THE SECOND INVASION.
The plan of the second invasion was to land all the Japanese forces at
Fusan, and then to divide them into three columns, which were to
advance by the south to Nan-on castle in Chulla, and by two roads,
northward and westward, to the capital. As before, Konishi and Kato
Kiyomasa were the two field commanders, while Hidéaki, a noble lad,
sixteen years old, was the nominal commander-in-chief.
The Coreans had made preparations to fight the Japanese at sea as well
as on land. Their fleet consisted of about two hundred vessels of heavy
build, for butting and ramming, as well as for accommodating a maximum
of fighting men. They were two hundred and fifty or three hundred feet
in length, with huge sterns, having enormous rudders, the tillers of
which were worked by eight men. Their high, flat prows were hideously
carved and painted to represent the face and open jaws of a dragon, or
demon, ready to devour. Stout spars or knotted logs, set upright along
the gunwale, protected the men who worked the catapults, and heavily
built roofed cabins sheltered the soldiers and gave the archers a
vantage ground. The rowers sat amidships, between the cabins and the
gunwales, or rather over on these latter, in casements made of stout
timber. The catapults were on deck, between the bows. They were
twenty-four feet long, made of tree-trunks a yard in circumference.
Immense bows, drawn to their notches by windlasses, shot iron-headed
darts and bolts six feet long and four inches thick. On some of the
ships towers were erected, in which cannon, missile-engines, and
musketeers were stationed, to shoot out fire-arrows, stones, and balls.
At close quarters the space at the bows—about one-third of the deck—was
free for the movements of the men wielding spear and sword, and for
those who plied the grappling hooks or boarding planks. The decks
crowded with men in armor, the glitter of steel and flash of oars, the
blare of the long Corean trumpets, and the gay fluttering of thousands
of silken flags and streamers made brilliant defiance.
The Japanese accepted the challenge, and, sailing out, closed with the
enemy. Wherever they could, they ran alongside and gave battle at the
bows. Though their ships were smaller, they were more manageable. In
some cases, they ran under the high sterns and climbed on board the
enemy’s ships. Once at hand to hand fight, their superior swordsmanship
quickly decided the day. Their most formidable means of offence which,
next to their cannon, won them the victory, were their rockets and
fire-arrows, which they were able to shoot into the sterns, where the
dry wood soon caught fire, driving the crews into the sea, where they
drowned. Two hours fighting sufficed, by which time one hundred and
seventy-four Corean ships had been burned or taken. News of this
brilliant victory was at once sent by a swift vessel to Japan.
Endeavors were made to strengthen the garrison at Nan-on, but the
Japanese general, Kato Yoshiakira, meeting the reinforcements on their
way, prevented their design. Kato Kiyomasa, changing his plans, also
marched to Nan-on, resolving to again, if possible, snatch an honor
from his rival As usual, the younger man was too swift for him. Konishi
now moved his entire command in the fleet up the Sem River, in Chulla
province, and landing, camped at a place called Uren, eighteen ri from
Nan-on castle. He rested here five days in the open meadow land to
allow the horses to relax their limbs after the long and close
confinement in the ships. From a priest, whom they found at this place,
they learned that the garrison of Nan-on numbered over 20,000 Chinese
and Coreans, the reinforcements in the province, and on their way,
numbered 20,000 more, while in the north was another Chinese corps of
20,000.
At the council of war held, it was resolved to advance at once to take
the castle before succor came. In spite of many lame horses, and the
imperfect state of the commissariat, the order to march was given. Men
and beasts were in high spirits, but many of the horses were ridden to
death, or rendered useless by the forced march of the cavalry. Early on
the morning of September 21st, the advance guard camped in the morning
fog at a distance of a mile from the citadel. The main body, coming up,
surrounded it on all sides, pitched their camp, threw out their
pickets, set up their standards, and proceeded promptly to fortify
their lines.
Nan-on castle was of rectangular form, enclosing a space nearly two
miles square, as each side was nine thousand feet long. Its walls,
which were twelve feet high, were built of great stones, laid together
without cement. Though no mortar had been used on wall or tower,
shell-lime had been laid over the outside, in which glistened
innumerable fragments of nacre and the enamel of shells, giving the
structure the appearance of glittering porcelain. At the angles, and at
intervals along the flanks, were towers, two or three stories high. The
four ponderous gates were of stone, fourteen feet high.
The preparations for defence were all that Chinese science could
suggest. In the dry ditch, three hundred feet wide, was an abatis of
tree-trunks, with their branches outward, behind which were iron-plated
wagons, to be filled with archers and spearmen. From the towers,
fire-missiles and shot from firearms were in readiness.
The weak points, at which no enemy was expected, and for which
preparations for defence were few, were on the east and west
No effect being produced during the first two days, either by bullets
or fire-arrows, Konishi, on the third, sent large detachments of men
into the rice-fields, then covered with a promising harvest of growing
rice, which the farmers, in the hope of peace, had sown. Reaping the
green, juicy stalks, the hundreds of soldiers gathered an enormous
quantity of sheaves and waited, with these and their stacks of bamboo
poles and ladders, until night. In the thick darkness, and in perfect
silence, they moved to a part of the wall which, being over twenty feet
high, was but slightly guarded, and began to build a platform of the
sheaves. Four Japanese, reaching the top by climbing, raised the
war-cry, and one of the towers being set on fire by their arrows, the
work was discovered. Yet the matchlock men kept the walls swept by
their bullets, while the work of piling fresh sheaves and bundles of
bamboo went on. The greenness of the rice-stalks made the mass both
firm and fire-proof. At last the mound was so high that it overtopped
the wall. The men now climbed over the ramparts by the hundreds, and
the swordsmen, leaping into the castle, began the fight at hand to
hand. Most of the Chinese fought with the courage of despair, while
others, in their panic, opened the gates to escape, by which more of
the besiegers entered. The garrison, smitten in front and rear, were
driven to the final wall by Konishi’s troops. On the other side a body
of picked men, from Kato’s army, joined in the slaughter. They had
entered the castle at the rear, by scaling a rugged mountain path known
only to the Corean prisoners, whose treachery they had purchased by the
promise of their lives. Between the two attacking forces the Coreans
and Chinese, who could not escape, were slain by thousands.
Among many curious incidents narrated by Ogawuchi, who tells the story
of this siege and attack, was this. As he entered the castle, amid the
smoke and confusion, in which he saw some of the panic-stricken
garrison destroying themselves, he cut off the heads of two enemies,
and then, suddenly recollecting that this fifteenth day of the eighth
month was the day sacred to Hachiman, the god of war and Buddha of the
Eight Banners, he flung down his bloody sword, put his red palms
together, and bowing his head, prayed devoutly toward his adored Japan.
His devotions ended, he sliced off the noses from the heads of the two
enemies he had slain, wrapped them in paper, twisted the package to his
girdle, and sprang forward to meet, with but three men, the charge of
fifty horsemen. The first sweep of the Japanese sabre severed the leg
of the nearest rider, who fell to the earth on the other side of his
horse, and Ogawuchi’s companions killing each his man, the enemy fled.
The fires of the burning towers now lighted up the whole area of the
castle, while the autumn moon rose red and clear. Ogawuchi slew, with
his own hand, Kéku-shiu, one of the Chinese commanders. His body, in
rich armor, lined with gold brocade, was stripped, and the trappings
secured as trophies to be sent home, while his head was presented for
Konishi’s inspection next morning.
According to the barbarous custom of the victors, they severed the
heads of the bodies not already decapitated in fight, until the castle
space resembled a great slaughter-yard. Collecting them into a great
heap, they began the official count. The number of these ghastly
trophies, or “glory-signs,” was three thousand seven hundred and
twenty-six. The ears and noses of the slain were then sheared off, and
with the commander’s head, were packed with salt and quick lime in
casks, and sent to Japan to form the great ear-tomb now in Kiōto, the
horrible monument of a most unrighteous war.
A map of the castle and town, with the list of the most meritorious
among the victors, was duly sent back to Taikō. Then the walls and
towers, granaries, and barracks were destroyed. This work occupied two
days.
Promptly on September 30th the army moved on to Teru-shiu, the cavalry
riding day and night, and reaching the castle only to find it deserted,
the garrison having fled toward Seoul. The Japanese remained here ten
days, levelling the fortress with fire and hammer.
As the cold weather was approaching, the Japanese commanders, after
council, resolved at once to march to the capital. Katsuyoshi and
Kiyomasa had joined them, and the advance northward was at once began.
By October 19th they were within seventeen miles of Seoul. [7]
The successes on land, brilliant though they were, were balanced by the
defeat of the Japanese navy off the southern coast. The Chinese admiral
Rishinshin, in conjunction with the Coreans, won an important victory
over Kuroda’s naval forces a few days after the fall of Nan-on. In this
instance, the Chinese ships were not only heavy enough to be formidable
as rams, but were made more manageable by numerous rowers sitting in
well-defended timber casements, apparently covered with metal. The
warriors, too, seem to have been armed with larger lances. The Chinese
commanders, having improved their tactics, so managed their vessels
that the Japanese fleet was destroyed or driven away.
This event may be said to have decided the fate of the campaign. Bereft
of their fleet, which would, by going round the west coast, have
afforded them a base of supplies, they were now obliged to advance into
a country nearly empty of forage, and with no store of provisions. As
in the opening of the war, so again, the loss of the fleet at a
critical period made retreat necessary even at the moment of victory.
Meanwhile, the Chinese general Keikai, thoroughly disliking the rigors
of a camp in a Corean winter, and feeling deeply for his soldiers
suffering from exposure in a desolate land, determined on closing the
war as soon as possible. Erecting an altar, in presence of the army, he
offered sacrifices to propitiate the spirits of Heaven and Earth, and
prayed for victory against the invaders. Then, after seeing well to
commissariat and equipment, he gave orders for a general movement of
all the allied forces, with the design of ending the war by a brief and
decisive campaign. The Japanese generals at Koran, by means of their
spies and advance parties, kept themselves well informed of the
movements of the enemy. At a skirmish at Chin-zen the Chinese advance
guard was defeated with heavy loss, but the Japanese at once began
their retreat. Shishida and Ota, who were further east, learning of the
overwhelming odds against them, fell back into Uru-san, which was
already manned by a detachment of Kato’s corps.
While Kato and Katsuyoshi were at Chin-zen, a grand tiger hunt was
proposed and carried out, in which a soldier was bitten in two places
and died. The army agreed that tiger-hunting required much nerve and
valor. Besides the tiger steaks, which they ate, much fresh meat was
furnished by the numerous crane, pheasants, and “the ten thousand
things different from those in Japan,” which they made use of to eke
out their scanty rations.
To remain in camp until the Han River was frozen over, and could be
crossed easily, or to press on at once, was the question now considered
by the Japanese. While thus debating, word came that the Chinese armies
had made junction at Seoul, and numbered one hundred thousand men. The
Japanese “felt cold in their breasts” when they heard this. Far from
their base of supplies, their fleet destroyed, and they at the
threshold of winter in a famine-stricken land, they were forced,
reluctantly, again to retreat into Kiung-sang.
This turning their backs on Seoul was, in reality, the beginning of
their march homeward. The invaders, therefore, enriched themselves with
the spoil of houses and temples as they moved toward the coast—gold and
silver brocades, rolls of silk, paintings, works of art, precious
manuscripts, books written with gold letters on azure paper, inlaid
weapons and armor, rich mantles, and whatever, in this long-settled and
wealthy province, pleased their fancy. On the boundaries of roads and
provinces they noticed large dressed stone columns of an octagonal
form, with inscriptions upon them. Their route lay from Chin-zen, which
they left in ashes, on October 25th, to Chin-nan; to Ho-won; to Ho-kin;
to Karon; reaching Kion-chiu, the old capital of Shinra, after some
fighting along the way.
The Japanese were impressed with the size and grandeur of the buildings
in this old seat of the civilization and learning of Shinra and Korai.
Here, in ancient days, was the focus of the arts, letters, religion,
and science which, from the west, the far off mysterious land of India,
and the nearer, yet august, empire of China, had been brought to Corea.
Here, too, their own ancient mikados had sent embassies, and from this
historic city had radiated the influences of civilization into Japan.
As Buddhism had been the dominant faith of Shinra and Korai, this was
the old sacred city of the peninsula, and among the historic edifices
still standing and most admired were the halls and pagodas of the
Eternal Buddha. Kion-chiu was to the Japanese very much what London is
to an American, Geneva to a Protestant, or Dordrecht to a Hollander.
Yet, in spite of all classic associations, the city was wantonly
destroyed. On the morning of November 2d, beginning at the magnificent
temples, the whole city was given to the torch. Three hundred thousand
dwellings were burned, and the flames lighted up the long night with
the glare of day.
The next morning, turning their backs on the gray waste of ashes, they
resumed their march. Kokiō, Kunoi, Sin-né were passed through.
Skirmishing and the destruction of castles, and the burning of
granaries, were the pastimes enjoyed between camps. On November 18th
the army reached a river, where the Coreans made an unsuccessful night
attack, repeating the same in the morning, while the Japanese were
crossing the stream, with the same negative results.
Thence through Yei-tan, they came to Kéku-shiu, another famous old seat
of Shinra’s ancient grandeur. The beautiful situation and rich
appearance of the city charmed the invaders, who lingered long in the
deserted streets before applying the torch. The “three hundred thousand
houses of the people” were clustered around the great Buddhist temple
in the centre. The clock-tower, eighteen stories high, was especially
admired. The massive swinging beam by which the tongueless bells, or
gongs, of the Far East are made to boom out the hours, struck against a
huge bronze lotus eight or nine feet in diameter. This sacred flower of
the Buddhist emblem of peace and calm in Nirvana had in Corean art
taken the place of the suspended bell, being most probably a cup-shaped
mass of metal set with mouth upright, or like a bell turned upside
down—such being the form often seen in the temples of Chinese Asia.
Again did antiquity, religion, or the promptings of mercy fail to
restrain the invaders. Securing what spoils they cared for, everything
else was burned up.
After camping at Kiran, they reached the sea-coast, at Uru-san,
November 18th.