DIPLOMACY AT KIŌTO AND PEKING.
The Chinese ambassadors, with whom was Chin Ikei, set sail from Fusan,
and reached Nagoya, in Hizen, on June 22d. Taikō received them in
person, and entertained them in magnificent style. His lords imitated
the august example set them, and both presents and attentions were
showered upon the guests. Among other entertainments in their honor was
a naval review, in which hundreds of ships, decorated with the heraldry
of feudalism, were ranged in line. The boats moved in procession; the
men, standing up as they worked the sculls, sang in measured chorus.
The sheaves of glittering weapons, spears, and halberds arranged at
their bows, were inlaid with gold and pearl The cabins were arranged
with looped brocades and striped canvas, with huge crests and imperial
chrysanthemums of colossal size. The ambassadors were delighted, both
with the lovely scenery and the attentions paid them, and so remained
until August.
Little, however, came of this mission. Taikō sent orders to Kato to
release the Corean princes and nobles; and Chin Ikei, who usually went
off like a clumsy blunderbuss, at half-cock, hied back to Chō-sen to
tell the news and get the credit of having secured this concession. The
Coreans were made to bear the blame of the war, and the envoys of
China, in good humor, returned to Peking in company with a Japanese
ambassador.
Yet Taikō, though willing to be at peace with China, did not intend to
spare unhappy Chō-sen. To soothe the spirit of Kato, the order was
given to capture the castle of Chin-chiu, forty miles west of Fusan,
which had not yet been taken by the Japanese, though once before
invested.
Alarmed at the movements of the invaders, the Coreans tried to
revictual and garrison the devoted fortress, and even to attack the
enemy on the way. Unable, however, to make a stand against their foes,
they were routed with frightful carnage. Kato led the besieging force,
eager to make speedy capture so as to irritate the Coreans and prevent
the peace he feared.
He invested the castle which the Coreans had not been able to
reinforce, but the vigorous resistance of the garrison, who threw
stones and timber upon the heads of his assaulting parties, drove him
to the invention of Kamé-no-kosha, or tortoise-shell wagons, which
imitated the defensive armor of that animal. Collecting together
several hundred green hides, and dry-hardening them in the fire, he
covered four heavily built and slant-roofed wagons with them. These
vehicles, proof against fire, missiles, or a crushing weight, and
filled with soldiers, were pushed forward to the foot of the walls.
While the matchlock men in the lines engaged those fighting on the
ramparts, the soldiers, under the projecting sheds of the tortoise
wagons, that jutted against the walls, began to dig under the
foundations. These being undermined, the stones were pried out, and
soon fell in sufficient number to cause a breach. Into this fresh
soldiers rushed and quickly stormed the castle. The slaughter inside
was fearful.
The news of the fall of this most important fortress fell like a clap
of thunder in Peking, and upon the Corean king, who was preparing to go
back to Seoul. The Chinese government appointed fresh commissioners of
war, and ordered the formation of a new and larger army.
The immediate advance of the invaders on the capital was expected, but
Kato, having obeyed Taikō’s orders, left a garrison in the castle and
fell back on Fusan.
The Chinese general, upbraiding Chin Ikei for his insincerity, sent him
to Konishi again. Their interview was taken up mainly with mutual
charges of bad faith. Chin Ikei, returning, tried to persuade the
Chinese commander to evacuate Corea, or, at least, retire to the
frontier. Though he refused, being still under orders to fight, the
Chinese army moved back from Seoul toward Manchuria, while Konishi, on
his own responsibility, despatched a letter to the Chinese emperor.
Large detachments of the Japanese army actually embarked at Fusan, and
returned to Japan. In the lull of hostilities, negotiations were
carried on at Peking and Kiōto, as well as between the hostile camps.
The pen took the place of the matchlock, and the ink-stone furnished
the ammunition.
A son was born to Taikō, and named Hidéyori. A great pageant, in honor
of the infant, was given at the newly built and splendid castle of
Fushimi, near Kiōto, which was graced by a large number of the
commanders and veterans of Corea, who had returned home on furlough,
while negotiations were pending. The result of the Japanese mission to
Peking was the despatch of an ambassador extraordinary, named Rishosei,
with one of lesser rank, to Japan, by way of Fusan.
On his arrival, he requested to see Konishi, who, however, evaded him,
excusing himself on the plea of expecting to hear from Taikō, after
which he promised to hold an interview. Konishi then departed for
Japan, taking Chin Ikei with him. On his return he still avoided the
Chinese envoy, for he had no definite orders, and the other generals
refused to act without direct word from their master in Kiōto.
Meanwhile Chin Ikei, consumed with jealousy, and angry at the Peking
mandarins for ignoring him and withholding official recognition and
honors, planned revenge against Rishosei; for Chin Ikei believed
himself to have done great things for Chō-sen and China, and yet he had
received neither thanks, pay, nor promotion for his toils, while
Rishosei, though a young man, with no experience, was honored with high
office solely on account of being of rank and in official favor at
Peking. Evidently with the intent of injuring Rishosei, Chin Ikei gave
out that Taikō did not wish to be made King of Chō-sen, but had sent an
envoy to China merely to have a high ambassador of China come to Japan,
that he might insult or rather return the insult of the sovereign of
China, in the person of his envoy, by making him a prisoner or putting
him to death. Konishi and Chin Ikei again crossed to Japan to arrange
for the reception of the Chinese envoys.
The reports started by Chin Ikei, coming to the ears of Rishosei, so
frightened him that he fled in disguise from Fusan, and absconded to
China. His colleague denounced him as a coward, and declaring that the
Chinese government desired only “peace with honor,” sailed with his
retinue and two Corean officers to Japan. “And Satan [Chin Ikei], came
also among them.” All landed safely at Sakai, near Ozaka, October 8,
1596.
Audience was duly given with pomp and grandeur in the gorgeous castle
at Fushimi, on October 24th. The ambassador brought the imperial
letter, the patent of rank, a golden seal, a crown, and
silk-embroidered robes of state. At a banquet, given next day, these
robes were worn by Taikō and his officers.
Formalities over, the Ming emperor’s letter was delivered to Taikō, who
at once placed it in the hands of three of the most learned priests,
experts in the Chinese language, and ordered them to translate its
contents literally.
To Konishi, then at Kiōto, came misgivings of his abilities as a
diplomatist Visiting the bonzes, he earnestly begged them to soften
into polite phrase anything in the letter that might irritate Taikō.
But the priests were inflexibly honest, and rendered the text of the
letter into the exact Japanese equivalent. In it the patent of nobility
first granted to the Ashikaga shō-gun (1403–1425) was referred to; and
the gist of this last imperial letter was: “We, the Emperor of China,
appoint you, Taikō, to be the King of Japan” (Nippon O). In other
words, the mighty Kuambaku of Japan was insulted by being treated no
better than one of the Ashikaga generals!
This was the mouse that was born from so great a mountain of diplomacy.
The rage of Taikō was so great that, with his own hands, he would have
slain Konishi, had not the bonzes plead for his life, claiming that the
responsibility of the negotiations rested upon three other prominent
persons. As usual, the “false-hearted Coreans” were made to bear the
odium of the misunderstanding.
The Chinese embassy, dismissed in disgrace, returned in January, 1596,
and made known their humiliation at Peking; while the King of Corea,
who had been living in Seoul during the negotiations, appealed at once
for speedy aid against the impending invasion. Hidéyoshi again applied
himself with renewed vigor to raising and drilling a new army, and
obtaining ships and supplies. A grand review of the forces of invasion,
consisting of one hundred and sixty-three thousand horse and foot
soldiers, was held under his inspection. Kuroda, Nagamasa, and other
generals, with their divisions, sailed away for Fusan, January 7, 1597,
and joined the army under Konishi and Kato.
The new levies from China, which had been waiting under arms, crossed
the Yalu and entered from the west at about the same time. Marching
down through Ping-an and Seoul, a division of ten thousand garrisoned
the castle of Nan-on, in Chulla. The Coreans, meanwhile, fitted out a
fleet, under the command of Genkai, expecting a second victory on the
water.
An extinguisher was put on Chin Ikei, who was suspected of being in the
pay of Konishi. Genkai, a Chinese captain, had long believed him to be
a dangerous busybody, without any real powers from the Peking
government, but only used by them as a decoy duck, while, in reality,
he was in the pay of the Japanese, and the chief hinderance to the
success of the allied arms. On the other hand, this volunteer
politician, weary and disappointed at not receiving from China the high
post and honors which his ambition coveted, was in a strait. Taikō
urged him to secure from China the claim of Japan to the southern half
of Corea. China, on the contrary, ordered him to induce the Japanese
generals to leave the country. Thus situated, Chin Ikei knew not what
to do. He sent a message, through a priest, to Kato, urging him to make
peace or else meet an army of one hundred thousand Chinamen. The
laconic reply of the Japanese was: “I am ready to fight. Let them
come.”
Bluffed in his last move, and aware of the plots of Genkai, his enemy,
Chin Ikei, at his wits’ end, resolved to escape to Konishi’s camp. The
spies of Genkai immediately reported the fact to their master, who lay
in wait for him. Suddenly confronting his victim, they demanded his
errand. “I am going to treat with Kato, the Japanese general; I shall
be back in one month,” answered Chin Ikei. He was seized and, on being
led back, was thrown into prison. A searching party was then despatched
at once to his house. There they found gold, treasure, and jewels
“mountain high,” and his wife living in luxury. Believing all these to
have been purchased by Japanese gold, and the fruits of bribery, the
Chinese confiscated the spoil and imprisoned the traitor’s family.
This ended all further negotiations until the end of the war.
Henceforth, on land and water, by the veterans of both armies, with
fresh levies, both of allies and invaders, the issue was tried by sword
and siege.