EPOCH OF THE THREE KINGDOMS.—KORAI.
After the struggle in which the Corean tiger had worsted the Western
Dragon, early in the seventh century, China and Korai were for a
generation at peace. The bones of the slain were buried, and
sacrificial fires for the dead soothed the spirits of the victims. The
same imperial messenger, who in 622 was sent to supervise these offices
of religion, also visited each of the courts of the three kingdoms. So
successful was he in his mission of peaceful diplomacy, that each of
the Corean states sent envoys with tribute and congratulation to the
imperial throne. In proof of his good wishes, the emperor returned to
his vassals all his prisoners, and declared that their young men would
be received as students in the Imperial University at his capital.
Henceforth, as in many instances during later centuries, the sons of
nobles and promising youth from Korai, Shinra, and Hiaksai went to
study at Nanking, where their envoys met the Arab traders.
Korai having been divided into five provinces, or circuits, named
respectively the Home, North, South, East, and West divisions, extended
from the Sea of Japan to the Liao River, and enjoyed a brief spell of
peace, except always on the southern border; for the chronic state of
Korai and Shinra was that of mutual hostility. On the north, beyond the
Tumen River, was the kingdom of Pu-hai, with which Korai was at peace,
and Japan was in intimate relations, and China at jealous hostility.
The Chinese court soon began to look with longing eyes on the territory
of that part of Korai lying west of the Yalu River, believing it to be
a geographical necessity that it should become their scientific
frontier, while the emperor cherished the hope of soon rectifying it.
Though unable to forget the fact that one of his predecessors had
wasted millions of lives and tons of treasure in vainly attempting to
humble Kokorai, his ambition and pride spurred him on to wade through
slaughter to conquest and revenge. He waited only for a pretext.
This time the destinies of the Eastern Kingdom were profoundly
influenced by the character of the feudalism brought into it from
ancient times, and which was one of the characteristic institutions of
the Fuyu race.
The Government of Korai was simply that of a royal house, holding, by
more or less binding ties of loyalty, powerful nobles, who in turn held
their lands on feudal tenure. In certain contingencies these noble
land-holders were scarcely less powerful than the king himself.
In 641 one of these liegemen, whose ambition the king had in vain
attempted to curb and even to put to death, revenged himself by killing
the king with his own hands. He then proclaimed as sovereign the nephew
of the dead king, and made himself prime minister. Having thus the
control of all power in the state, and being a man of tremendous
physical strength and mental ability, all the people submitted quietly
to the new order of things, and were at the same time diverted, being
sent to ravage Shinra, annexing all the country down to the 37th
parallel. The Chinese emperor gave investiture to the new king, but
ordered this Corean Warwick to recall his troops from invading Shinra,
the ally of China. The minister paid his tribute loyally, but refused
to acknowledge the right of China to interfere in Corean politics. The
tribute was then sent back with insult, and war being certain to
follow, Korai prepared for the worst. War with China has been so
constant a phenomenon in Corean history that a special term, Ho-ran,
exists and is common in the national annals, since the “Chinese wars”
have been numbered by the score.
Again the sails of an invading fleet whitened the waters of the Yellow
Sea, carrying the Chinese army of chastisement that was to land at the
head of the peninsula, while two bodies of troops were despatched by
different routes landward. The Tang emperor was a stanch believer in
Whang Ti, the Asiatic equivalent of the European doctrine of the divine
right of kings to reign—a tenet as easily found by one looking for it
in the Confucian classics, as in the Hebrew scriptures. He professed to
be marching simply to vindicate the honor of majesty and to punish the
regicide rebel, but not to harm nobles or people. The invaders soon
overran Liao Tung, and city after city fell. The emperor himself
accompanied the army and burned his bridges after the crossing of every
river. In spite of the mud and the summer rains he steadily pushed his
way on, helping with his own hands in the works at the sieges of the
walled cities—the ruins of which still litter the plains of Liao Tung.
In one of these, captured only after a protracted investment, 10,000
Koraians are said to have been slain. In case of submission on summons,
or after a slight defence, the besieged were leniently and even kindly
treated. By July all the country west of the Yalu was in possession of
the Chinese, who had crossed the river and arrived at Anchiu, only
forty miles north of Ping-an city.
By tremendous personal energy and a general levy in mass, an army of
150,000 Korai men was sent against the Chinese, which took up a
position on a hill about three miles from the city. The plan of the
battle that ensued, made by the Chinese emperor himself, was skilfully
carried out by his lieutenants, and a total defeat of the entrapped
Koraian army followed, the slain numbering 20,000. The next day, with
the remnant of his army, amounting to 40,000 men, the Koraian general
surrendered. Fifty thousand horses and 10,000 coats of mail were among
the spoils. The foot soldiers were dismissed and ordered home, but the
Koraian leaders were made prisoners and marched into China.
After so crushing a loss in men and material, one might expect instant
surrender of the besieged city. So far from this, the garrison
redoubled the energy of their defence. In this we see a striking trait
of the Corean military character which has been noticed from the era of
the Tangs, and before it, down to Admiral Rodgers. Chinese, Japanese,
French, and Americans have experienced the fact and marvelled thereat.
It is that the Coreans are poor soldiers in the open field and exhibit
slight proof of personal valor. They cannot face a dashing foe nor
endure stubborn fighting. But put the same men behind walls, bring them
to bay, and the timid stag amazes the hounds. Their whole nature seems
reinforced. They are more than brave. Their courage is sublime. They
fight to the last man, and fling themselves on the bare steel when the
foe clears the parapet. The Japanese of 1592 looked on the Corean in
the field as a kitten, but in the castle as a tiger. The French, in
1866, never found a force that could face rifles, though behind walls
the same men were invincible. The American handful of tars kept at
harmless distance thousands of black heads in the open, but inside the
fort they met giants in bravery. No nobler foe ever met American steel.
Even when disarmed they fought their enemies with dust and stones until
slain to the last man. The sailors found that the sheep in the field
were lions in the fort.
The Coreans themselves knew both their forte and their foible, and so
understood how to foil the invader from either sea. Shut out from the
rival nations on the right hand and on the left by the treacherous sea,
buttressed on the north by lofty mountains, and separated from China by
a stretch of barren or broken land, the peninsula is easily secure
against an invader far from his base of supplies. The ancient policy of
the Coreans, by which they over and over again foiled their mighty foe
and finally secured their independence, was to shut themselves up in
their well-provisioned cities and castles, and not only beat off but
starve away their foes. In their state of feudalism, when every city
and strategic town of importance was well fortified, this was easily
accomplished. The ramparts gave them shelter, and their personal valor
secured the rest. Reversing the usual process of starving out a
beleaguered garrison, the besiegers, unable to fight on empty stomachs,
were at last obliged to raise the siege and go home. Long persistence
in this resolute policy finally saved Corea from the Chinese colossus,
and preserved her individuality among nations.
Faithful to their character, as above set forth, the Koraians held
their own in the city of Anchiu, and the Chinese could make no
impression upon it. In spite of catapults, scaling ladders, movable
towers, and artificial mounds raised higher than the walls, the
Koraians held out, and by sorties bravely captured or destroyed the
enemy’s works. Not daring to leave such a fortified city in their rear,
the Chinese could not advance further, while their failing provisions
and the advent of frost showed them that they must retreat.
Hungrily they turned their faces toward China.
In spite of the intense chagrin of the foiled Chinese leader, so great
was his admiration for the valor of the besieged that he sent the
Koraian commander a valuable present of rolls of silk. The Koraians
were unable to pursue the flying invaders, and few fell by their
weapons. But hunger, the fatigue of crossing impassable oceans of worse
than Virginia mud, cold winds, and snow storms destroyed thousands of
the Chinese on their weary homeward march over the mountain passes and
quagmires of Liao Tung. The net results of the campaign were great
glory to Korai; and besides the loss of ten cities, 70,000 of her sons
were captives in China, and 40,000 lay in battle graves.
According to a custom which Californians have learned in our day, the
bones of the Chinese soldiers who died or were killed in the campaign
were collected, brought into China, and, with due sacrificial rites and
lamentations by the emperor, solemnly buried in their native soil.
Irregular warfare still continued between the two countries, the
offered tribute of Korai being refused, and the emperor waiting until
his resources would justify him in sending another vast fleet and army
against defiant Korai. While thus waiting he died.
After a few years of peace, his successor found occasion for war, and,
in 660 A.D., despatched the expedition which crushed Hiaksai, the ally
of Korai, and worried, without humbling, the latter state. In 664 Korai
lost its able leader, the regicide prime minister—that rock against
which the waves of Chinese invasion had dashed again and again in vain.
His son, who would have succeeded to the office of his father, was
opposed by his brother. The latter, fleeing to China, became guide to
the hosts again sent against Korai “to save the people and to chastise
their rebellious chiefs.” This time Korai, without a leader, was
doomed. The Chinese armies having their rear well secured by a good
base of supplies, and being led by skilful commanders, marched on from
victory to victory, until, at the Yalu River, the various detachments
united, and breaking the front of the Korai army, scattered them and
marched on to Ping-an. The city surrendered without the discharge of an
arrow. The line of kings of Korai came to an end after twenty-eight
generations, ruling over 700 years.
All Korai, with its five provinces, its 176 cities, and its four or
five millions of people, was annexed to the Chinese empire. Tens of
thousands of Koraian refugees fled into Shinra, thousands into Pu-hai,
north of the Tumen, then a rising state; and many to the new country of
Japan. Desolated by slaughter and ravaged by fire and blood, war and
famine, large portions of the land lay waste for generations. Thus fell
the second of the Corean kingdoms, and the sole dominant state now
supreme in the peninsula was Shinra, an outline of whose history we
shall proceed to give.