ko-gu-ryŭ soldiers were there to give them a warm

welcome. The Chinese troops leaped from the unfinished end of the bridge

and tried to climb up the steep bank, but were again and again driven

back. The eastern bank was not gained until Gen Măk Chŭl-jang leaped to

the shore and mowed a path for his followers with his sword. At this

point the Ko-gu-ryŭ generals Chön Sa-ung and Măng Keum-ch’a were killed.

When the whole army had effected a crossing the Emperor sent 1200 troops

to occupy the fortified town of Liao-tung but the Ko-gu-ryŭ general,

Eul-ji Mun-dŭk, hastened thither and drove back this detachment of

Chinese in confusion. The Emperor learned of the retreat and proceeded

toward the scene of action. When he came up with the flying detachments

of his defeated force he severely reprimanded the generals in charge and

chided them for being lazy and afraid of death. But it was now late in

June and the rainy season was at hand, so the Emperor with his whole

army went into camp at Yuk-hap Fortress a little to the west of the town

of Liao-tung, to await the end of the wet season.

He was unwilling however to let all this time pass without any active

work; so he sent a fleet of boats by sea to sail up the Ta-dong River

and attack P’yüng-yang. This was under the leadership of Gen. Nă Ho-a.

Landing his force on the bank of the Ta-dong, sixty _li_ below the city,

he enjoyed there a signal victory over a small force which had been sent

to head him off. This made the general over-confident and in spite of

the protests of his lieutenants he marched on P‘yŭng-yang without an

hour’s delay. With twenty thousand troops he went straight into the

town, the gates being left wide open for him. This was a ruse on the

part of the Ko-gu-ryŭ forces. A strong body of Ko-gu-ryŭ troops had

hidden in a monastery in Nă-gwak Fort on the heights within the city.

The Chinese found themselves entrapped and Gen. Nă was forced to beat a

hasty retreat with what forces he had left, and at last got back to

Hă-p’o (harbor) in Liao-tung. What the Emperor said to him is not known

but it could not have been flattering.

The rainy season had now come and gone and the main plan of the invasion

was ready to be worked out. It was necessary for the Emperor to spread

out his force over the country in order to find forage, and so, in

approaching the borders of Ko-gu-ryŭ, it was decided that they should

come by several different routes. Gen. U Mun-sul led a detachment by way

of Pu-yŭ, Gen. U Chung-mun by way of Nang-nang, Gen. Hyŭng Wŭn-hang by

way of Yo-dong, Gen. Sŭl Se-ung by way of Ok-jŭ, Gen. Sin Se-ung by way

of Hyŭn-do, Gen. Chang Keun by way of Yang-p’yăng, Gen. Cho Hyo-jă by

way of Kal-sŭk, Gen. Ch’oe Hong-seung by way of Su-sung, Gen. Wi

Mun-seung by way of Cheung-ji. It is said that they all rendezvoused on

the western bank of the Yalu River, but if so there must have been great

changes in the position of these wild tribes. It is more than probable

that like the North American Indians they had moved further and further

back from their original lands until they were far beyond the Yalu and

Tumen rivers.

In the early autumn of 612 the whole army lay just east of the Yalu

River.

The king of Ko-gu-ryŭ sent Gen. Eul-ji Mun-dŭk to the Chinese camp to

tender the Emperor a pretense of surrender but in reality to spy out his

position and force. When he appeared the Emperor was minded to kill him

on the spot but thought better of it and, after listening to what he had

to say, let him go. Not an hour after he had gotten beyond the Chinese

pickets the Emperor changed his mind again and sent in pursuit of him;

but the general had too good a start and made too good use of his time

to allow himself to be retaken.

And now appeared one of the disadvantages of being far from one’s base

of supplies, and in an enemy’s country. Some weeks before this each

Chinese soldier had been given three bags of rice and told that he must

carry them on the march, besides his other necessary accoutrements.

Death was to the penalty of throwing any of it away. The result was that

most of them buried a large part of the rice in their tents and so

escaped detection. Now they were short of provisions, while the generals

thought their knapsacks were full of rice. The Ko-gu-ryŭ Gen. Eul-ji,

who had been in their camp, however, knew about it. He entered upon a

geurilla warfare with the object of luring the enemy far into Ko-gu-ryŭ

territory and then cutting them to pieces at leisure. To this end he

made a feigned retreat several times each day, thus giving the enemy

confidence and blinding them to his own strength. It was decided that a

Chinese force of 305,000 men under Gen. U Chung-mun should proceed

straight to P’yŭng-yang. It seemed wholly unnecessary that the whole

army of 1,130,000 men should undergo that long march when only a

pusillanimous enemy barred the way.

On they came toward the capital without meeting anything but a few

skirmishers, until they reached the Sal-su, a stream only thirty _li_

from P’yŭng-yang. Crossing this the Chinese went into camp for a few

days to recover from the fatigue of the rapid march before attacking the

town.

At this point Gen. Eul-ji began operations. He wrote a very humble

letter sueing for mercy. When the Chinese general received this, his

course of reasoning must have been something as follows: “My forces are

completely exhausted by this long march; the provisions are almost gone;

I shall find the capital defended by desperate men; it may be that I

shall be handled as roughly as were the forces of Gen. Nă. I will accept

this submission and start back in time to reach the Yalu before my

provisions are entirely gone. I will thus spare my army and gain the

desired end as well.”

Whether this was his course of reasoning or not, sure it is that he

accepted the submission tendered him and put his army in motion toward

the Yalu. But before his forces had gone a mile they found themselves

attacked on all sides at once by an unseen foe which seemed to fill the

forests on either side the road. When half the army had gotten across

the Sal-su the other half was fiercely attacked and cut to pieces or

driven like dumb cattle over the face of the country, where they were

butchered at leisure. The retreat became a flight, the flight a rout,

and still the Ko-gu-ryŭ soldiers hung on their flanks like wolves and

dragged them down by scores and hundreds. It is said that in a single

day and night the fugitive Chinese covered four hundred and fifty _li_,

and when the remnant of that noble army of 305,000 men that had swept

across the Yalu went back across that historic stream it was just 2700

strong. Over 300,000 men had perished along the hill-sides and among the

forests of Ko-gu-ryŭ. The Emperor in anger imprisoned the over-confident

Gen. U Chung-mun.

Meanwhile what of Păk-je? She had promised that she would rise and

strike Ko-gu-ryŭ simultaneously with the Emperor, but when the moment

for action came, like the paltroon that she was, she waited to see which

side would be most likely to win in the end. When the Chinese fled back

to the border in panic Păk-je quietly stacked her arms and said nothing

about attacking her neighbor.

Winter was now at hand, or would be before another plan could be

perfected and carried out. The army was without provisions. There was

nothing left but to retreat. The Chinese army, still a mighty host,

moved slowly back across the Liao River and Ko-gu-ryŭ was left to her

own pleasant musings. All that China gained was that portion of

Ko-gu-ryŭ lying west of the Liao River, which the Emperor erected into

three prefectures.

If Ko-gu-ryŭ flattered herself that her troubles were all over she was

wofully mistaken. With the opening of spring the Emperor’s determination

to humble her was as strong as ever. All the courtiers urged him to give

over the attempt. They had seen enough of Ko-gu-ryŭ. The Emperor,

however, was firm in his determination, and in the fourth moon another

army was launched against the hardy little kingdom to the east. It

crossed the Liao without opposition but when it arrived at Tong-whang

Fortress, near the present Eui-ju, it attempted in vain to take it. The

Emperor decided therefore to make a thorough conquest of all the

Liao-tung territory and delimit the possessions of Ko-gu-ryŭ as far as

the Yalu River, To this end siege was laid to the Fortress of Liao-tung.

After twenty days the town was still intact and the Chinese seemingly as

far from victory as ever. Ladders were tried but without effect. A bank

of earth was thrown up as high as the wall of the town, but this too

failed. Platforms of timber were erected and rolled up to the wall on

trucks of eight wheels each. This seemed to promise success but just as

the attempt was to be made fortune favored Ko-gu-ryŭ, for news came to

the Chinese that an insurrection had arisen in China, headed by Yang

Hyŭn-gam. The tents were hastily struck and the army by forced marches

moved rapidly back towards China. At first the Ko-gu-ryŭ forces thought

this was a mere feint but when the truth was known they rushed in

pursuit and succeeded in putting several thousands of the Chinese braves

_hors de combat_.

The following year the Emperor wanted to return to the charge but an

envoy came from Ko-gu-ryŭ offering the king’s humble submission. To this

the Emperor replied “Then let him come in person and present it.” This

he would not do.

Four years later the king of Ko-gu-ryŭ died and his brother Kön-mu

assumed control. It was in this same year 618 that the great T’ang

dynasty was founded on the ruins of the Sui and the fear of vengeance

was lifted from Ko-gu-ryŭ. She immediately sent an envoy to the T’ang

court offering her allegiance. Păk-je and Sil-la were only a year behind

her in paying their respects to the new Emperor. As a test of Ko-gu-ryŭ

sincerity, Emperor Kao-tsu demanded that she send back the captives

taken during the late war. As the price of peace Ko-gu-ryŭ complied and

sent back 10,000 men. The next year the T’ang Emperor conferred the

title of royalty upon all the three kings of the peninsula which,

instead of settling the deadly feud between them, simply opened a new

and final scene of the fratricidal struggle. To Ko-gu-ryŭ the Emperor

sent books on the Shinto faith, of the introduction of which into Korea

we here have the first intimation.

Now that danger from the west no longer threatened Ko-gu-ryŭ, she turned

to her neighbors and began to exercise her arms upon them. Păk-je also

attacked Sil-la fiercely and soon a triangular war was being waged in

the peninsula which promised to be a war of extermination unless China

should interfere. Of course each wished the Emperor to interfere in her

behalf and each plied the throne of China with recriminations of the

others and with justifications of herself until the Emperor was wholly

at a loss to decide between them. Perhaps it was not his policy to put

an end to the war but let it rage until the whole peninsula was

exhausted, when it would become an easy prey to his arms. At any rate he

gave encouragement to none of them but simply told them to stop

fighting. Ko-gu-ryŭ diplomatically added to her supplications a request

for Buddhist, Taoist and Shinto teachers.

The details of this series of hostilities between the three Korean

states form a tangled skein. First one border fort was taken and then

recovered, then the same was repeated at another point; and so it went

all along the line, now one being victorious and now another. Large

forces were not employed at any one time or place, but it was a skirmish

fire all along the border, burning up brightly first at one spot and

then at another. One remarkable statement in the records, to the effect

that Ko-gu-ryŭ began the building of a wall straight across the

peninsula from Eui-ju to the Japan Sea to keep out the people of the

northern tribes, seems almost incredible. If true it is another

testimony to the great power of Ko-gu-ryŭ. It is said the work was

finished in sixteen years.

In 632, after a reign of fifty years, King Chim-p’yŭng died without male

issue but his daughter Tong-man, a woman of strong personality, ascended

the throne of Sil-la, being the first of her sex that ever sat on a

Korean throne.

Many stories are told of her precocity. Once when she was a mere child

her father had received from the Emperor a picture of the _mok-tan_

flower together with some seeds of the same. She immediately remarked

that the flowers would have no perfume. When asked why she thought so

she replied “Because there is no butterfly on them in the picture.”

While not a valid argument, it showed a power of observation very

uncommon in a child. This proved to be true, for when the seeds sprouted

and grew the blossoms had no fragrance. The Emperor conferred upon her

the title of royalty, the same as upon a male sovereign.

The first few years of her reign were peaceful ones for Sil-la, and

Păk-je, as usual when relieved of the stress of war, fell back into her

profligate ways again. The king built gardens and miniature lakes,

bringing water from a point some twenty _li_ away to supply them. Here

he spent his time in sport and debauchery while the country ruled

itself.

In the fifth year of her reign Queen Tong-man, while walking in her

palace grounds, passed a pond of water but suddenly stopped and

exclaimed “There is war on our western border.” When asked her reasons

for thinking so she pointed to the frogs in the pond and said “See how

red their eyes are. It means that there is war on the border.” As if to

bear out her statement, swift messengers came the next day announcing

that Păk-je was again at work along the western border. So runs the

story.

And so the fight went on merrily all along the line, while at the

capitals of the three kingdoms things continued much as usual. Each of

the countries sent Princes to China to be educated, and the diplomatic

relations with China were as intimate as ever; but in 642 Păk-je made

the great mistake of her life. After an unusually successful military

campaign against Sil-la during which she seized forty of her frontier

posts, she conceived the bright idea of cutting off Sil-la’s

communication with China. The plan was to block the way of Sil-la envoys

on their way to China. Thus she thought that China’s good will would be

withdrawn from her rival, Sil-la. It was a brilliant plan but it had

after effects which worked ruin for Păk-je. Such a momentous undertaking

could not be kept from the ears of the Emperor nor could Sil-la’s envoys

be thus debarred from going to the Emperor’s court. When the whole

matter was therefore laid before the Chinese court the Emperor

immediately condemned Păk-je in his own mind.

About this time a Chinese envoy named Chin Ta-t’ok arrived on the

borders of Ko-gu-ryŭ. On his way to the capital he pretended to enjoy

all the views along the way and he gave costly presents to the prefects

and gained from them accurate information about every part of the route.

By this means he spied out the land and carried a fund of important

information back to the Emperor. He advised that Ko-gu-ryŭ be invaded

both by land and sea, for she would not be hard to conquer.

It was in this year 642 that a Ko-gu-ryŭ official named Hap So-mun

assassinated the king and set up the king’s nephew Chang as king. He

himself became of course the court favorite. He was a man of powerful

body and powerful mind. He was as “sharp as a falcon.” He claimed to

have risen from the water by a miraculous birth. He was hated by the

people because of his cruelty and fierceness. Having by specious

promises so far mollified the dislike of the officials as to have gained

a position under the government he became worse than before and some of

the officials had an understanding with the king that he must be put

out of the way. This came to the ears of Hap So-mun and he gave a

great feast, during the course of which he fell upon and killed

all those who had advised against him. He then sent and killed the

king in the palace, cut the body in two and threw it into a ditch. Then,

as we have seen, he set up Chang as king. This Hap So-mun is said to

have worn five swords on his person all the time. All bowed their heads

when he appeared and when he rode in state he passed over the prostrate

bodies of men.

When an envoy, soon after this, came from Sil-la he was thrown into

prison as a spy and was told that he would be released as soon as Sil-la

should restore to Ko-gu-ryŭ the two districts of Ma-hyŭn which had at

one time belonged to Ko-gu-ryŭ. This envoy had a friend among the

Ko-gu-ryŭ officials and to him he applied for help. That gentleman gave

him advice in the form of an allegory. It was as follows.

The daughter of the Sea King being ill, the physicians said that she

could not recover unless she should eat the liver of a rabbit. This

being a terrestrial animal it was of course almost impossible to obtain,

but finally a tortoise volunteered to secure a rabbit and bring it to

the king. Emerging from the sea on the coast of Sil-la the tortoise

entered a field and found a rabbit sleeping under a covert. Awakening

the animal he began to tell of an island off the shore where there were

neither hawks nor hunters—a rabbit’s paradise, and volunteered to take

the rabbit across to it upon his back. When well out at sea the tortoise

bade the rabbit prepare for death, for his liver was needed by the Sea

King. After a moment’s rapid thought the rabbit exclaimed “You might

have had it without all this ado, for when the Creator made rabbits he

made them with detachable livers so that when they became too warm they

could take them out and wash them in cool water and then put them back.

When you found me I had just washed mine and laid it on a rock to dry.

You can have it if you wish, for I have no special use for it.” The

tortoise in great chagrin turned about and paddled him back to the

shore. Leaping to the land the rabbit cried “Good day, my friend, my

liver is safe inside of me.”

The imprisoned envoy pondered over this conundrum and its application

and finally solved it. Sending to the king he said “You cannot get back

the two districts by keeping me here. If you will let me go and will

provide me with an escort I will induce the Sil-la government to restore

the territory to you.” The king complied, but when the envoy had once

gotten across the border he sent back word that the restoration of

territory was not in his line of business and he must decline to discuss

the question at the court of Sil-la.

In 643 the powerful and much dreaded Hap So-mun sent to China asking the

Emperor to send a teacher of the Shinto religion; for he said that the

three religions, Buddhism, Taoism and Shintoism were like the three legs

of a kettle, all necessary. The Emperor complied and sent a teacher,

Suk-da, with eight others and with books to be used in the study of the

new cult.

The prowess of this Hap So-mun was well known at the Chinese court and

it kept the Emperor from attempting any offensive operations. He said it

would not do to drain China of her soldiers at such a critical time, but

that the Mal-gal tribes must first be alienated from their fealty to

Ko-gu-ryŭ and be induced to attack her northern border. Others advised

that Hap So-mun be allowed free rein so that all suspicion of aggression

on the part of China should be removed and Ko-gu-ryŭ would become

careless of her defenses. This would in time bring a good opportunity to

strike the decisive blow. It was in pursuance of this policy that the

Shinto teachers were sent and that Hap So-mun’s creature, Chang, was

given investiture. At the same time a Sil-la emmissary was on his way to

the Chinese court asking for aid against Ko-gu-ryŭ. The Emperor could

not comply but proposed three plans: first, that China stir up the

Mal-gal tribes to harry the northern borders of Ko-gu-ryŭ and so relieve

the strain on the south; second, that China give Sil-la a large number

of red flags which she should use in battle. The Păk-je or Ko-gu-ryŭ

forces, seeing these, would think that Sil-la had Chinese allies and

would hasten to make peace; third, that China should send an expedition

against Păk-je, which should unite with a Sil-la force and thus crush

the Păk-je power once for all and join her territory to that of Sil-la.

This would prepare the way for the subjugation of Ko-gu-ryŭ. But to this

advice the Emperor added that so long as Sil-la had a woman on the

throne she could not expect to undertake any large operations. She ought

to put a man on the throne and then, after the war was over, restore the

woman if she so wished. The Sil-la envoy pondered these three plans but

could come to no decision. So the Emperor called him a fool and sent him

away. We see behind each of these schemes a fear of Ko-gu-ryŭ. China was

willing to do anything but meet the hardy soldiers of Ko-gu-ryŭ in the

field.

We see that the Emperor had virtually decided in favor of Sil-la as

against Păk-je and Ko-gu-ryŭ. The long expected event had at last

occurred. Tacitly but really China had cast her vote for Sil-la and the

future of the peninsula was decided for so long as the Tang dynasty

should last. That the decision was a wise one a moment’s consideration

will show. Ko-gu-ryŭ never could be depended upon for six months in

advance and must be constantly watched; Păk-je, being really a mixture

of the northern and southern elements, had neither the power of the one

nor the peaceful disposition of the other but was as unstable as a

cloud. Sil-la on the other hand was purely southern, excepting for a

strain of Chinese blood brought in by the refugees from the Tsin

dynasty. Her temperament was even, her instincts peaceful, her

tendencies toward improvement and reform. She was by all means the best

ally China could have in the peninsula. And so the die was cast and

henceforth the main drift of Chinese sympathy is to be Sil-la-ward.

The year 644 was a fateful one for Korea. The Emperor sent an envoy to

Ko-gu-ryŭ and Păk-je commanding them to cease their depredations on

Sil-la. Thus was the Chinese policy announced. Păk-je hastened to comply

but Hap So-mun of Ko-gu-ryŭ replied that this was an ancient feud with

Sil-la and could not be set aside until Ko-gu-ryŭ recovered 500 _li_ of

territory that she had been despoiled of. The Emperor in anger sent

another envoy with the same demand, but Hap So-mun threw him into prison

and defied China. When he heard however that the Emperor had determined

upon an invasion of Ko-gu-ryŭ he changed his mind and sent a present of

gold to the Chinese court. But he was too late. The gold was returned

and the envoy thrown into prison.

There were many at the Chinese court who could remember the horrors of

that retreat from P’yŭng-yang when China left 300,000 dead upon the

hills of Ko-gu-ryŭ, and the Emperor was advised to move cautiously. He

however felt that unless Ko-go-ryŭ was chastised she might develop an

ambition towards imperialism and the throne of China itself might be

endangered. He therefore began to collect provisions on the northern

border, storing them at Tă-in Fortress. He called into his counsels the

old general, Chöng Wŭn-do, who had been an eye-witness of the disasters

of the late war with Ko-gu-ryŭ. This man gave healthful advice, saying

that the subjugation of Ko-gu-ryŭ would be no easy task; first, because

the way was so long; second, because of the difficulty of provisioning

the army; third, because of the stubborn resistance of Ko-gu-ryŭ’s

soldiers. He gave the enemy their due and did not minimize the

difficulties of the situation.

The Emperor listened to and profitted by this advice, for during the

events to be related his soldiers never suffered from over-confidence,

but in their advances made sure of every step as they went along.

Active operations began by the sending of an army of 40,000 men in 501

boats to the harbor of Nă-ju where they were joined by land forces to

the number of 60,000, besides large contingents from the wild tribes of

the north. Large numbers of ladders and other engines of war had been

constructed and were ready for use. Before crossing the Liao River the

Emperor made proclamation far and wide saying “Hap So-mun has killed our

vassal, King of Ko-gu-ryŭ, and we go to inquire into the matter. Let

none of the prefects along the way waste their revenues in doing us

useless honors. Let Sil-la, Păk-je and Kŭ-ran help us in this righteous

war.”

Crossing the Liao without resistance the Chinese forces marched toward

the fortress of Kön-an which soon fell into their hands. Some thousands

of heads fell here to show the rest of Ko-gu-ryŭ what they might expect

in case of contumacy. Then Ham-mo Fortress fell an easy victim. Not so

the renowned fortress of Liao-tung. As the Emperor approached the place

he found his way obstructed by a morass 200 _li_ in length. He built a

road through it and then when all his army had passed he destroyed the

road behind him as Pizarro burnt his ships behind him when he landed on

the shores of America to show his army that there was to be no retreat.

Approaching the town he laid siege to it and after a hard fight, during

which the Chinese soldiers lifted a man on the end of a long piece of

timber until he could reach and set fire to the defences that surmounted

the wall, an entrance was finally effected and the town taken. In this

battle the Chinese were materially aided by armor which Păk-je had sent

as a gift to the Chinese Emperor.

The Chinese were destined to find still greater difficulty in storming

An-si Fortress which was to Ko-gu-ryŭ what Metz is to Germany. It was in

command of the two generals, Ko Yŭn-su and Ko Hye-jin who had called to

their aid 100,000 warriors of the Mal-gal tribes. At first the Emperor

tried a ruse to draw the garrison out where he could give them battle.

The wise heads among the Ko-gu-ryŭ garrison strongly opposed the sortie

saying that it were better to await an opportunity to cut off the

Chinese from their base of supplies, and so entrap them; but they were

outvoted and the greater part of the Ko-gu-ryŭ and allied forces marched

out to engage the enemy in the open field. The Emperor ascended an

eminence where he could obtain a view of the enemy and he beheld the

camp of the Mal-gal allies stretching out forty _li_, twelve miles. He

determined to exercise the utmost caution. One of his generals, Wang

Do-jong begged to be allowed to march on P‘yŭng-yang, which he deemed

must be nearly bare of defenses, and so bring the war to a speedy close;

but the Emperor, like Hannibal when begged by his generals to march

straight into Rome, made the mistake of over-caution and so missed his

great opportunity. To the Emperor this sounded too much like a similar

attempt that had once cost China 300,000 men.

A messenger was sent to the Ko-gu-rŭ camp to say that China did not want

to fight but had only come to inquire into the cause of the king’s

death. As he intended, this put the Ko-gu-ryŭ forces off their guard and

that night he surrounded the fortress and the forces which had come out

to engage him. This was done in such a way that but few of the

surrounding Chinese army were visible. Seeing these, the Ko-gu-ryŭ

forces made a fierce onslaught anticipating an easy victory, instead of

which they soon found themselves surrounded by the flower of the Chinese

army and their retreat to the fortress cut off. It is said that in this

fight 20,000 Ko-gu-ryŭ troops were cut down and three thousand of the

Mal-gal allies, besides losing many through flight and capture. These

were all released and sent back to Ko-gu-ryŭ excepting 3,500 noblemen

whom the Emperor sent to China as hostages. This fight occurred outside

the An-si Fortress and the Emperor supposed the gates would now be

thrown open; but not so, for there was still a strong garrison within

and plenty of provisions; so they barred the gates and still defied the

Chinese. Upon hearing of the Chinese victory the neighboring Ko-gu-ryŭ

fortresses Ho-whang and Eui capitulated, not knowing that An-si still

held out against the victors.

Many of the Emperor’s advisers wanted him to ignore An-si and press on

into Ko-gu-ryŭ leaving it in the rear, but this the wary Emperor would

not consent to do, for he feared lest his retreat should be cut off. So

the weary siege was continued. One day, hearing the lowing of cattle and

the cackling of hens within the walls, the Emperor astutely surmised

that a feast was being prepared preparatory to a sortie that was about

to be made. Extra pickets were thrown out and the army was held in

readiness for the attack. That very night the garrison came down the

wall by means of ropes; but finding the besiegers ready for them they

retired in confusion and suffered a severe defeat. The siege went on.

The Chinese spent two months constructing a mound against the wall but

the garrison rushed out and captured it. It is said that during this

siege the Emperor lost an eye by an arrow wound, but the Chinese

histories do not mention it. The cold blasts of late autumn were now

beginning to give warning that winter was at hand and the Emperor was

obliged to consider the question of withdrawing. He was filled with

admiration of the pluck and bravery of the little garrison of An-si and

before he broke camp he sent a message to the commander praising his

faithfulness to his sovereign and presenting him with a hundred pieces

of silk. Then the long march back to China began, and the 70,000

soldiers wended their way westward, foiled a second time by the stubborn

hardihood of Ko-gu-ryŭ.

Chapter XII.

Revolt in Sil-la.... Ko-gu-ryŭ invaded.... Sil-la invades Păk-je....

China decides to aid Sil-la.... war between Păk-je and Sil-la....

relations with China.... league against Sil-la.... China diverts

Ko-gu-ryŭ’s attention.... traitors in Păk-je.... Sŭng-ch’ung’s

advice.... Chinese forces sent to Păk-je.... portents of the fall of

Păk-je.... conflicting plans.... Sil-la army enters Păk-je....

Păk-je capital seized.... Păk-je dismembered.... end of Păk-je....

disturbances in Păk-je territory.... Ko-gu-ryŭ attacks Sil-la....

final invasion of Ko-gu-ryŭ planned.... Păk-je malcontents....

combination against Ko-gu-ryŭ.... siege of P‘yŭng-yang raised....

Pok-sin’s fall.... Păk-je Japanese defeated.... governor of

Ung-jin.... Buddhist reverses in Sil-la.... Sil-la king takes

oath.... Nam-gŭn’s treachery.... the Mal-gal tribes desert

Ko-gu-ryŭ.... the Yalu defended.... Chinese and Sil-la forces march

on P‘yŭng-yang.... omens.... Ko-gu-ryŭ forts surrender.... Ko-gu-ryŭ

falls.

Tong-man, the Queen ruler of Sil-la, died in 645 and was succeeded by

her sister Söng-man. The Emperor confirmed her in her accession to the

throne. It began to look seriously as if a gynecocracy was being

established in Sil-la. Some of the highest officials decided to effect a

change. The malcontents were led by Pi-un and Yŭm-jong. These men with a

considerable number of troops went into camp near the capital and

prepared to besiege it. For four days the rebels and the loyal troops

faced each other without daring to strike a blow. Tradition says a star

fell one night among the loyal forces and caused consternation there and

exultation among the traitors. But the loyal Gen. Yu-sin hastened to the

Queen and promised to reverse the omen. That night he prepared a great

kite and fastened a lantern to its tail. Then he exhorted the soldiers

to be of good cheer, sacrificed a white horse to the deities of the land

and flew the kite. The rebels, seeing the light rising from the loyal

camp, concluded that Providence had reversed the decree. So when the

loyal troops made their attack the hearts of the rebels turned to water

and they were driven over the face of the country and cut down with

great slaughter. That same year the Emperor again planned to attack

Ko-gu-ryŭ but the baleful light of a comet made him desist.

At the instigation of Hap So-mun, the king of Ko-gu-ryŭ sent his son to

China, confessed his faults and begged for mercy, but the Emperor’s face

was flint. The next year the message was again sent, but Ko-gu-ryŭ’s day

of grace was over. China’s answer was an army of 30,000 men and a mighty

fleet of ships. The fortress of Pak-chak in Liao-tung was besieged but

it was so fortified by nature as to be almost impregnable. The Emperor

therefore said “Return to China and next year we will send 300,000 men

instead of 30,000.” He then ordered the building of a war vessel 100

feet in length. He also had large store of provisions placed on O-ho

Island to be used by the invading army.

Meanwhile Sil-la had become emboldened by the professed preference of

China for her and she arose and smote Păk-je, taking twenty-one of her

forts, killing 30,000 of her soldiers and carrying away 9,000 prisoners.

She followed this up by making a strong appeal to China for help, saying

that unless China should come to her aid she would be unable to continue

her embassies to the Chinese court. The Emperor thereupon ordered Gen.

So Chöng-bang to take 200,000 troops and go to the aid of Sil-la. He

evidently was intending to try a new way of attacking Ko-gu-ryŭ. As the

Sil-la messenger was hastening homeward with this happy news emissaries

of Ko-gu-ryŭ dogged his footsteps and sought his life. Once he was so

hard pressed that he escaped only by a clever and costly ruse. One of

his suite dressed in his official garments and personated him and thus

drew the assassins off the scent and allowed himself to be killed, the

real envoy making good his escape. It was now for the first time that

Sil-la adopted the Chinese costume, having first obtained leave from the

Emperor. It is said that it resembled closely the costume used in Korea

today.

Unfortunately for Sil-la the Emperor died in 649 and Ko-gu-ryŭ began to

breathe freely again. It also emboldened Păk-je and she invaded Sil-la

with a considerable army and seized seven forts. Sil-la retaliated by

seizing 10,000 houses belonging to Păk-je subjects and killing the

leading Păk-je general, Eum-sang. Sil-la lost not a moment in gaining

the good will of the new Emperor. Envoys with presents were sent

frequently. She adopted the Chinese calendar and other customs from the

suzerain state and so curried favor with the powerful. The Păk-je envoy

was received coldly by the Emperor and was told to go and give back to

Sil-la the land that had been taken and to cease the hostilities. This

Păk-je politely declined to do. Each emperor of China seems to have

declined the legacy of quarrels handed down by his predecessor. So

bye-gones were bye-gones and Ko-gu-ryŭ was accepted again on her good

behavior.

With the end of Queen Söng-man’s reign affairs in the peninsula began to

focus toward that crisis which Ko-gu-ryŭ and Păk-je had so long been

preparing for themselves. In 655 a new combination was effected and one

that would have made Sil-la’s horizon very dark had she not been sure of

Imperial help. Her two neighbors formed a league against her, and of

course the Mal-gal tribes sided with Ko-gu-ryŭ in this new venture.

Păk-je and Ko-gu-ryŭ were drawn together by their mutual fear of Sil-la

and soon the allied armies were marching on Sil-la’s borders. At the

first onslaught thirty-three of Sil-la’s border forts passed into the

hands of the allies. It was now China’s last chance to give aid to the

most faithful of her Korean vassals, for otherwise she would surely have

fallen before this combination. A swift messenger was sent imploring the

Emperor for aid and stating that if it was not granted Sil-la would be

swallowed up. The Emperor had no intention of letting Sil-la be

dismembered and without a day’s delay troops were despatched into

Liao-tung under Generals Chŭng Myŭng-jin and So Chöng-bang. Many of

Ko-gu-ryŭ’s fortresses beyond the Yalu River were soon in the possession

of China. This was successful in diverting Ko-gu-ryŭ’s attention from

Sil-la, but Păk-je continued the fight with her. The advantage lay now

with one side and now with the other. The court of Păk-je was utterly

corrupt and except for a small army in the field under almost

irresponsible leadership, she was weak indeed.

Now it happened that a Sil-la man named Cho Mi-gon had been taken

captive and carried to Păk-je where he was employed in the household of

the Prime Minister. One day he made his escape and found his way across

the border into his native country, but there meeting one of the Sil-la

generals he was induced to go back and see what he could do in the

Păk-je capital towards facilitating an invasion on the part of his

countrymen. He returned and after sounding the Prime Minister found him

ready to sell his country if there was anything to be made out of it. It

is said that here began the downfall of Păk-je. The king of Păk-je was

utterly incompetent and corrupt. One of his best councillors was thrown

into prison and starved to death for rebuking him of his excesses. But

even while this faithful man was dying he sent a message to the king

saying “Do not fail to place a strong garrison at ‘Charcoal Pass’ and at

Păk River.” These were the two strategic points of Păk-je’s defenses; if

they were guarded well, surprise was impossible. From that time affairs

in Păk-je went from bad to worse. China kept Ko-gu-ryŭ busy in the north

and nothing of consequence was gained by either side in the south until

finally in 659 another Sil-la envoy made his appearance in the Emperor’s

court. At last the great desire of Sil-la was accomplished. The Emperor

ordered Gen. So Chöng-bang to take 130,000 men by boat to the shores of

Păk-je and there coöperate with a Sil-la army in the utter subjugation

of Păk-je. The Sil-la army went into camp at Nam-ch’ŭn and received word

from the Chinese general to meet him at the Păk-je capital in the

seventh moon.

Tradition says that the doom impending over Păk-je was shadowed forth in

advance by many omens and signs. Frogs, it is said, grew like leaves on

the trees and if anyone killed one of them he instantly fell dead. Among

the mountains black clouds met and fought one another. The form of an

animal, half dog and half lion, was seen in the sky approaching the

palace and uttering terrible bellowings and roarings. Dogs congregated

in the streets and howled. Imps of awful shape came into the palace and

cried “Păk-je is fallen, Păk-je is fallen,” and disappeared in the

ground. Digging there the king found a tortoise on whose back were

written the words “Păk-je is at full moon; Sil-la is at half moon.” The

diviners were called upon to interpret this. “It means that Sil-la is in

the ascendant while Păk-je is full and about to wane.” The king ordered

their heads off, and called in another company of diviners. These said

that it meant that Sil-la was half waned while Păk-je was at her zenith.

Somewhat mollified by this, the king called a grand council of war. The

advice given was of the most conflicting nature. Some said the Chinese

must be attacked first; others said the Sil-la forces must be attended

to first. A celebrated general who had been banished was sent for and

his advice was the same as that of the famous statesman whom the king

had starved in prison. “You must guard the ‘Charcoal Pass’ and the Pak

River.” But the majority of the courtiers said that the Chinese had

better be allowed to land before they were attacked and that the Sil-la

army should be allowed to come in part through the pass before being

opposed. This latter point was decided for them, for when the Păk-je

troops approached the pass they found that the Sil-la army was already

streaming through, and at its head was the famous Gen. Kim Yu-sin. When

the battle was joined the Păk-je forces held their ground and fought

manfully; but victory perched upon the banners of Sil-la and when the

battle was done nothing lay between the Sil-la forces and the capital of

Păk-je, the place of rendezvous. It is said that Gen. Ke-băk the leader

of the Păk-je forces killed all his family before starting out on this

expedition, fearing lest the thought of them might make him waver. He

fell in the battle.

The capital of Păk-je was situated on the site of the present town of

Sa-ch’ŭn. When the Sil-la warriors approached it the king fled to the

town now known as Kong-ju. He left all the palace women behind and they,

knowing what their fate would be at the hands of the Sil-la soldiery,

went together to a beetling precipice which overhangs the harbor of

Tă-wang and cast themselves from its summit into the water beneath. That

precipice is famed in Korean song and story and is called by the

exquisitely poetical name Nak-wha-am “Precipice of the Falling Flowers.”

The victors forced the gates of the capital and seized the person of the

Prince, the king’s second son, who had been left behind. A few days

later the King and the Crown Prince came back from their place of hiding

and voluntarily gave themselves up.

The allies had now met as they had agreed and Păk-je was at their mercy.

The Chinese general said that the Emperor had given him full authority

to settle the matter and that China would take half the territory and

Sil-la might have the other half. This was indeed a generous proposal on

the part of China but the Sil-la commander replied that Sil-la wanted

none of the Păk-je territory but only sought revenge for the wrongs that

Păk-je had heaped upon her. At the feast that night the king of Păk-je

was made to pour the wine for the victors and in this act of abject

humiliation Sil-la had her desire for revenge fully satisfied. When the

Chinese generals went back to China to announce these events they took

with them the unthroned King of Păk-je together with his four sons,

eighty-eight of the highest officials and 12,807 of the people.

It was in 660 that Păk-je fell. She survived for 678 years and during

that time thirty kings had sat upon her throne. A singular discrepancy

occurs here in the records. They affirm that the whole period of Păk-je

rule covered a lapse of 678 years; but they also say that Păk-je was

founded in the third year of Emperor Ch’eng-ti of China. That would have

been in 29 B.C. making the whole dynasty 689 years. The vast burden of

proof favors the belief that Păk-je was founded in 16 B.C. and that her

whole lease of life was 678 years.

As Sil-la had declined to share in the dismemberment of Păk-je, China

proceeded to divide it into provinces for administrative purposes. There

were five of these, Ung-jin, Tong-myŭng, Keum-ryŭn, Tŭk-an. The central

government was at Sa-ja the former capital of Păk-je. The separate

provinces were put under the control of prefects selected from among the

people. The country was of course in a very unsettled state;

disaffection showed itself on every side and disturbances were frequent.

A remnant of the Păk-je army took its stand among the mountains,

fortified its position and bid defiance to the new government. These

malcontents found strong sympathisers at the capital and in the country

towns far and wide. The Chinese governor, Yu In-wŭn, found the task of

government no easy one. But still Sil-la stood ready to aid and soon a

Sil-la army crossed the border and attacked the fortress of I-rye where

the rebels were intrenched. Taking this by assault they advanced toward

the mountain fortress already mentioned, crossed the “Chicken Ford,”

crumpled up the line of rebel intrenchments and lifted a heavy load from

the governor’s shoulders.

Ko-gu-ryŭ soon heard the ominous news and she took it as a presage of

evil for herself. She immediately threw a powerful army across the

Sil-la border and stormed the Ch’il-jung Fortress. The records naively

remark that they filled the commander as full of arrows as a hedgehog is

of quills.

Now that Păk-je had been overcome China took up with alacrity the plan

of subduing Ko-gu-ryŭ. The great final struggle began, that was destined

to close the career of the proudest, hardiest and bravest kingdom that

the peninsula of Korea ever saw. The Păk-je king who had been carried to

China died there in 661. In that same year Generals Kye-p’il, So

Chŏng-bang and Ha Ryŭk, who had already received their orders to march

on Ko-gu-ryŭ, rendezvoused with their forces at Ha-nam and the warriors

of the Whe-bol together with many volunteers from other tribes joined

the imperial standards. The plan was to proceed by land and sea. The

Emperor desired to accompany the expedition, but the death of the

empress made it impossible.

Meanwhile matters in Păk-je were becoming complicated again. A man named

Pok Sin revolted against the government, proclaimed Pu-yŭ P‘ung, the son

of a former king, monarch of the realm and planned a reëstablishment of

the kingdom. This was pleasing to many of the people. So popular was the

movement that the Emperor feared it would be successful. He therefore

sent a summons to Sil-la to send troops and put it down. Operations

began at once. Gen. Yu In-gwe besieged Ung-jin the stronghold of the

pretender and chased him out, but a remnant of his forces intrenched

themselves and made a good fight. They were however routed by the

combined Sil-la and Chinese forces. But in spite of this defeat the

cause was so popular that the country was honeycombed with bands of its

sympathisers who gained many lesser victories over the government troops

and their Sil-la allies. The Sil-la general, Kim Yu-sin, was very

active, passing rapidly from one part of the country to another, now

driving back to the mountains some band of Păk-je rebels and now holding

in check some marauding band from Ko-gu-ryŭ. He was always found where

he was most needed and was never at a loss for expedients. It is said

that at this time rice was so plentiful in Sil-la that it took thirty

bags of it to buy a single bolt of grass cloth.

That same autumn the Chinese engaged the Ko-gu-ryŭ forces at the Yalu

River and gained a decided victory. Then the fortress at Ma-eup San fell

into their hands. This cleared the road to P‘yŭng-yang, and the Chinese

boldly advanced and laid siege to that ancient stronghold. At the same

time the Emperor ordered Sil-la to send troops to coöperate with the

imperial army. She obeyed, but with great trepidation, for the fame of

Ko-gu-ryŭ’s arms made this seem a matter of life and death. She was

obliged to comply, however, or lose all the vantage ground she had

gained in the Emperor’s favor. There were still some Ko-gu-ryŭ forces in

the north and they were attempting to check the advance of a large body

of Chinese reinforcements. It was late in the autumn and the Yalu was

frozen. Taking advantage of this the Chinese crossed in the night and

falling suddenly upon the unsuspecting army of Ko-gu-ryŭ inflicted a

crushing defeat. It is said that 30,000 Ko-gu-ryŭ soldiers were killed

in this engagement. The speedy downfall of Ko-gu-ryŭ seemed now

inevitable, but a sudden timidity seized the Emperor, who feared perhaps

to let his army winter on Korean soil. So he sent orders for an

immediate retreat back to Chinese territory. The generals before

P‘yŭng-yang were deeply chagrined and indeed found it impossible on

account of lack of provisions to obey the command at once. Soon the

Sil-la army arrived before P‘yŭng-yang with full supply of provisions.

These the Chinese took and the greater part of them reluctantly broke

camp and marched back to China, leaving Sil-la in a frame of mind better

imagined than described.

While Ko-gu-ryŭ was staggering under the terrible reverses inflicted by

the Chinese, events of interest were taking place in the south. The

kingdom of T‘am-na on the island of Quelpart had always been a

dependency of Păk-je, but now found it necessary to transfer her

allegiance to Sil-la. The king of T‘am-na at that time was To-dong

Eum-yul.

The mischief-maker, Pok-sin, was again in the field. Now that he was

relieved of pressure he came back to the charge and took Ung-jin from

the Chinese. At the earnest request of the governor the Emperor sent

Gen. Son In-sa with a small army to aid in putting down this dangerous

malcontent. Pok-sin was obliged to retire to Chin-hyŭn where he

fortified himself strongly. Success seems to have turned his head for he

began to carry himself so proudly that his followers arose and put him

to death and then sent a messenger to Ko-gu-ryŭ and to Japan asking aid

against the Chinese. The latter responded by sending a considerable

force to the shores of Păk-je to coöperate with this hardy band of men

who were honestly fighting for the independence of their country.

In 663 the Emperor conferred upon the king of Sil-la the title of

Tă-do-dok of Kye-rim.

It appears that when the Chinese retired from before P‘yŭng-yang and

left the Sil-la forces in such a delicate position, some of the Chinese

were allowed to remain there on the plea that if all were removed it

would invite an outbreak of the Păk-je revolutionists. Now as the year

663 opened the Emperor reinforced them by a powerful army under Gen. Son

In-sa. Sil-la also sent the flower of her army under command of

twenty-eight generals to join the Chinese before P‘yŭng-yang. But the

plan of operations was changed. It was decided to move southward and

complete the subjugation of the troublesome Păk-je patriots and their

Japanese allies. The combined Chinese and Sil-la armies marched toward

Chu-ryu fortress where the revolutionists were supposed to be

intrenched. On their way they met the Japanese disembarking, on the

banks of the Pak River. They were put to flight and their boats were

burned. The march was continued and the fortress was duly invested. It

fell straightway and the pretender to the Sil-la throne was captured.

This was followed by the surrender of all the revolutionists and their

Japanese friends. The last fortress to fall was that of Im-jon, now

Tă-heung, after a desperate struggle.

The war was now at an end. The dead were buried, a census was taken of

the people in the Păk-je capital, aid was given to the poor, and the

people were encouraged to return at their peaceful avocations.

Expressions of satisfaction at what seemed to be the return of peace

were heard on all sides.

Gen. Yu In-gwe, who had been left in charge of the Chinese troops before

P‘yŭng-yang when the Emperor ordered the retreat, now sent word to the

Chinese capital that as his soldiers had been in the peninsula two years

without seeing home he feared they might mutiny. He received orders to

return to China with his men but he decided to wait till the grain that

his men had sown should ripen. The Emperor then appointed Pu-yŭ Yung the

brother of the last king of Păk-je to the position of governor of all

the territory formerly embraced in Păk-je. He received the title of

Tă-do-dok of Ung-jin, and was urged by the Emperor to govern well. This

was in 664.

Sil-la took advantage of the timely cessation of hostilities to send to

the Chinese camp in Păk-je and have some of her men take lessons in

music from the musicians there. They also took copies of the dishes,

clothes and customs of the Chinese. All these were imitated by the king

and his court. Buddhism received a sudden check in Sil-la at this time

for the king took the surest way to crush it out, namely, by forbidding

any one to give the monks either money or rice.

In 665 Gen. Yu In-wŭn received orders from China to return to that

country but before doing so he performed a significant act. He made the

king of Sil-la and the new Tă-do-dok of Ung-jin take an oath in the

blood of a white horse that they would fight no more. This was done at

the fortress of Ch‘wi-ri San and the slaughtered animal was buried there

under the oath altar. A written copy of the oath was placed in the

ancestral temple of the kings of Sil-la. After Gen. Yu’s return to China

he was followed by Gen. Yu In-gwe who took with him envoys from Sil-la,

Păk-je, T‘am-na and Japan. To render the compact of peace more binding

still the Emperor sacrificed to heaven in the presence of these envoys.

It is said, however, that the new ruler in Păk-je stood in such fear of

Sil-la that he fled back to China soon after this.

[Illustration: _SILLA BOUNDARY STONE._]

The last act in the tragedy of Ko-gu-ryŭ opens with the death of her

iron chancellor, Hap So-mun. It was his genius that had kept the armies

in the field; it was his faith in her ultimate victory that had kept the

general courage up. When he was laid in his grave the only thing that

Ko-gu-ryŭ had to fall back upon was the energy of despair. It was her

misfortune that Hap So-mun left two sons each of whom possessed a full

share of his father’s ferocity and impatience of restraint. Nam-săng,

the elder, assumed his father’s position as Prime Minister, but while he

was away in the country attending to some business, his brother,

Nam-gŭn, seized his place. Nam-săng fled to the Yalu River and putting

himself at the head of the Mal-gal and Kŭ-ran tribes went over with them

to the Emperor’s side. Thus by Nam-gŭn’s treachery to his brother,

Ko-gu-ryŭ was deprived of her one great ally, and gained an implacable

enemy in Nam-săng. The Emperor made the latter Governor-general of

Liao-tung and he began welding the wild tribes into an instrument for

revenge. Then the Chinese forces appeared and together they went to the

feast of death; and even as they were coming news reached them that the

Ko-gu-ryŭ general, Yŭn Chŭn-t‘o, had surrendered to Sil-la and turned

over to her twelve of Ko-gu-ryŭ’s border forts. It was not till the next

year that the Chinese crossed the Liao and fell upon the Ko-gu-ryŭ

outposts. The Chinese general had told his men that the strategic point

was the fortress Sin-sŭng and that its capture meant the speedy

capitulation of all the rest. Sin-sŭng was therefore besieged and the

struggle began. The commandant was loyal and wished to defend it to the

death but his men thought otherwise, and they bound him and surrendered.

Then sixteen other forts speedily followed the example.

Gen. Ko-gan hastened forward and engaged the Ko-gu-ryŭ forces at

Keum-san and won a decided victory, while at the same time Gen. Sŭl-In

gwi was reducing the fortresses of Nam-so, Mok-jŭ and Ch‘ang-am, after

which he was joined by the Mal-gal forces under the renegade Nam-săng.

Another Chinese general, Wŭn Man-gyŭng, now sent a boastful letter to

the Ko-gu-ryŭ capital saying “Look out now for the defenses of that

precious Am-nok River of yours.” The answer came grimly back “We will do

so.” And they did it so well that not a Chinese soldier set foot on the

hither side during that year. The Emperor was enraged at this seeming

incompetence and banished the boastful general to Yong-nam. A message

had already been sent to Sil-la ordering her to throw her army into

Ko-gu-ryŭ and for the Chinese generals Yu In-wŭn and Kim In-t‘ă to meet

them before P‘yŭng-yang. These two generals were in Păk-je at the time.

In 668 everything beyond the Yalu had fallen into the hands of the

Chinese; even Pu-yŭ Fortress of ancient fame had been taken by Gen. Sŭl

In-gwi. The Emperor sent a messenger asking “Can you take Ko-gu-ryŭ?”

The answer went back “Yes, we must take her. Prophecy says that after

700 years Ko-gu-ryŭ shall fall and that _eighty_ shall cause her

overthrow. The 700 years have passed and now Gen. Yi Jök is eighty years

old. He shall be the one to fulfill the prophecy.”

Terrible omens had been seen in the Ko-gu-ryŭ capital. Earthquakes had

been felt; foxes had been seen running through the streets; the people

were in a state of panic. The end of Ko-gu-ryŭ was manifestly near. So

tradition says.

Nam-gŭn had sent 50,000 troops to succor Pu-yŭ Fortress but in the

battle which ensued 30,000 of these were killed and the remainder were

scattered. Conformably to China’s demands, Sil-la in the sixth moon

threw her army into Ko-gu-ryŭ. The great Sil-la general, Kim Yu-sin was

ill, and so Gen. Kim In-mun was in command with twenty-eight generals

under him. While this army was making its way northward the Chinese

under Gen. Yi Jök in the north took Tă-hăng Fortress and focussed all

the troops in his command upon the defenses of the Yalu. These defenses

were broken through, the river was crossed and the Chinese advanced 210

_li_ toward the capital without opposition. One by one the Ko-gu-ryŭ

forts surrendered and at last Gen. Kye-p‘il Ha-ryŭk arrived before the

historic city of P‘yŭng-yang. Gen. Yi Jök arrived next and finally Gen.

Kim In-mun appeared at the head of the Sil-la army.

After an uninteresting siege of a month the king sent out Gen. Chön

Nam-san and ninety other nobles with a flag of truce and offered to

surrender. But the chancellor Nam-gŭn knew what fate was in store for

him, so he made a bold dash at the besieging army. The attempt failed

and the miserable man put the sword to his own throat and expired. The

aged general, Yi Jök, took the king and his two sons, Pong-nam, and

Tong-nam, a number of the officials, many of Nam-gŭn’s relatives and a

large company of the people of P‘yŭng-yang and carried them back to

China, where he was received with evidences of the utmost favor by the

Emperor. The whole number of captives in the triumphal return of Gen. Yi

Jök is said to have been 20,000.

Ko-gu-ryŭ’s lease of life had been 705 years, from 37 B.C. to 668 A.D.,

during which time she had been governed by twenty-eighty kings.

Chapter XIII.

Sil-la’s captives.... Ko-gu-ryŭ dismembered.... extent of Sil-la.... she

deceives China.... her encroachments.... rebellion.... the word

Il-bon (Nippon) adopted.... Sil-la opposed China.... but is

humbled.... again opposes.... Sil-la a military power.... her

policy.... the Emperor nominates a rival king.... Sil-la pardoned by

China.... again makes trouble.... the Emperor establishes two

kingdoms in the north.... Sil-la’s northern capital....

cremation.... no mention of Arabs.... China’s interest in Korea

wanes.... redistribution of land.... diacritical points....

philological interest.... Pal-hă founded.... Chinese customs

introduced.... Pal-hă’s rapid growth.... omens.... Sil-la’s northern

limit.... casting of a bell.... names of provinces changed....

Sil-la’s weakness.... disorder.... examinations.... Buddhism

interdicted.... no evidence of Korean origin of Japanese

Buddhism.... Japanese history before the 10th century.... civil

wars.... Ch‘oé Ch‘i-wŭn.... tradition.... Queen Man’s profligacy.

Immediately upon the fall of Ko-gu-ryŭ the Sil-la forces retired to

their own country carrying 7000 captives with them. The king gave his

generals and the soldiers rich presents of silks and money.

China divided all Ko-gu-ryŭ into nine provinces in which there were

forty-two large towns and over a hundred lesser ones of prefectural

rank. In P‘yŭng-yang Gen. Sŭl In-gwi was stationed with a garrison of

20,000 men. The various provinces were governed partly by Chinese

governors and partly by native prefects.

The king of Sil-la was now the only king in the peninsula and the

presumption was that in view of his loyalty to the Chinese his kingdom

would extend to the Yalu River if not beyond, but it probably was not

extended at the time further than the middle of Whang-hă Province of

to-day. The records say that in 669 the three kingdoms were all

consolidated but it did not occur immediately. It is affirmed that the

Chinese took 38,000 families from Ko-gu-ryŭ and colonized Kang-whe in

China and that some were also sent to San-nam in western China. That

Sil-la was expecting a large extension of territory is not explicitly

stated but it is implied in the statement that when a Sil-la envoy went

to the Chinese court the Emperor accused the king of wanting to possess

himself of the whole peninsula, and threw the envoy into prison. At the

same time he ordered Sil-la to send bow-makers to China to make bows

that would shoot 1,000 paces. In due time these arrived but when the

bows were made it was found that they would shoot but thirty paces. They

gave as a reason for this that it was necessary to obtain the wood from

Sil-la to make good bows. This was done and still the bows would shoot

but sixty paces. The bow-makers declared that they did not know the

reason unless it was because the wood had been hurt by being brought

across the water. This was the beginning of an estrangement between the

Emperor and the king of Sil-la which resulted in a state of actual war

between the two.

Sil-la was determined to obtain possession of a larger portion of

Ko-gu-ryŭ than had as yet fallen to her lot; so she sent small bodies of

troops here and there to take possession of any districts that they

could lay their hands on. It is probable that this meant only such

districts as were under native prefects and not those under direct

Chinese rule. It is probable that Sil-la had acquired considerable

territory in the north for we are told that the Mal-gal ravaged her

northern border and she sent troops to drive them back.

If China hoped to rule any portion of Korea without trouble she must

have been speedily disillusionised for no sooner had the new form of

government been put in operation than a Sil-la gentleman, Köm Mo-jam,

raised an insurrection in one of the larger magistracies, put the

Chinese prefect to death and proclaimed An Seung king. He was a member

of a collateral branch of the royal family. Sil-la seems to have taken

it for granted that the whole territory was under her supervision for

now she sent an envoy and gave consent to the founding of this small

state in the north which she deemed would act as a barrier to the

incursions of the northern barbarians. The Chinese evidently did not

look upon it in this light and a strong force was sent against the

nascent state; and to such effect that the newly appointed king fled to

Sil-la for safety. The wheel of fortune was turning again and Chinese

sympathies were now rather with Păk-je than with Sil-la.

It was at this time, 671, that the term Il-bün (Nippon) was first used

in Korea in connection with the kingdom of Japan.

The relations between Sil-la and Păk-je were badly strained. In the

following year the Chinese threw a powerful army into Păk-je with the

evident intention of opposing Sil-la. So the latter furbished up her

arms and went into the fray. In the great battle which ensued at the

fortress of Sŭk-sŭng 5,000 of the Chinese were killed. Sil-la was rather

frightened at her own success and when she was called upon to explain

her hostile attitude toward China she averred that it was all a mistake

and she did not intend to give up her allegience to China. This smoothed

the matter over for the time being, but when, a little later, the

Emperor sent seventy boat loads of rice for the garrison at P‘yŭng-yang,

Sil-la seized the rice and drowned the crew’s of the boats, thus storing

up wrath against herself. The next year she attacked the fortress of

Ko-sŭng in Păk-je and 30,000 Chinese advanced to the support of the

Păk-je forces. A collision took place between them and the Sil-la army

in which the Chinese were very severely handled. This made the Emperor

seriously consider the question of subduing Sil-la once for all. He

ordered that the Mal-gal people be summoned to a joint invasion of the

insolent Sil-la and the result was that seven Sil-la generals were

driven back in turn and 2,000 troops made prisoners. In this predicament

there was nothing for the king to do but play the humble suppliant

again. The letter to the Emperor praying for pardon was written by the

celebrated scholar Im Gang-su. But it was not successful, for we find

that in the following year the Chinese troops in the north joined with

the Mal-gal and Kŭ-ran tribes in making reprisals on Sil-la territory.

This time however Sil-la was on the alert and drove the enemy back with

great loss. She also sent a hundred war boats up the western coast to

look after her interests in the north. At the same time she offered

amnesty and official positions to Păk-je nobles who should come over to

her side.

We can scarcely escape the conviction that Sil-la had now become a

military power of no mean dimensions. Many citizens of Ko-gu-ryŭ had

come over to her and some of the Păk-je element that was disaffected

toward the Chinese. All, in fact, who wanted to keep Korea for the

Koreans and could put aside small prejudices and jealousies, gathered

under the Sil-la banners as being the last chance of saving the

peninsula from the octopus grasp of China. Sil-la was willing to be good

friends with China—on her own terms; namely that China should let her

have her own way in the peninsula, and that it should not be overrun by

officious generals who considered themselves superior to the king of the

land and so brought him into contempt among the people.

At this time there was at the Chinese court a Sil-la envoy of high rank

named Kim In-mun. The Emperor offered him the throne of Sil-la, but

loyalty to his king made him refuse the honor. In spite of this he was

proclaimed King of Sil-la and was sent with three generals to enforce

the claim. That Sil-la was not without power at this time is shown by

the fact that she proclaimed An-seung King of Păk-je, an act that would

have been impossible had she not possessed a strong foothold in that

country.

The war began again in earnest. The Chinese general, Yi Gön-hăng, in two

fierce encounters, broke the line of Sil-la defenses and brought the

time-serving king to his knees again. One can but wonder at the patience

of the Emperor in listening to the humble petition of this King Mun-mu

who had made these promises time and again but only to break them as

before. He was, however, forgiven and confirmed again in his rule. The

unfortunate Kim In-mun whom the Emperor had proclaimed King of Sil-la

was now in a very delicate position and he wisely hastened back to China

where he was compensated for his disappointment by being made a high

official.

Sil-la’s actions were most inconsistent, for having just saved herself

from condign punishment by abject submission she nevertheless kept on

absorbing Păk-je territory and reaching after Ko-gu-ryŭ territory as

well. In view of this the Emperor ordered the Chinese troops in the

north to unite with the Mal-gal and Kŭ-ran forces and hold themselves in

readiness to move at an hour’s notice. They began operations by

attacking the Chön-sŭng Fortress but there the Sil-la forces were

overwhelmingly successful. It is said that 6,000 heads fell and that

Sil-la captured 30,000 (?) horses. This is hard to reconcile with the

statement of the records that in the following year a Sil-la envoy was

received at the Chinese court and presented the compliments of the king.

It seems sure that Sil-la had now so grown in the sinews of war that it

was not easy for China to handle her at such long range. It may be too

that the cloud of Empress Wu’s usurpation had begun to darken the

horizon of Chinese politics and that events at home absorbed all the

attention of the court, while the army on the border was working

practically on its own authority.

A new kind of attempt to solve the border question was made when in 677

the Emperor sent the son of the captive king of Ko-gu-ryŭ to found a

little kingdom on the Yalu River. This might be called the Latter

Ko-gu-ryŭ even as the Păk-je of that day was called the Latter Păk-je.

At the same time a son of the last Păk-je king was sent to found a

little kingdom at Tă-bang in the north. He lived, however, in fear of

the surrounding tribes and was glad to retire into the little Ko-gu-ryŭ

kingdom that lay lower down the stream. The records call this the “last”

end of Păk-je.

In 678 Sil-la made a northern capital at a place called Puk-wŭn-ju the

capital of Kang-wŭn Province. There a fine palace was erected. The king

enquired of his spiritual adviser whether he had better change his

residence to the new capital but not receiving sufficient encouragement

he desisted. This monarch died in 681 but before he expired he said “Do

not waste the public money in building me a costly mausoleum. Cremate my

body after the manner of the West.” This gives us an interesting clue to

Sil-la’s knowledge of the outside world. If, as some surmise, Arab

traders had commercial intercourse with the people of Sil-la it must

have been about this time or a little earlier for this was the period of

the greatest expansion of Arabian commerce. It is possible that the idea

of cremation may have been received from them although from first to

last there is not the slightest intimation that Western traders ever

visited the coasts of Sil-la. It is difficult to believe that, had there

been any considerable dealings with the Arabs, it should not have been

mentioned in the records.

The king’s directions were carried out and his son, Chong-myŭng, burned

his body on a great stone by the Eastern Sea and gave the stone the name

“Great King Stone.” That the Emperor granted investiture to this new

king shows that all the troubles had been smoothed over. But from this

time on Chinese interest in the Korean peninsula seems to have died out

altogether. The little kingdom of Latter Ko-gu-ryŭ, which the Emperor

had established on the border, no sooner got on a sound basis than it

revolted and the Emperor had to stamp it out and banish its king to a

distant Chinese province. This, according to the records, was the “last”

end of Ko-gu-ryŭ. It occurred in 682 A.D.

Sil-la now held all the land south of the Ta-dong River. North of that

the country was nominally under Chinese control but more likely was

without special government. In 685 Sil-la took in hand the

redistribution of the land and the formation of provinces and

prefectures for the purpose of consolidating her power throughout the

peninsula. She divided the territory into nine provinces, making three

of the original Păk-je and three of that portion of the original

Ko-gu-ryŭ that had fallen into her hands. The three provinces

corresponding to the original Sil-la were (1) Sŭ-bŭl-ju (the first step

in the transformation of the word Sŭ ya-bŭl to Seoul), (2) Sam-yang-ju,

now Yang-san, (3) Ch‘ŭng-ju now Chin-ju. Those comprising the original

Păk-je were (1) Ung-ch‘ŭn-ju in the north, (2) Wan-san-ju in the

south-west, (3) Mu-jin-ju in the south, now Kwang-ju. Of that portion of

Ko-gu-ryŭ which Sil-la had acquired she made the three provinces (1)

Han-san-ju, now Seoul, (2) Mok-yak-ju, now Ch‘un-ch‘ŭn, (3) Ha-să-ju,

now Kang-neung. These nine names represent rather the provincial

capitals than the provinces themselves. Besides these important centers

there were 450 prefectures. Changes followed each other in quick

succession. Former Ko-gu-ryŭ officials were given places of trust and

honor; the former mode of salarying officials, by giving them tracts of

land from whose produce they obtained their emoluments, was changed, and

each received an allowance of rice according to his grade; the

administration of the state was put on a solid basis.

One of the most far-reaching and important events of this reign was the

invention of the _yi-du_, or set of terminations used in the margin of

Chinese texts to aid the reader in Koreanizing the syntax of the Chinese

sentence. We must bear in mind that in those days reading was as rare an

accomplishment in Sil-la as it was in England in the days of Chaucer.

All writing was done by the _a-jun_, who was the exact counterpart of

the “clerk” of the Middle Ages. The difficulty of construing the Chinese

sentence and using the right suffixes was so great that Sŭl-ch‘ong, the

son of the king’s favorite monk, Wŭn-hyo, attempted a solution of the

difficulty. Making a list of the endings in common use in the vernacular

of Sil-la he found Chinese characters to correspond with the sounds of

these endings. The correspondence was of two kinds; either the _name_ of

the Chinese character was the same as the Sil-la ending or the Sil-la

_meaning_ of the character was the same as the ending. To illustrate

this let us take the case of the ending _sal-ji_, as in _ha-sal-ji_,

which has since been shortened to _ha-ji_. Now, in a Chinese text

nothing but the root idea of the word _ha_ will be given and the reader

must supply the _sal-ji_ which is the ending. If then some arbitrary

signs could be made to represent these endings and could be put in the

margin it would simplify the reading of Chinese in no small degree. It

was done in this way: There is a Chinese character which the Koreans

call _păk_, Chinese _pa_, meaning “white.” One of the Sil-la definitions

of this character _sal-wi-ta_. It was the first syllable of this word

that was used to represent the first syllable of the ending _sal-ji_.

Notice that it was not the name of the character that was used but the

Sil-la equivalent. For the last syllable of the ending _sal-ji_,

however, the Chinese character _ji_ is used without reference to its

Sil-la equivalent. We find then in the _yi-du_ as handed down from

father to son by the _a-jun’s_ of Korea a means for discovering the

connection between the Korean vernacular of to-day with that of the

Sil-la people. It was indeed a clumsy method, but the genius of

Sŭl-ch‘ong lay in his discovery of the need of such a system and of the

possibility of making one. It was a literary event of the greatest

significance. It was the first outcry against the absurd primitiveness

of the Chinese ideography, a plea for common sense. It was the first of

three great protests which Korea has made against the use of the Chinese

character. The other two will be examined as they come up. This set of

endings which Sŭl-ch‘ong invented became stereotyped and through all the

changes which the vernacular has passed the _yi-du_ remains to-day what

it was twelve hundred years ago. Its quaint sounds are to the Korean

precisely what the stereotyped clerkly terms of England are to us, as

illustrated in such legal terms as _to wit_, _escheat_ and the like.

There is an important corollary to this fact. The invention of the

_yi-du_ indicates that the study of Chinese was progressing in the

peninsula and this system was invented to supply a popular demand. It

was in the interests of general education and as such marks an era in

the literary life of the Korean people. The name of Sŭl-ch‘ong is one of

the most honored in the list of Korean literary men.

The eighth century opened with the beginning of a new and important

reign for Sil-la. Sŭng-dŭk came to the throne in 702 and was destined to

hold the reins of power for thirty-five years. From the first, his

relations with China were pleasant. He received envoys from Japan and

returned the compliment, and his representatives were everywhere well

received. The twelfth year of his reign beheld the founding of the

kingdom of Pal-hă in the north. This was an event of great significance

to Sil-la. The Song-mal family of the Mal-gal group of tribes, under the

leadership of Kŭl-gŭl Chung-sŭng, moved southward into the peninsula and

settled near the original Tă-băk Mountain, now Myo-hyang San. There they

gathered together many of the Ko-gu-ryŭ people and founded a kingdom

which they called Chin. It is said this kingdom was 5,000 _li_ in

circumference and that it contained 200,000 houses. The remnants of the

Pu-yŭ and Ok-jŭ tribes joined them and a formidable kingdom arose under

the skillful management of Kŭl-gŭl Chung-sŭng. He sent his son to China

as a hostage and received imperial recognition and the title of King of

Pal-hă. From that time the word Mal-gal disappears from Korean history

and Pal-hă takes its place.

During the next few years Sil-la made steady advance in civilization of

the Chinese type. She imported from China pictures of Confucius and paid

increased attention to that cult. The water clock was introduced, the

title Hu was given to the Queen, the custom of approaching the throne by

means of the _sang-so_ or “memorial” was introduced.

Meanwhile the kingdom of Pal-hă was rapidly spreading abroad its arms

and grasping at everything in sight. China began to grow uneasy on this

account and we find that in 734 a Sil-la general, Kim Yun-jung went to

China and joined a Chinese expedition against the Pal-hă forces. The

latter had not only absorbed much territory in the north but had dared

to throw troops across the Yellow Sea and had gained a foothold on the

Shantung promontory. This attempt to chastise her failed because the

season was so far advanced that the approach of winter interfered with

the progress of the campaign.

The story of the next century and a half is the story of Sil-la’s

decline and fall. The following is the list of omens which tradition

cites as being prophetic of that event. A white rainbow pierced the sun;

the sea turned to blood; hail fell of the size of hens’ eggs; a

monastery was shaken sixteen times by an earthquake; a cow brought forth

five calves at a time; two suns arose together; three stars fell and

fought together in the palace; a tract of land subsided fifty feet and

the hollow filled with blue black water; a tiger came into the palace; a

black fog covered the land; famines and plagues were common; a hurricane

blew over two of the palace gates; a huge boulder rose on end and stood

by itself; two pagodas at a monastery fought with each other; snow fell

in September; at Han-yang (Seoul) a boulder moved a hundred paces all by

itself; stones fought with each other; a shower of worms fell; apricot

trees bloomed twice in a year; a whirlwind started from the grave of Kim

Yu-sin and stopped at the grave of Hyŭk Kŭ-se. These omens were

scattered through a series of years but to the Korean they all point

toward the coming catastrophe.

It was in 735 that the Emperor formally invested the king of Sil-la with

the right to rule as far north as the banks of the Ta-dong River which

runs by the wall of P‘yŭng-yang. It was a right he had long exercised

but which had never before been acquiesced in by China. The custom of

cremating the royal remains, which had been begun by King Mun-mu, was

continued by his successors and in each case the ashes were thrown into

the sea.

The first mention of the casting of a bell in Korea was in the year 754

when a bell one and one third the height of a man was cast. The records

say it weighed 497,581 pounds, which illustrates the luxuriance of the

oriental imagination.

In 757 the names of the nine provinces were changed. Sŭ-bŭl became

Sang-ju, Sam-yang became Yang-ju, Ch’ŭng-ju became Kang-ju, Han-san

became Han-ju, Ha-să became Myŭng-ju, Ung-chŭn became Ung-ju, Wan-san

became Chŭn-ju, Mu-jin became Mu-ju, and Su-yak (called Mok-yak in the

other list) was changed to Sak-ju. Following hard upon this came the

change of the name of government offices.

As we saw at the first, Sil-la never had in her the making of a first

class power. Circumstances forced her into the field and helped her win,

and for a short time the enthusiasm of success made her believe that she

was a military power; but it was an illusion. She was one of those

states which would flourish under the fostering wing of some great

patron but as for standing alone and carving out a career for herself,

that was beyond her power. Only a few years had passed since she had

taken possession of well-nigh the whole of the peninsula and now we see

her torn by internal dissentions and so weak that the first man of power

who arose and shook his sword at her doors made her fall to pieces like

a house of cards. Let us rapidly bring under review the events of the

next century from 780 to 880 and see whether the facts bear out the

statement.

First a conspiracy was aimed at the king and was led by a courtier named

Kim Chi-jong. Another man, Yang Sang, learned of it and promptly seized

him and put him to death. A very meritorious act one would say; but he

did it in order to put his foot upon the same ladder, for he immediately

turned about and killed the king and queen and seated himself upon the

throne. His reign of fifteen years contains only two important events,

the repeopling of P‘yŭng-yang with citizens of Han-yang (Seoul), and the

institution of written examinations after the Chinese plan. In 799

Chun-ong came to the throne and was followed a year later by his adopted

son Ch‘ŭng-myŭng. These two reigns meant nothing to Sil-la except the

reception of a Japanese envoy bearing gifts and an attempt at the

repression of Buddhism. The building of monasteries and the making of

gold and silver Buddhas was interdicted. It is well to remember that in

all these long centuries no mention is made of a Korean envoy to Japan,

though Japanese envoys came not infrequently to Sil-la. There is no

mention in the records of any request on the part of the Japanese for

Buddhist books or teachers and there seems to be no evidence from the

Korean standpoint to believe that Japan received her Buddhism from

Korea. Geographically it would seem probable that she might have done so

but as a fact there is little to prove it. It would, geographically

speaking, be probable also that Japan would get her pronunciation of the

Chinese character by way of Korea but as a matter of fact the two

methods of the pronunciation of Chinese ideographs are at the very

antipodes. The probability is that Japan received her knowledge both of

Buddhism and of the Chinese character direct from China and not mainly

by way of Korea.

The condition of Sil-la during this period of decline may be judged from

the events which occurred between the years 836 and 839 inclusive. King

Su-jong was on the throne and had been ruling some eleven years, when,

in 835 he died and his cousin Kyun-jăng succeeded him. Before the year

was out Kim Myŭng a powerful official put him to death and put Che Yung

on the throne. The son of the murdered king, Yu-jeung, fled to Ch‘ŭng-hă

Fortress, whither many loyal soldiers flocked around him and enabled him

to take the field against the usurper. Kim Myu finding that affairs did

not go to suit him killed the puppet whom he had put on the throne and

elevated himself to that position. After Yu-jeung, the rightful heir,

had received large reinforcements from various sources, he attacked the

forces of this parvenu at Mu-ju and gained a victory. The young prince

followed up this success by a sharp attack on the self-made king who

fled for his life but was pursued and captured. Yu-jeung then ascended

the throne. This illustrates the weakness of the kingdom, in that any

adventurer, with only daring and nerve, could seize the seat of power

and hold it even so long as Kim Myŭng did. The outlying provinces

practically governed themselves. There was no power of direction, no

power to bring swift punishment upon disloyal adventurers, and the whole

attitude of the kingdom invited insubordination. In this reign there

were two other rebellions which had to be put down.

The year 896 shows a bright spot in a dark picture. The celebrated

scholar Ch‘oé Ch‘i-wŭn appeared upon the scene. He was born in Sa-ryang.

At the age of twelve he went to China to study; at eighteen he obtained

a high literary degree at the court of China. He travelled widely and at

last returned to his native land where his erudition and statesmanship

found instant recognition. He was elevated to a high position and a

splendid career lay before him; but he was far ahead of his time; one of

those men who seem to have appeared a century or two before the world

was ready for them. The low state of affairs at the court of Sil-la is

proved by the intense hatred and jealousy which he unwittingly aroused.

He soon found it impossible to remain in office; so he quietly withdrew

to a mountain retreat and spent his time in literary pursuits. His

writings are to be found in the work entitled Ko-un-jip. He is enshrined

in the memory of Koreans as the very acme of literary attainment, the

brightest flower of Sil-la civilization and without a superior in the

annals of all the kingdoms of the peninsula.

Tradition asserts that signs began to appear and portents of the fall of

Sil-la. King Chung-gang made a journey through the southern part of the

country and returned by boat. A dense fog arose which hid the land.

Sacrifice was offered to the genius of the sea, and the fog lifted and a

strange and beautiful apparition of a man appeared who accompanied the

expedition back to the capital and sang a song whose burden was that

many wise men would die and that the capital would be changed.

Chung-gang died the next year and was succeeded by his brother Chin-sung

who lived but a year and then made way for his sister who became the

ruler of the land. Her name was Man. Under her rule the court morals

fell to about as low a point as was possible. When her criminal intimacy

with a certain courtier, Eui-hong, was terminated by the death of the

latter she took three or four other lovers at once, raising them to high

offices in the state and caring as little for the real welfare of the

country as she did for her own fair fame. Things reached such a pass

that the people lost patience with her and insulting placards were hung

in the streets of the capital calling attention to the depth of infamy

to which the court had sunk.

It was in 892 that the great bandit Yang-gil arose in the north. His

right hand man was Kung-ye, and as he plays an important part in the

subsequent history of Sil-la we must stop long enough to give his

antecedents. The story of his rise is the story of the inception of the

Kingdom of Ko-ryŭ. It may be proper to close the ancient history of

Korea at this point and begin the medieval section with the events which

led up to the founding of Koryŭ.

END OF PART I.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

PART II.

MEDIEVAL KOREAN HISTORY.

From 890 to 1392 A.D.

PART II.

MEDIEVAL HISTORY.

Chapter I.

Kung-ye.... antecedents.... revolts.... Ch‘oé Ch‘i-wŭn.... retires....

Wang-gön.... origin.... Kung-ye successful.... advances Wang-gön

himself King.... Wang-gön again promoted.... Sil-la court

corrupt.... Kung-ye proclaims himself a Buddha.... condition of the

peninsula.... Wang-gön accused.... refuses the throne.... forced to

take it.... Kung-ye killed.... prophecy.... Wang-gön does

justice..... Ko-ryŭ organized..... Buddhist festival.....

Song-do.... Ko-ryŭ’s defenses.... Kyŭn-whŭn becomes Wang-gön’s

enemy.... wild tribes submit.... China upholds Kyŭn-whŭn.... his

gift to Wang-gön.... loots the capital of Sil-la.... Ko-ryŭ troops

repulsed.... war.... Wang-gön visits Sil-la.... improvements....

Kyŭn-whŭn’s last stand.... imprisoned by his sons.... comes to

Song-do.... Sil-la expires.... her last king comes to Song-do....

Wang-gön’s generosity.

Kung-ye was the son of King Hön-gang by a concubine. He was born on the

least auspicious day of the year, the fifth of the fifth moon. He had

several teeth when he was born which made his arrival the less welcome.

The King ordered the child to be destroyed; so it was thrown out of the

window. But the nurse rescued it and carried it to a place of safety

where she nursed it and provided for its bringing up. As she was

carrying the child to this place of safety she accidentally put out one

of its eyes. When he reached man’s estate he became a monk under the

name of Sŭn-jong. He was by nature ill fitted for the monastic life and

soon found himself in the camp of the bandit Ki-whŭn at Chuk-ju. Soon he

began to consider himself ill-treated by his new master and deserted

him, finding his way later to the camp of the bandit Yang-gil at Puk-wŭn

now Wŭn-ju. A considerable number of men accompanied him. Here his

talents were better appreciated and he was put in command of a goodly

force with which he soon overcame the districts of Ch‘un-ch‘ŭn, Nă-sŭng,

Ul-o and O-jin. From this time Kung-ye steadily gained in power until he

quite eclipsed his master. Marching into the western part of Sil-la he

took ten districts and went into permanent camp.

The following year another robber, Kyŭn-whŭn, made head against Sil-la

in the southern part of what is now Kyŭng-sang Province. He was a

Sang-ju man. Having seized the district of Mu-ju he proclaimed himself

King of Southern Sil-la. His name was originally Yi but when fifteen

years of age he had changed it to Kyŭn. He had been connected with the

Sil-la army and had risen step by step and made himself extremely useful

by his great activity in the field. When, however, the state of Sil-la

became so corrupt as to be a by-word among all good men, he threw off

his allegiance to her, gathered about him a band of desperate criminals,

outlaws and other disaffected persons and began the conquest of the

south and west. In a month he had a following of 5,000 men. He found he

had gone too far in proclaiming himself King and so modified his title

to that of “Master of Men and Horses.” It is said of him that once,

while still a small child, his father being busy in the fields and his

mother at work behind the house, a tiger came along and the child sucked

milk from its udder. This accounted for his wild and fierce nature.

At this time the great scholar Ch‘oé Ch‘i-wŭn, whom we have mentioned,

was living at of Pu-sŭng. Recognizing the abyss of depravity into which

the state was falling he formulated ten rules for the regulation of the

government and sent them to Queen Man. She read and praised them but

took no means to put them in force. Ch‘oé could no longer serve a Queen

who made light of the counsels of her most worthy subjects and, throwing

up his position, retired to Kwang-ju in Nam-san and became a hermit.

After that he removed to Ping-san in Kang-ju, then to Ch‘ŭng-yang

Monastery in Hyŭp-ju, then to Sang-gye Monastery at Ch‘i-ri San but

finally made his permanent home at Ka-ya San where he lived with a few

other choice spirits. It was here that he wrote his autobiography in

thirteen volumes.

In 896 Kung-ye began operating in the north on a larger scale. He took

ten districts near Ch‘ŭl-wŭn and put them in charge of his young

lieutenant Wang-gön who was destined to become the founder of a dynasty.

We must now retrace our steps in order to tell of the origin of this

celebrated man.

Wang-yŭng, a large-minded and ambitious man, lived in the town of

Song-ak. To him a son was born in the third year of King Hön-gang of

Sil-la, A.D. 878. The night the boy was born a luminous cloud stood

above the house and made it as bright as day, so the story runs. The

child had a very high forehead and a square chin, and he developed

rapidly. His birth had long since been prophesied by a monk named To-sŭn

who told Wang-yŭng, as he was building his house, that within its walls

a great man would be born. As the monk turned to go Wang-yŭng called him

back and received from him a letter which he was ordered to give to the

yet unborn child when he should be old enough to read. The contents are

unknown but when the boy reached his seventeenth year the same monk

reappeared and became his tutor, instructing him especially in the art

of war. He showed him also how to obtain aid from the heavenly powers,

how to sacrifice to the spirits of mountain and stream so as to

propitiate them. Such is the tradition that surrounds the origin of the

youth who now in the troubled days of Sil-la found a wide field for the

display of his martial skill.

Kung-ye first ravaged the country from Puk-wŭn to A-sil-la, with 600

followers. He there assumed the title of “Great General.” Then he

reduced all the country about Nang-ch’ŭn, Han-san, Kwan-nă and

Ch‘ŭl-wŭn. By this time his force had enormously increased and his fame

had spread far and wide. All the wild tribes beyond the Ta-dong River

did obeisance to him. But these successes soon began to turn his head.

He styled himself “Prince” and began to appoint prefects to various

places. He advanced Wang-gön to a high position and made him governor of

Song-do. This he did at the instigation of Wang-yŭng who sent him the

following enigmatical advice: “If you want to become King of Cho-sŭn,

Suk-sin and Pyön-han you must build a wall about Song-do and make my son

governor.” It was immediately done, and in this way Wang-gön was

provided with a place for his capital.

In 897 the profligate Queen Man of Sil-la handed the government over to

her adopted son Yo and retired. This change gave opportunities on every

side for the rebels to ply their trade. Kung-ye forthwith seized thirty

more districts north of the Han River and Kyŭn-whŭn established his

headquarters at Wan-san, now Chŭn-ju and called his kingdom New Păk-je.

Wang-gön, in the name of Kung-ye, seized almost the whole of the

territory included in the present provinces of Kyŭng-geui and

Ch‘ung-ch‘ŭng. Finally in 901 Kung-ye proclaimed himself king and

emphasized it by slashing with a sword the picture of the king of Sil-la

which hung in a monastery. Two years later Wang-gön moved southward into

what is now Chŭl-la Province and soon came in contact with the forces of

Kyŭn-whŭn. In these contests the young Wang-gön was uniformly

successful.

In 905 Kung-ye established his capital at Ch‘ŭl-wŭn in the present

Kang-wŭn province and named his kingdom Ma-jin and the year was called

_Mut_. Then he distributed the offices among his followers. By this time

all the north and east had joined the standards of Kung-ye and Wang-gön

even to within 120 miles of the Sil-la capital. The king and court of

Sil-la were in despair. There was no army with which to take the field

and all they could do was to defend the position they had as best they

could and hope that Kyung-ye and Kyŭn-whŭn might destroy each other. In

909 Kung-ye called Sil-la “The Kingdom to be Destroyed” and set Wang-gön

as military governor of all the south-west. Here he pursued an active

policy, now fitting out ships with which to subjugate the neighboring

islands and now leading the attack on Kyŭn-whŭn who always suffered in

the event. His army was a model of military precision and order.

Volunteers flocked to his standard. He was recognised as the great

leader of the day. When, at last, Na-ju fell into the hands of the young

Wang-gön, Kyŭn-whŭn decided on a desperate venture and suddenly

appearing before that town laid siege to it. After ten days of

unsuccessful assault he retired but Wang-gön followed and forced an

engagement at Mok-p‘o, now Yŭng-san-p‘o, and gave him such a whipping

that he was fain to escape alone and unattended.

Meanwhile Kung-ye’s character was developing. Cruelty and capriciousness

became more and more his dominant qualities. Wang-gön never acted more

wisely than in keeping as far as possible from the court of his master.

His rising fame would have instantly roused the jealousy of Kung-ye.

Sil-la had apparently adopted the principle “Let us eat and be merry for

to-morrow we die.” Debauchery ran rife at the court and sapped what

little strength was left. Among the courtiers was one of the better

stamp and when he found that the king preferred the counsel of his

favorite concubine to his own, he took occasion to use a sharper

argument in the form of a dagger, which at a blow brought her down from

her dizzy eminence.

In 911 Kung-ye changed the name of his kingdom to Tă-bong. It is

probable that this was because of a strong Buddhistic tendency that had

at this time quite absorbed him. He proclaimed himself a Buddha, called

himself Mi-ryŭk-pul, made both his sons Buddhists, dressed as a high

priest and went nowhere without censers. He pretended to teach the

tenets of Buddhism. He printed a book, and put a monk to death because

he did not accept it as canonical. The more Kung-ye dabbled in Buddhism

the more did all military matters devolve upon Wang-gön, who from a

distance beheld with amazement and concern the dotage of his master. At

his own request he was always sent to a post far removed from the court.

At last Kung-ye became so infatuated that he seemed little better than a

madman. He heated an iron to a white heat and thrust it into his wife’s

womb because she continually tried to dissuade him from his Buddhistic

notions. He charged her with being an adultress. He followed this up by

killing both his sons and many other of the people near his person. He

was hated as thoroughly as he was feared.

The year 918 was one of the epochal years of Korean history. The state

of the peninsula was as follows. In the south-east, the reduced kingdom

of Sil-la, prostrated by her own excesses, without an army, and yet in

her very supineness running to excess of riot, putting off the evil day

and trying to drown regrets in further debauchery. In the central

eastern portion, the little kingdom of Kung-ye who had now become a

tyrant and a madman. He had put his whole army under the hand of a

young, skillful, energetic and popular man who had gained the esteem of

all classes. In the south-west was another sporadic state under

Kyŭn-whŭn who was a fierce, unscrupulous bandit, at swords points with

the rising Wang-gön.

Suddenly Kung-ye awoke to the reality of his position. He knew he was

hated by all and that Wang-gön was loved by all, and he knew too that

the army was wholly estranged from himself and that everything depended

upon what course the young general should pursue. Fear, suspicion and

jealousy mastered him and he suddenly ordered the young general up to

the capital. Wang-gön boldly complied, knowing doubtless by how slender

a thread hung his fortunes. When he entered his master’s presence the

latter exclaimed “You conspired against me yesterday.” The young man

calmly asked how. Kung-ye pretended to know it through the power of his

sacred office as Buddha. He said “Wait, I will again consult the inner

consciousness.” Bowing his head he pretended to be communing with his

inner self. At this moment one of the clerks purposely dropped his pen,

letting it roll near to the prostrate form of Wang-gön. As the clerk

stooped to pick it up, he whispered in Wang-gön’s ear “Confess that you

have conspired.” The young man grasped the situation at once. When the

mock Buddha raised his head and repeated the accusation Wang-gön

confessed that it was true. The King was delighted at this, for he

deceived himself into believing that he actually had acquired the

faculty of reading men’s minds. This pleased him so greatly that he

readily forgave the offence and merely warned the young man not to

repeat it. After this he gave Wang-gön rich gifts and had more

confidence in him than ever.

But the officials all besieged the young general with entreaties to

crush the cruel and capricious monarch and assume the reins of

government himself. This he refused to do, for through it all, he was

faithful to his master. But they said “He has killed his wife and his

sons and we will all fall a prey to his fickle temper unless you come to

our aid. He is worse than the Emperor Chu.” Wang-gön, however, urged

that it was the worst of crimes to usurp a throne. “But” said they “is

it not much worse for us all to perish? If one does not improve the

opportunity that heaven provides it is a sin.” He was unmoved by this

casuistry and stood his ground firmly. At last even his wife joined in

urging him to lay aside his foolish scruples and she told the officials

to take him by force and carry him to the palace, whether he would or

not. They did so, and bearing him in their arms they burst through the

palace gate and called upon the wretch Kung-ye to make room for their

chosen king. The terrified creature fled naked but was caught at

Pu-yang, now P‘yŭng-gang, and beheaded.

Tradition says that this was all in fulfillment of a prophecy which was

given in the form of an enigma. A Chinese merchant bought a mirror of a

Sil-la man and in the mirror could be seen these words: “Between three

waters—God sends his son to Chin and Ma—First seize a hen and then a

duck—in the year Ki-ja two dragons will arise, one in a green forest and

one east of black metal.” The merchant presented it to Kung-ye who

prized it highly and sought everywhere for the solution of the riddle.

At last the scholar Song Han-hong solved it for him as follows. “The

Chin and Ma mean Chin-han and Ma-han. The hen is Kye-rim (Sil-la). The

duck is the Am-nok (duck-blue) River. The green forest is pine tree or

Song-do (Pine Tree Capital) and black metal is Ch‘ŭl-wŭn (Ch‘ŭl is

metal). So a king in Song-do must arise (Wang-gön) and a king in

Ch‘ŭl-wŭn must fall (Kung-ye).”

Wang-gön began by bringing to summary justice the creatures of Kung-ye

who seconded him in his cruelty; some of them were killed and some were

imprisoned. Everywhere the people gave themselves up to festivities and

rejoicings.

But the ambitious general, Whan Son-gil, took advantage of the unsettled

state of affairs to raise an insurrection. Entering the palace with a

band of desperadoes he suddenly entered the presence of Wang-gön who was

without a guard. The King rose from his seat, and looking the traitor in

the face said “I am not King by my own desire or request. You all made

me King. It was heaven’s ordinance and you cannot kill me. Approach and

try.” The traitor thought that the King had a strong guard secreted near

by and turning fled from the palace. He was caught and beheaded.

Wang-gön sent messages to all the bandit chiefs and invited them to join

the new movement, and soon from all sides they came in and swore

allegiance to the young king. Kyŭn-whŭn, however, held aloof and sought

for means to put down the new power. Wang-gön set to work to establish

his kingdom on a firm basis. He changed the official system and

established a new set of official grades. He rewarded those who had been

true to him and remitted three years’ revenues. He altered the revenue

laws, requiring the people to pay much less than heretofore, manumitted

over a thousand slaves and gave them goods out of the royal storehouses

with which to make a start in life. As P‘yŭng-yang was the ancient

capital of the country he sent one of the highest officials there as

governor. And he finished the year with a Buddhist festival, being

himself a Buddhist of a mild type. This great annual festival is

described as follows:—There was an enormous lantern, hung about with

hundreds of others, under a tent made of a net-work of silk cords. Music

was an important element. There were also representations of dragons,

birds, elephants, horses, carts and boats. Dancing was prominent and

there were in all a hundred forms of entertainment. Each official wore

the long flowing sleeves and each carried the ivory memo tablet. The

king sat upon a high platform and watched the entertainment.

The next year he transferred his court to Song-do which became the

permanent capital. There he built his palace and also the large

merchants’ houses and shops in the center of the city. This latter act

was in accordance with the ancient custom of granting a monopoly of

certain kinds of trade and using the merchants as a source of revenue

when a sudden need for money arose. He divided the city into five wards

and established seven military stations. He also established a secondary

capital at Ch‘ŭl-wŭn, the present Ch‘un-ch‘ŭn, and called it Tong-ju.

The pagodas and Buddhas in both the capitals were regilded and put in

good order. The people looked with some suspicion upon these Buddhistic

tendencies but he told them that the old customs must not be changed too

rapidly, for the kingdom had need of the help of the spirits in order to

become thoroughly established, and that when that was accomplished they

could abandon the religion as soon as they pleased. Here was his grand

mistake. He riveted upon the state a baneful influence which was

destined to drag it into the mire and eventually bring it to ruin.

In 920 Sil-la first recognised Koryŭ as a kingdom and sent an envoy with

presents to the court at Song-do.

[Illustration: _THE SOUTH GATE OF NA-JU._]

Wang-gön looked out for the interests of the people in the distant parts

of the country as well as for those near the capital. In order to break

the force of the attacks of the wild people beyond the Tu-man River he

built a wall across the northern border of Ham-gyŭng Province. It is

said to have been 900 _li_ long. But there was a still stronger enemy on

the south. Kyŭn-whŭn had by this time come to see that he had no hope of

overcoming the young kingdom of Koryŭ and so he bent his energies to the

securing of his position against the danger of interference, especially

in his plans against Sil-la. For this reason he sent a messenger to

Song-do with presents and tried to make friends with his old time enemy.

His next move was to attack Sil-la. Wang-gön took up the cudgels in

support of the king of Sil-la and by so doing secured the lasting enmity

of the bandit who from this time determined upon war without quarter

against his northern enemy. Wang-gön said to the Sil-la envoys, “Sil-la

has three treasures; the nine storey pagoda, the Buddha six times the

height of a man, and the jade belt. As long as these three remain intact

Sil-la will stand. The first two are in Sil-la. Where is the jade belt?”

The envoy answered that he did not know, whereupon Wang-gön blamed him

sharply and sent him home. When Sil-la finally fell, the jade belt

passed into the hands of Wang-gön.

In 921 the Mal-gal tribe, Heuk-su, made a treaty with Wang-gön. This

bears evidence to the rapidly growing power of the young king. The

Heuk-su Mal-gal were the most feared of all the semi-savage tribes of

the north. The following year the Kŭ-ran, usually called Kitan in

Chinese histories, followed the example of the Heuk-su people by sending

an envoy with presents. It was not till 923 that Wang-gön thought fit to

send an envoy to China to offer his compliments.

When the last king of Sil-la, but one, ascended the throne in 924

important events were following thick and fast upon each other. Sil-la

was now so weak that the records say the king had nothing left but his

genealogy. Kyŭn-whŭn sent a force to begin operations against Koryŭ, but

without success, and in the following year Wang-gön retaliated with such

good success that Kyŭn-whŭn was fain to send his son to Song-do as a

hostage. He thus bound himself to keep the peace. Having done this he

sent to China desiring to secure backing against Koryŭ. The Emperor so

far complied as to confer upon him the title of King of Păk-je, thus

following the time-honored policy of pitting one power against another.

The year 926 saw the first envoy come from the kingdom of T‘am-na on the

island of Quelpart. He arrived at the capital of Koryŭ, where he was

well received. The fame of Wang-gön was spreading far and wide among the

northern tribes. The Kŭ-ran, or Kitan tribe, having overcome the Păl-ha

tribe, made overtures to Wang-gön relative to annexation. These advances

were cordially responded to but we are not informed that the union was

actually effected.

Kyŭn-whŭn, who was at this time on the island Chŭl-yong-do, sent a

present of horses to Wang-gön but a few days later he found a book of

prophecy which said that in the year when he should send a gift of

horses to Song-do his power would come to an end. He therefore sent a

swift messenger begging Wang-gön to return the gift. The King laughed

long and loud when he saw this message and good-naturedly sent back the

horses.

The last King of Sil-la, Kyŭng-sun, ascended the throne in 927. It

happened on this wise; Kyŭn-whŭn was keeping up a double fight, one

against Wang-gön and the other, an offensive one, against Sil-la. He was

badly defeated in an engagement with Koryŭ forces but had good success

in his other venture. He burned and pillaged right up to the gates of

Sil-la’s capital, and, while a Sil-la envoy was posting to Song-do to

ask for aid, entered the city with a picked band of men. Succor in the

shape of 10,000 Koryŭ troops was on its way but came too late. At the

hour when Kyŭn-whŭn entered the city the king, his son, the queen and

many of the courtiers were feasting at Po-sŭk summer-house. When the

unwelcome news arrived, there was no time for preparation. The king and

queen fled south without attendants. The palace women were seized and

the palace occupied. The king was soon run to earth and was compelled to

commit suicide. Kyŭn-whŭn ravished the queen and delivered over the

palace women to the soldiery. The palace was looted and the entire band,

sated with excess and debauchery, and loaded down with the treasures of

the palace, started back on the homeward road. But not until Kyŭn-whŭn

had appointed a relative of the murdered king to succeed him.

When Wang-gön heard of these atrocities, he hastened forward his troops

and overtook the army of Kyŭn-whŭn in O-dong forest where a sharp

engagement ensued. For some reason, whether it be because the soldiers

of Kyŭn-whŭn were more familiar with the locality or because the Koryŭ

soldiers were exhausted by their long forced march, the assault was

unsuccessful and the Koryŭ forces withdrew. This was doubly unfortunate

for it not only did not punish the ruffians for their atrocities at the

Sil-la capital but it inspired them with confidence in their own power.

Shortly after this Kyŭn-whŭn sent a letter to Wang-gön saying “I became

Sil-la’s enemy because she sought aid from you. You have no cause for

warring against me. It is like a dog chasing a rabbit; both are tired

out to no purpose. It is like a king-fisher trying to catch a clam; when

he thrusts his bill into the shell the clam closes it and he finds

himself caught”. To this epistle Wang-gön replied “Your actions at the

Sil-la capital are so outrageous that I cannot endure the thought of any

compromise. Your present course will lead you to speedy ruin”.

Elated over his successful repulse of Wang-gön’s army, Kyŭn-whŭn took

the field the following year, with a strong force, and was prepared to

assume the offensive. He assaulted and took two Koryŭ fortresses and

even, at one time, surrounded Wang-gön in Ch’ŭng-ju and caused him no

little anxiety. In the battle which followed Kyŭn-whŭn lost three

hundred men and was pushed back, thus freeing the king from an

embarrassing position; but before the campaign was over Kyŭn-whŭn scored

another victory by capturing the district of Ok-ch’ŭn. In his next

campaign he was still successful, and Eui Fortress fell into his hands

and he killed the general in charge. Here his successes ended, for

Wang-gön awoke to the necessity of using strong measures against him.

The following year Koryŭ forces inflicted a crushing defeat upon the

southern leader, at An-dong. The fight had lasted all day and neither

side had gained any advantage, but that night a picked band of Koryŭ men

ascended Hog’s Head Mountain and made a rush down upon the unsuspecting

camp of the enemy, causing a panic and a stampede in which eight

thousand men were killed. Kyŭn-whŭn himself sought safety in flight.

This seemed conclusive and all the countryside sent in their allegiance

to the victors. A hundred and ten districts in eastern Korea came over

to Wang-gön in a body. Dagelet Island, or Ul-leung as the Koreans call

it, sent presents to Koryŭ.

The next year after these stirring events, namely 931, Wang-gön made a

visit to Sil-la taking with him an escort of only fifty soldiers. The

king of Sil-la came out to meet him and they feasted there at the

meeting-place together. The king of Sil-la lamented the smallness and

weakness of his kingdom and deplored the ravages of Kyŭn-whŭn. The

evils, he said, were beyond estimation; and he broke down and wept. The

courtiers did the same and even Wang-gön could scarce restrain his

tears. After this they had a friendly talk and the king of Koryŭ

remained as a guest for some twenty days. As he left the capital of

Sil-la the people vied with each other in doing him honor. Poor old

Sil-la had gone out of fashion and the minds of all men were turned

Koryŭ-ward.

Wang-gön had a strong predilection for P‘yŭng-yang, the ancient capital

of the country. He had already established a school there with

professorships of literature, medicine and incantation. He now in 932

conceived the project of moving his capital northward to that place. To

this end he erected barracks there for his troops and was making other

preparations for the change, when he was dissuaded from it by some evil

omens. A great wind blew down some of the houses in P‘yŭng-yang and, so

the story goes, a hen became a cock. These portents made it impossible

to carry out the plan. It was about this time that he built a

guest-house outside the walls of Song-do to be used as a reception hall

for envoys and messengers from the wild tribes of the north. Suspicion

as to the object of their coming may have made it seem undesirable to

allow them to enter the city proper, or it may have been simply to

impress them with the importance of the place.

Kyŭn-whŭn’s right hand man came and swore allegience even though, at the

time, his two sons and his daughter were hostages in the hands of his

former master. When Kyŭn-whŭn heard of it he burned the first son alive

and would have treated the second son and the daughter in like manner

had they not effected their escape to a retreat where they lay in hiding

till his death. This desertion seems to have roused the old man’s ire,

and he longed for the din of battle once more. He could still command a

considerable force; so he entered upon another campaign and as usual was

at first successful. He seized three districts in the east country and

set fire to a large number of towns. It was not until the next year that

Wang-gön sent an expedition against him. This was under the command of

Gen. Yu Gön-p’il, whom the king had banished but had pardoned and

recalled because of his lively efforts while in exile to raise a company

of soldiers. He never seemed to know when he was beaten. He routed the

forces of Kyŭn-whŭn and returned in triumph to Song-do, where he was

hailed as the savior of the people. We may judge from this that

Kyŭn-whŭn was still considered formidable. In another fight Gen. Yu

captured seven of Kyŭn-whŭn’s captains and one of his sons as well.

As things seemed quiet now, the king made a royal progress through the

north and west, helping the poor, inspecting fortresses, supplanting

unpopular prefects; but when he got back he found his old enemy still

active, and at Un-ju he had his last great fight with him. In this

struggle three thousand of the enemy were killed and thirty-two

fortresses were taken. The year 935 A.D. is another mile-stone in Korean

history. It marks the end of a dynasty which lacked but eight years of

completing a millennium. But we must relate the events of the year in

order. Kyŭn-whŭn had many concubines and more than ten sons. Of the

latter the fourth named Keum-gang, was the one he loved the best, a boy

of robust body and great intelligence. The old man passed by his other

sons and named this one as his successor. This of course made trouble at

once. The first son, Sin-geum, led a conspiracy and the old gentleman

was seized and imprisoned in Keum-san monastery, the young Keum-gang was

put to death and Sin-geum ascended the insecure throne of his father,

now doubly insecure, since it had lost the masterly genius which of late

years had been its only support. But old Kyŭn-whŭn had not played his

last card. After three months imprisonment he succeeded in getting his

guards drunk (jolly monks those) and escaped to Ka-ju from which point

he had the colossal impudence to send a letter to Wang-gön surrendering

and asking for asylum in Koryŭ against his own son. It was granted and

soon a ship of war arrived with a high official on board to escort the

grey old wolf of the south to the Koryŭ capital, where he was received

as a guest, given a comfortable house and plenty of servants and the

revenues of Yang-ju prefecture. From that point we may believe that he

waited patiently to see the overthrow of his sons.

But these are small events compared with what followed. The king of

Sil-la determined to abdicate and hand over the remnant of his kingdom

to Wang-gön. When he broached the matter to his officials no man raised

his voice. They could not assent and they knew there was no use in

demurring. The crown prince urged his father to submit the question to

the people and to abide by their decision, but the king was determined

and so sent a letter to Song-do offering to lay his scepter at the feet

of Wang-gön. The crown prince was in despair, refused to see his father,

retired to a mountain retreat and ate coarse food as a token of his

grief. He died there of chagrin and sorrow.

Wang-gön answered by sending one of the highest officials to escort the

ex-king to Song-do. The royal procession was ten miles long, as it

slowly wound its way out of the deserted city amidst the clamorous grief

of the people. Wang-gön met him in person at the gate of Song-do. He did

not want the ex-king to bow to him but the courtiers had decided that as

the country could have but one king this must be done. So the new

arrival did obeisance. Wang-gön gave him his daughter to wife and made

him prime minister, set aside the revenues of an entire district to his

use and conferred high rank upon the Sil-la courtiers.

And so ended the ancient kingdom of Sil-la which had existed for 992

years, from 57 B.C. to 935 A.D. Her line of kings included fifty-six

names, which gives an average of about eighteen years to each reign.

From that day the capital of Sil-la was called simply by the name

Kyöng-ju. We believe that history shows few instances of greater

generosity, forbearance, delicacy and tact than are shadowed forth in

the life of this same Wang-gön. Does history show a nobler act than that

of providing a comfortable home where his old enemy Kyŭn-whŭn might

spend his last days in comfort and ease? Does it show more delicacy than

was shown by Wang-gön when he took every means to cover the chagrin of

the retiring king of Sil-la by treating him as a royal guest?