Japanese mix with Koreans.... Chinese and Korean advance.... Japanese
victory.... attempts at bribery.... Admiral Yi Sun sin’s last
fight.... a young Korean captive.... Hideyoshi poisoned.... his
character.... Japanese recalled.... a Korean teacher in Japan.... a
memorial temple.... party changes.... Japanese envoy.... posthumous
honors.... factional strife.... revenue.... envoy to Japan.... a
welcome heir.... negotiations with Japan.... a dark outlook....
Chinese commissioner duped.... treaty with Japan.... reign of
terror.... the young prince murdered.
By this time the Japanese were becoming mixed with the Korean people
among whom and near whom their camps were placed. They were probably
good customers and the people doubtless felt that it was not their
business to fight them; so all up and down the coast for a distance of
three hundred miles the Japanese lived in their “holes” as the Koreans
called them, and in many cases they took wives from among the women of
the country and devoted themselves to farming, except at such times as
the Korean or Chinese forces came into their vicinity. There were three
Japanese military centers. One was at Ul-san on the eastern coast, held
by Konishi. In the west was Sun-ch‘ŭn in Chŭl-la Province where Kato had
his headquarters, while half way between these two in the town of
Sa-ch‘un on the Si-jin River a third station was held by Gen. Sok
Mang-ja. These three stations kept up regular communication with each
other, and in case of need rendered each other assistance.
We now enter the last campaign of this eventful war. We are not informed
as to the numbers of the Japanese at this time but it probably fell
short of 100,000 men. The Chinese had assembled again in force at Seoul
and in the ninth moon of 1598 a grand move was made against the
invaders. The Chinese forces were led by Generals Hyöng Kă and Man
Se-dŭk. The whole army was divided into four grand army corps. Gen. Ma
Kwi led the eastern division southward to attack Ul-san. Under him were
eleven other generals and 24,000 men.
The central division, of 13,000 men, was led by Gen. Tong Il-wŭn under
whom were eight other generals. The western division was led by Gen. Yu
Chung and six other generals with a force of 13,000 men. The admiral of
this campaign was Chil Lin who was already in the south with eight other
commanders handling 13,200 men. It is said that the entire expedition
numbered 142,700 men, but the above items sum up to less than half that
and we must conclude that there were something less than 100,000 men in
all.
On the last day of the ninth moon, already well on toward winter, the
three divisions deployed before the walls of Ul-san. Kato had not been
idle all this time; after the terrible scenes of the last siege he had
made the best of preparations. He had accumulated an abundance of food,
increased the garrison, strengthened the defenses, and he could laugh at
any force that should try to sit out the winter before him. The Chinese
soon discovered this and turned aside to work that promised better
success. Gen. Tong Il-wŭn took a powerful force and advanced on Sa-chŭn,
the central station of the Japanese. It is probable that the garrison
here was smaller than those under either Kato or Konishi, for when its
commander saw the force that was brought to bear upon him he hastily
evacuated the place and crossed over to the island of Pom-neut and
fortified it. Gen. Tong was over-confident and pressed after him. The
Japanese craftily drew him on and on until his force was immediately
under the wall, when a mine was exploded which, though it killed but a
few hundred men, threw the whole attacking body into such confusion that
the Japanese rushed out and found them an easy prey. The Chinese lay in
heaps where they had been cut down. Gen. Tong barely escaped with his
life and fled to Sam-gă, being chased as far as the Nam-gang (river)
where the Japanese contented themselves with making way with 12,000 bags
of rice belonging to the Chinese commissariat.
Gen. Yu Chung was commissioned to take a strong body of men and attack
the fortress at Sun-ch‘ŭn in Chŭl-la Province. Arriving at the
neighboring village of Wă-gyo he determined to overcome the old veteran
Kato by treachery. He sent to that general a proposition to make peace.
Kato was now an old man and the war in Korea was bringing him neither
fame nor advancement, so he was ready to give up the contest, now that
it had been demonstrated that the Japanese arms could not penetrate the
north. He gladly assented and sent Gen. Yu a present of two handsome
swords. It was agreed that they should meet at a certain point,
accompanied by only 3000 men each; but Gen. Yu secretly placed an ambush
in such wise that when the Japanese force should come out it could be
cut off from return to the fort. A whistle was to be sounded as a signal
when the Japanese came out. But Kato was too old a bird to be caught by
such a child’s trick. He had seen two or three of the Chinese lurking
about in the vicinity of the gate and so delayed his coming out. By
mistake the signal was given and the Chinese ambuscade rushed out only
to become an object of ridicule to the Japanese. But even as it was some
eighty or ninety Japanese stragglers were cut off and taken by the
Chinese. Gen. Yu then surrounded the stronghold and at the same time
sent an urgent letter to Admiral Chil Lin to come that very night and
join in an attack on the Japanese. The admiral obeyed the summons and
hurried up with his fleet. Not knowing about the tides and supposing
that the shouts that he heard were the shouts of battle, he sailed
straight up under the walls of the fortress. But he found that there was
no fight on for Gen. Yu had failed to connect, and the ebbing tide left
the astonished Admiral high and dry on the mud flats under the very
noses of the enemy. In the morning the Japanese trooped out and burned
forty-eight of the stranded ships and killed most of the men. Admiral
Chil escaped in the early morning by boat and hurried to the camp of his
tardy compatriot, Gen. Yu. In a rage he tore down with his own hands
that general’s flag and rent it in pieces, meanwhile heaping upon him
every species of abuse for having gotten him into such a plight. Gen. Yu
was exceedingly ashamed and his face, they say, was “the color of dirt.”
He beat upon his breast and acknowledged that he deserved death. So Chil
Lin went back to his decimated camp to nurse his wrath.
But Gen. Yu knew that Kato really desired to put an end to the war, and
so he sent another messenger saying, “This time I really mean peace. If
you will take all your forces and depart I will give you a clear path to
escape. Our army numbers 140,000 men and you cannot hope to face that
number.” To this proposition Kato assented and began immediately to
embark his soldiers to send them back to Japan. But as it happened they
had to pass the position of Admiral Chil Lin who naturally sallied out
and gave fight, sinking or burning a dozen or more of Kato’s boats. The
rest put back in haste to the starting place and Kato blamed Gen. Yu for
having deceived him; but the latter claimed that he had merely forgotten
to inform Admiral Chil Lin of the agreement and that he would do so. At
the same time he advised Kato to send Admiral Chil a slight testimonial
of regard, which he did in the shape of a hundred ounces of silver and
forty-five swords. So Admiral Chil acquiesced. Again the Japanese fleet
set out and succeeded in getting by Admiral Chil Lin’s place; but they
had not reckoned upon Admiral Yi Sun-sin and his faithful warriors. Kato
was again obliged to turn back and go to work to bribe that doughty
leader. He sent him guns and swords in large numbers but the old
gentleman remarked that as for weapons he was already pretty well
supplied, and sent them back. He was then approached with an offer of
1,000 ounces of silver if he would wink at Kato’s passage. This he
likewise refused.
The Japanese were all embarked and it was determined to try and slip by
the terrible Admiral in the gray of morning; but he was well aware of
the intentions of the enemy, and before break of day he massed all the
ships at his command and came down upon the Japanese fleet as it lay at
anchor before the fortress of Sun-ch’ŭn. As he approached he is said to
have uttered the following prayer to his gods: “To-day I am to die. Give
me but one more victory over these Japanese and I shall die content.” He
well knew that he had enemies at court who would eventually secure his
downfall and so he determined to make an end in one last desperate
struggle. The fight was short and fierce and when the morning breeze
swept the smoke of battle away it disclosed fifty of the Japanese boats
in flames and the water filled with struggling forms. The old veteran
had taken upwards of two thousand heads in that brief time. But Gen.
Kato had slipped away in a small boat and made his escape. The work
however was only begun. The sea was covered with boats frantically
endeavoring to escape from the dreaded arm of the merciless Admiral Yi.
The good work went on and every hour added to the score that Admiral Yi
had sworn to made before the night should fall. Notice reached him that
a fresh Japanese fleet had come and was attacking Admiral Chil Lin’s
fleet. Hurrying thither he found that it was indeed true. He now changed
his tactics and without coming to a hand to hand fight he circled round
and round the Japanese fleet driving them closer and closer together.
When all was ready he began playing upon them with a new machine of his
own manufacture called the pun-t’ong or “spraying tube.” What this was
we can not exactly discover, but in a short time it sufficed to set the
Japanese fleet on fire. A wind sprang up and fanned the flame and ere
long the Japanese fleet was one mass of fire. Hundreds of boats were
consumed with all their occupants. After seeing this well under way
Admiral Yi turned his attention to the fugitive craft that were striving
to make their escape. Standing in the prow of his boat in an exposed
position he urged on the chase. While he stood in the midst of one of
the grandest victories of the war, he was pierced by a bullet. They
caught him as he fell, and his last words were, “Do not let the rest
know that I am dead, for it will spoil the fight.” Then he expired—the
man who may well be called the NELSON of Korea.
Yi Wan, the nephew of the fallen Admiral, still urged on the battle; but
the work was almost done. The fugitive boats became fewer and fewer.
Admiral Chil Lin happened to come near the boat of the dead admiral and
noticing that the sailors in it were quarrelling over some Japanese
heads he exclaimed, “The Admiral must be dead.” He entered the boat and
found it even so. Throwing himself three times at full length on the
deck he uttered this lament: “I thought that he would save me and still
live, but here he lies dead and there is no soldier now left in Korea.”
We have now come to the end of actual hostilities in the peninsula but
we must cross to Japan and inquire into the immediate causes which led
to the final recall of all the Japanese troops. The Korean account of
these events is very remarkable and faith is to be put in it only
in-so-far as it is not directly antagonized by the Japanese account. For
events that transpired in Korea the Korean account must be taken as the
standard, but for events that transpired in Japan the Japanese account
must of course be accepted as the more trustworthy. The Korean account
is as follows.
[Illustration: _THE FARRIER._]
When the Japanese first invaded Korea, in the year 1592, it so happened
that a young Korean boy named Yang Pu-ha, a native of Tong-nă, became
attached to the Japanese army as a slave, and was eventually taken to
Tsushima. From there he made his way to the mainland of Japan and at
last reached the court of Hideyoshi. That observant man spied him out
and said, “Korean and Japanese boys resemble each other strongly. Take
this boy and teach him Japanese, and if he does not learn well cut off
his head.” With this incentive it would be strange if a less intelligent
boy than Yang Pu-ha would not learn rapidly. In the space of three
months he could converse creditably in Japanese, and Hideyoshi as reward
made him one of his body-servants. For some years the boy performed the
duties of this position, until at last the Chinaman Sim Yu-gyŭng
arrived. That official was kept practically in confinement at the court
of Hideyoshi. One day the Korean servant asked his master to be allowed
to see Sim Yu-gyŭng. Permission was granted and the young man found the
Chinese envoy in great perplexity, in fact in tears. This excited the
pity of the young man and he secured the release of the Chinaman, who
from that time was often called into the presence of Hideyoshi, with
whom he soon became on familiar terms. One day as he sat with the great
Taiko he took out a pill and swallowed it. He did the same on several
days in succession until at last the curiosity of Hideyoshi was excited
and he asked what it was. The Chinaman answered that it was an antidote
to indigestion and that by eating it the strength and vigor of the body
was preserved intact. Hideyoshi took one in his hand and eyed it
suspiciously. On one side of the pill was written the Chinese character
_so_ meaning “hot.” The Japanese deliberately took a knife and cut the
pill in two and handing half to Sim said, “You eat half and I will eat
half.” Its immediate effects were stimulating and pleasant but in the
end it proved a deadly poison for it slowly dried up the blood. Each day
Sim shared one with his captor but upon retiring to his room swallowed a
potion which entirely neutralized the effect of the poison. Before long
Hideyoshi’s hands began to grow hard and dry and one day when he
happened to cut his hand he was astonished to find that no blood
followed. He called for a moxa and applied it to his hand and yet no
blood came. Then he laughed aloud and cried, “I am a dead man. When I
cease to breathe take out my bowels and sew my body up again with
horse-hair; and then preserve my body in wine and do not let the
outsiders know that I am dead.” He wanted to have the fact concealed for
he feared it would have a dispiriting effect upon the troops in Korea.
Shortly after this he died and his orders were minutely carried out. For
two months no one outside the palace knew of his decease, but at last
the stench became so great that they confessed that the great Hideyoshi
had passed away. Such is the Korean story.
The Koreans sum up his character as follows: He was a crafty and cunning
man, and by his talk, now sharp, now suave, now sarcastic, now bullying,
he managed to sway the minds of all who came near him. He managed all
his generals like puppets. He liked to take boys and girls under his
patronage and see them grow up together and marry them to each other and
thus have them completely under his control. His two most powerful
generals were Whi Wŭn and Ka Kang. They hated him and would have been
glad of an opportunity to overthrow him, but it was out of the question.
He knew them well, and for fear they might combine against him he made
one of them governor of the east and the other of the west and ordered
them to keep watch of each other. By thus pitting them against each
other he made himself safe. He loved intrigue and diplomacy and had a
most restless temperament. He was ever on the lookout for some kind of
excitement. Gen. Ka Kang was with him when he died, and, fearing lest
rebellion should break out, he filled the body with salt and so
preserved it. He made a wooden form which would hold the body stiff in a
sitting position and placing it in a place where the light was not very
bright with the eyes wide open, the people saw him sitting there day
after day and supposed of course he was alive. It was in the eighth moon
when the odor was so strong that the truth could no longer be concealed.
Thereupon Gen. Ka Kang took the son of Hideyoshi and made him Shogun. He
then threw into prison the wives and children of Generals Kato and
Konishi and sent a messenger ordering them to collect all their troops
and return immediately to Japan. The order was obeyed willingly and all
that was left of the Japanese army of invasion set sail from Fusan, and
the great invasion was a thing of the past.
The Korean annalists say that when the invasion began the Japanese arms
were far superior to those of Korea; also that the Japanese displayed
tiger skins, pheasant feathers, gilded masks and plumes; all which
glitter and show terrified the Koreans. Thus at first the Japanese had
an easy victory, but toward the last it was not so. The Koreans had
improved their arms and had learned not to fear the grand rush of the
Japanese in their hideous masks which made them look more like demons
than men.
At the time of the second invasion a Korean named Kang Han was caught
and sent to Japan and, being unable to escape, he set to work learning
Japanese. He became a teacher of Chinese and had a large following of
students who treated him very well and supported him in comfortable
style. At the end of the war they clubbed together and bought a boat
into which they put this man with all his goods and sent him back to
Korea. On his return he wrote a book entitled Kang yang-rok or “Relation
of Adventures among Sheep,” a sarcastic pleasantry.
The Chinese arms in Korea did not move till the following spring, and
then the king sent to the Emperor asking that Generals Man Se-dok, Ta
Cham and Yi Sung-hun be allowed to remain in Korea for a time until
things should become thoroughly settled.
In the early centuries of the Christian era there was a celebrated
Chinese general named Kwan U. He was of gigantic size and had a fiery
red face, rode a powerful red horse, could walk a thousand li a day (!)
and carried a sword that weighed 800 pounds (!!). It is said that while
the Japanese were occupying Seoul the spirit of this great man appeared
repeatedly near the South and East Gates and struck terror to the hearts
of the Japanese. Now, as the Chinese generals were about to leave for
China, Admiral Chil Lin built a shrine to this same Kwan U outside the
South Gate. In the thirty-third year of King Sun-jo, namely 1600 A. D.,
the Emperor sent four million cash to build a temple to this Kwan U and
the present temple outside the South Gate was erected. The Emperor at
the same time ordered another to be built by the Koreans outside the
East Gate, and it was done. The two temples are exactly alike. When the
king asked the Emperor to name the temple he said “Call it the
Hyöng-nyung-so dok-kwan-gong” which means “The great and bright
appearance of the spirit of Kwan.” The king also built shrines to him in
Song-ju and An-dong of Kyŭng-sang Province, and at Nam-wŭn in Chŭl-la
Province.
We have already seen that factious fights had been a great cause of
weakness all through the years of the invasion, and from this time on
party strife was destined to grow more and more fierce and determined
until it brought the country to the very verge of anarchy a century
later. We must note here briefly the changes which had taken place in
the parties. We will remember that at first there were two parties, the
Tong-in and the Sŭ-in. During the war the court favorite was Yu
Sŭng-nyŭng who gave office to so many men from Kyŭng-sang Province that
the name of Nam-in or “South Men” sprang up and a party by that name
quickly became organized, but their opponents in order to preserve the
political equilibrium instantly seized upon the name Puk-in or “North
Men.” At the close of the war the leader of the opposition, namely of
the Puk-in, memorialized the king against Yu Sŭng-nyŭng the favorite,
charging him with having desired to make peace with the Japanese,
contrary to the honor of the country. The king listened to this and
banished Yu, but his supporters turned the tables by a counter-memorial
in which the charges were more than answered and Yu was restored to all
his honors. With the rise of the Nam-in and Puk-in parties the old party
lines of the Tong-in and Sŭ-in had not been broken up or lost. During
the latter years of the invasion the Nam-in party lost its powerful grip
and the Puk-in were often in power, but from the end of the invasion
until far into the following reign the Tong-in held the power, and after
that for a period of fifty years the Sŭ-in had control of affairs. It
may be asked what principles underlay these parties, what settled
policies they had that differentiated them either in domestic or foreign
matters. We answer that the various parties had but one plank in their
platforms, one settled plan of action, and that was to get the ear of
the king and seize upon the office-making power and put in every
position one’s own partisans. It was the spoils system sublimated, for
there was absolutely no admixture of any other element.
Now that the war was over the Japanese on Tsushima desired to open again
commercial relations with Korea, which had always been mutually
profitable; and so in the following year, 1601, an envoy, Kuroda, came
from that island bringing with him three hundred men and women who had
been carried away captive during the war. This envoy asked that there
might be reciprocity of trade. The king referred the matter to Nanking
and the reply seems to have been in the affirmative, for we find that
soon after this an envoy was sent over to Tsushima with credentials; but
after all the Japanese petition was not at this time granted. At the
same time the Emperor gave orders for the return to China of all the
remaining troops, but at the earnest request of the king 8000 men were
left to help guard the southern provinces. Posthumous honors were heaped
upon Admiral Yi Sun-sin who had been the very salvation of Korea, but
who had sought death in battle, knowing that if he lived his detractors
would drag him down. Yi Hang-bok and eighty-five others received high
commendation and additional honors also. The year ended with the
unsuccessful attempt of an insurrectionary party in the south which was
nipped in the bud, the ring-leader being forwarded to Seoul to be
beheaded.
An unscrupulous man named Yu Yong-gyŭng was the court favorite at this
time and upon him devolved the task of appointing and dismissing
officials; consequently he was the recipient of countless presents, and
on one occasion two men to whom he had sold the same office met at his
gate and quarrelled over the matter, to the scandal of the court. The
state of affairs at the capital was anything but satisfactory, the
reason being that the strife of parties rendered honesty and fairness
impossible. It was a constant fight to gain the king’s ear and, having
gained it, to turn out all enemies and put in personal adherents. About
this time a remeasurement of all the arable land of the country was
ordered and it was discovered that the total revenue of the country was
1,515,500 _kyul_ of rice, each _kyul_ being about 120 pecks of rice, or
over two hundred pounds. It also included 300,000 bags of other grains.
In the year 1605 the Japanese again asked that a treaty be made and that
Korea send an envoy to the Japanese court. The king complied and sent
the same monk, Yu Chung, ordering him to look carefully into the matter
of the military strength of the Island Empire and the distance by boat.
He returned the following year bringing with him, it is said, three
thousand Koreans who had been taken to Japan from time to time during
the invasion. The Korean accounts tell us nothing of the booty that the
Japanese carried away to Japan during the war, nor of the transportation
of Korean artisans and their employment in Japan in teaching the making
of pottery and other works of use and art, but we may well believe the
Japanese reports, that assert that immense amounts of treasure were
carried away and that the making of the beautiful Satsuma ware was an
outcome of the teaching of Korean artisans.
This year was also signalized by a fierce conflict between the savage
tribe of Hol-cha-on, north of the Tu-man River, and the government
troops under Gen. Song U-gil. The latter crossed the river by night and
attacked the main settlement of the tribe and utterly destroyed it, and
effectually broke up the tribe. Great quantities of goods which had been
stolen from the border settlements were also recovered.
We are now on the threshold of events which led up to a very painful
period in Korean history. It will be remembered that the king had no
heir by the queen and had therefore nominated to the throne his heir by
a concubine, the Prince Kwang-hŭ. This was a man of violent temper, bad
instincts, corrupt, selfish, careless of the pubic good. When therefore
the king, in the fortieth year of his reign, was presented with a son by
his queen, his delight was as great as was the chagrin of the heir
apparent. According to law it was impossible to set aside the man
already nominated, but now that the king finally got the boy he had been
looking for so long, his feelings got the better of his judgment and he
was bent upon having the child receive all the honors due to the future
wearer of the crown. So he sent out the order that officials should come
to the palace, and do obeisance as when an heir to the throne is born.
This was the most impolitic thing he could have done, for it aroused all
the hatred there was in the Prince Kwang-hŭ, who had for so many years
looked upon his eventual occupancy of the throne as fully assured, and
who saw in these demonstrations of affection on the part of the king a
latent desire to change the decree which had already gone forth. If the
king really desired to set aside that decree he should have sent to
Nanking and had the Emperor do it, but it was not so to be, and the
infant boy entered the world with one deadly enemy ranged against him,
whose first act would be to put him out of the way. Nor was it the boy
alone who gained the hatred of this prince. The queen herself became the
object of his special hatred, and the official who sent forth the order
that honor should be done to the infant.
The Japanese kept urging their point, that relations of mutual benefit
be resumed, and kept protesting their good intentions toward Korea. The
king had just received an envoy bringing gifts and a congratulatory
letter from the king of the Liu Kiu Islands, in which grave doubts were
cast upon the intentions of the Japanese, and an offer of assistance was
made in case of another invasion. But the king seems not to have put
faith in these doubts, and replied, to the reiterated request of the
Japanese, that an envoy would be sent to Japan, when the men who
desecrated the royal graves beyond the Han River should be sent to the
Korean Capital for punishment. The Japanese went home, but returned late
in the fall bringing two men bound, whom they delivered over as being
the ones demanded. But these were mere boys who themselves urged the
fact that they were still babes in arms when the deeds of which they
were charged had been committed. The Prime Minister urged the king to
send them back to Japan, but the favorite, Yu, persuaded the king to
have them beheaded, after which Yö U-gil, Kyong Sŭn and Chung Ho-gwan
were sent as an embassy to Japan. Meanwhile Iyeyasu in Japan had deposed
the son of Hideyoshi and usurped his place. So when the embassy arrived
in Japan they were received with the utmost coldness, and the usurper
said, “Who asked that envoys might be exchanged between Japan and Korea?
But now that you are here we will receive you.” The treatment that they
received was bad almost beyond description. As a sample of the way the
Japanese baited them it is related that the Japanese brought a dish
filled with ordure sprinkled with something the color of gold-dust, and
when the Koreans innocently put their hands in the dish, supposing that
it was some form of food, the Japanese had a good laugh at their
expense. The Koreans did not appreciate this sort of practical joke, and
forthwith returned to Korea.
Late in the autumn the aged king was taken sick and all knew that the
end was near. The conditions were not propitious. The young prince was
only two years old and Prince Kwang-hă was fierce in his resentments and
jealous of anyone who should attempt to block his path to the throne.
The people were in a very uneasy frame of mind. The king had gone either
too far or not far enough in the advocacy of the infant prince, and now
he felt that he was leaving the child to the tender mercies of a
relentless enemy. He therefore called in the Prime Minister and said,
“Everything looks dark ahead and I am dying. I suppose the Prince
Kwang-hă must become king?” But the Prime Minister dared not answer the
question as the king wanted it answered, and hung back. By so doing he
sealed his own fate. There were only two things for him to do, either to
boldly advocate the claims of the child or else boldly advocate those of
Prince Kwang-hă. By doing neither he made an enemy of the one and
spoiled the chances of the other, and thus signed his own death warrant.
As it happened, Prince Kwang-hŭ had an elder brother, but why he had not
been nominated to the throne we are not told. This prince, named Im-hŭ,
was now induced to make the attempt to wrest the reins of power from his
brother so as to save the people from what they feared at the hands of
Prince Kwang-hă, but the latter got wind of the plot and the elder
prince was summarily banished, together with all his coadjutors.
So matters went on until one day in early spring of the following year,
1608, when a servant came from the king’s private rooms saying that he
was dying. All the officials assembled at the palace. It is said that
Prince Kwang-hă had become impatient at the tenacity of life shown by
the aged king and had assisted nature in taking him off, but this, we
may surmise, is rather a general deduction from the character of the man
than a proved charge, and this prince has so much else to answer for
that we may well give him the benefit of the doubt and conclude that the
king reached his end by natural causes alone. The assembled noblemen sat
in the room adjoining the one in which the king lay dying. Presently a
eunuch brought out a note which read thus, “When I am dead let Prince
Kwang-hă be kind to the infant boy.” When the ministers had read it they
sent it to the prince. Soon another note came from the sick room, “To
the seven ministers of state; I am dying. I have but one cause of
anxiety; the boy is young and I shall not be here to see him come to
manhood. Let him be tenderly cared for.” This was the end. The king
turned to the wall and expired.
Upon hearing the welcome news the Prince Kwang-hă hastened to assume the
position he had coveted so long. His first act was to send the Prime
Minister Yu Yöng-gyŭng into banishment. Then he sent an embassy to China
to announce his accession to the throne. The Emperor replied, “Why is
not the elder son, Prince Im-hă, made king?” and sent a commission to
inquire into the matter. Prince Im was brought from Kyo-dong Island to
which place he had been banished. One of the creatures of the newly
crowned king advised that the head only of Prince Im be brought, but the
aged Yi Hang-bok opposed it so strongly that the king dare not follow
his inclination; but when Prince Im was brought he was “made up” for the
occasion. He was unkempt and filthy, his clothes were in rags and the
very sight of him decided the unsuspicious commissioner and he ordered
the wretched man to be sent back to his place of banishment at once. For
fear of further complications and to satisfy his vengeful nature, the
king sent a secret messenger to the prefect of Kyo-dong and had Prince
Im poisoned in prison. He next proceeded to kill the banished Prime
Minister, and then had his body brought to the center of the capital and
cut in half lengthwise.
The Japanese had for several years been pressing for the resumption of
the old-time relations, half diplomatic and half commercial, which had
been carried on through the southern port of Fusan. Now in the first
year of the reign of Kwang-hă, consent was gained and Yi Chi-wan for
Korea and Gensho and Yoshinao for Japan met and worked out a plan for a
treaty. The Japanese insisted that all three of the ports which had
formerly been open should again be opened, but this was peremptorily
refused and only Fusan was opened. The number of boats that could come
annually was reduced to twenty. Great diplomatic agents from the Shogun
were allowed to stay in Korea one hundred and ten days. The agents from
any daimyo of Japan could stay eighty-five days and special agents could
stay fifty-five days. The strictness with which the Koreans bound down
the Japanese as to number of ships and men and length of stay, and the
refusal to open three ports, show that Korea was doing this all more as
a favor than by demand, and history shows that at any time she felt at
liberty to withdraw support from them. The amount of rice and other food
that Korea granted was hardly more than enough to support the embassy
when it came.
It will be remembered that the king was the son of a concubine and not
of the queen. He now went to work to depose the queen and set up his
mother, though now dead, as real queen. He gave his mother the
posthumous title of Kong-söng Wang-ho and sent the deposed queen into
semi-banishment to the Myŭng-ye Palace in Chong-dong, where the king now
resides. This act was looked upon as utterly unfilial and godless by the
officials, and they almost unanimously censured his harsh treatment of
this woman.
The next three years were spent in killing off all who had been
specially favored under the last king, excepting the venerable Yi
Hang-bok, who stood so high in the esteem of the people that even the
wicked king did not dare to lay hands upon him. One method of getting
rid of objectionable people was to promise release to some criminal if
he would swear that he had heard the men conspiring against the king;
but the king’s thirst for blood could not be quenched so long as the
young prince was living. The latter was now six or seven years old. No
one dared to make a move against him openly, but the officials knew that
if they wanted to become favorites with the king it could be done only
by suggesting some plan whereby the boy could be killed without bringing
on a general insurrection. It was accomplished as follows. Pak Eung-sŭ,
a well-known resident of Yŭ-ju became a highwayman. He was captured and
taken to Seoul for trial. After he had been condemned, Yi I-ch‘ŭm the
court favorite sent to him in prison and said, “You are to die
to-morrow, but if you will declare that you and several other men have
conspired to depose the king and place the young prince on the throne
you will not only be released but rewarded as well.” When therefore the
king received the written confession of the wretch he feigned surprise
but instantly caught and executed the principals named. His satellites
also urged that he must kill the young prince and his mother, for they
must surely be privy to the plot. And her father too must be beheaded.
The king did not dare to go to these lengths all at once, but he began
by beheading the queen’s father, and banishing the boy to Kang-wha. When
the men came to take him he hid beneath his mother’s skirt but the
brutal captors pushed her over and dragged the lad away. These acts
enraged the people almost beyond endurance and memorials poured in upon
the king from people who preferred death itself to permitting such acts
to go unchallenged. The king however answered them one and all by
killing the writers or stripping them of rank and banishing them.
As the boy had been separated from his mother and banished to Kang-wha,
he could be dealt with at pleasure. His death would remain unknown for a
time, and the matter would pass by unnoticed. So in the following year,
at the instigation of Yi I-ch’ŭm, the magistrate of Kang wha put the boy
in a small room, built a roaring fire under it and suffocated him, an
extreme of barbarity which the world can hardly parallel. The news soon
spread among the officials. Scores of memorials poured in upon the king
who answered them as before by banishment and death.