THE SIEGE OF URU-SAN CASTLE.
The Japanese now took up the spade as their immediate weapon of defence
against the infuriated Coreans and the avenging Chinese. A force of
twenty-three thousand men was at once set to work, “without regard to
wind or rain,” along the lines marked out by the Japanese engineers. To
furnish the wood for towers, gates, huts, and engines, a party of two
thousand axemen and laborers, guarded by twenty-eight mounted pickets
and three hundred matchlock men, with seven flags, went daily into the
forest.
The winter huts were hastily erected, walls thrown up, ditches dug,
towers built, and sentinels and watch stations set. The work went on
from earliest daybreak till latest twilight, the carpenters so
suffering from the cold that “their finger nails dropped off.” By the
first part of January the castle was almost completed. From the
eleventh day the garrison took rest.
The fortress was three-sided, the south face lying on the sea. The
total line of works was about three and a half miles, pierced by three
gates. The inner defences were in three parts, or maru. The third maru,
or enclosure, had stone walls, one tower and one gate; the second had
two towers, two gates; and the first or chief citadel had stone walls,
forty-eight feet high, with two towers and two gates.
The war operations, which had hitherto covered large spaces of the
country, now found the pivot at this place situated in Kiung-sang, on
the sea-coast, thirty-five miles north of Fusan. Another commander,
Asano, marched to assist the garrison and entered the castle before the
Ming army arrived. His advance guard, while reconnoitring, was defeated
by the Coreans, yet he succeeded, by an impetuous charge, in entering
the castle.
The Chinese, smarting under their losses at Chin-sen, and stung by the
gibes of the Coreans, now hastened to Uru-san, to swallow up the
Japanese. The Corean army, which had been collecting around the
Japanese camps, were soon joined by the advance guard of the Ming army.
The arrival of the Chinese forces was made known in the following
manner.
A Japanese captain commanded one of the advance pickets, which had
their quarters in the cloisters of Ankokuji (Temple of the Peaceful
Country). One night a board, inscribed with Chinese characters, was set
up before the gate of the camp. The soldiers, seeing it in the morning,
but unable to read Chinese, carried it to their captain, who handed it
to his priest-secretary. The board contained a warning that the Chinese
were near and would soon attack Uru-san. Betraying no emotion and
saying nothing, the captain soon after declared himself on the
sick-list, and secretly absconded to Fusan. The truth was, that an
overwhelming Ming army was now in front of them and their purpose to
invest the castle was thus published. The entire Japanese forces were
now gathered close under the walls, or inside the castle, and the
sentinels were doubled.
On the morning of January 30th the Ming army suddenly assaulted the
castle. A small detachment, evidently a decoy and forlorn hope,
attempting to scale the walls, was driven back by the matchlock men and
began to retreat. Seeing this, the Japanese recklessly opened the
barbican gate and began pursuit of their enemies, thinking they were
only Coreans. Lured on to a distance, they suddenly found themselves
encircled by a mighty host. By their black and yellow standards, and
their excellent tactics, the Japanese officers saw that they were Ming
soldiers. The dust raised by the horses of the oncoming enemy seemed to
the garrison as high as Atago Mountain in Japan. They now knew that
eighty thousand Chinese were before their gates. Only after hard
fighting, was the remnant of the Japanese sortie enabled to get back
within the castle, while the allies, surrounding the walls, fought as
fiercely as if they intended to take it by immediate assault. Some of
the bravest leaders of the garrison fell outside, but no sooner were
the gates locked than Katsuyoshi, without extracting the two arrows
from his wounds, or stanching the blood, posted the defenders on the
walls in position. Ogawuchi had performed the hazardous feat of
sallying out and firing most of the outside camps. He re-entered the
castle with arrows in his clothes, but received no wounds. The battle
raged until night, when the Chinese drew off.
The Japanese had suffered fearfully by the first combat beyond and on
the walls. “There was none but had been shot at by five or ten or
fifteen arrows.” One of their captains reckoned their loss at eighteen
thousand three hundred and sixty men, which left them but a garrison of
five thousand fighting men. A large number of non-combatants, including
many of the friendly people of the neighborhood, had crowded into the
fortifications, and had to be fed.
Food growing scarcer, and danger increasing, Asano sent word to Kato
for help. On a fleet horse the messenger arrived, after a ride of two
days. Kato had, in Japan, taken oath to Asano’s father to help him in
every strait. Immediately, with seventy picked companions, he put out
to sea in seven boats, and, after hard rowing, succeeded in entering
the castle.
On January 31, 1598, the war-conch sounded in the Ming camp, as the
signal of attack, and the ears of the besieged were soon deafened by
the yells of the “eighty thousand” besiegers. The Japanese were at
first terrified at the clouds of dust, through which the awful sight of
ranks of men, twenty deep, were on all sides visible. The enemy, armed
with shields shaped like a fowl’s wings, upon which they received the
missiles of the garrison, charged on the outer works, but when into and
on the slope of the ditch, flung their shields away, and plied axe,
knife, sword, and lance. Though seven attacks were repulsed, the wall
was breached, the outer works were gained by overwhelming numbers, and
the garrison was driven into the inner enclosure.
Night fell upon the work of blood, but at early morn, the enemy waked
the garrison with showers of arrows, and with ladders and hurdles of
bamboo, tried to scale the walls. In four hours, seven attacks in force
had been repulsed, yet the fighting went on. In spite of the intense
cold, the soldiers perspired so that the sweat froze on their armor.
Over their own heaps of corpses the Chinese attempted to force one of
the gates, while, from the walls of the inner citadel, and from the
higher gate above them, the Japanese smote them. The next day the
carnage ceased from the third to the ninth hour. On February 3d, the
Chinese, with their ladders, were again repulsed. At night their
sentinels “gathered hoar-frost on their helmets,” while guarding the
night long against the sortie, which they feared. Another attack from
the clouds of enemies kept up the work of killing. Some of the Japanese
warriors now noticed that their stockings and greave-bands kept
slipping down, though adjusted repeatedly. The fact was their flesh had
shrunk until their bones were nearly visible, and “their legs were as
lean as bamboo sticks.” Another warrior, taking off his helmet and
vizor, was seen to have a face so thin and wizen that he reminded his
comrades of one of those hungry demons of the nether world, which they
had seen so often depicted in temple pictures at home.
On February 5th, the Ming generals, who had looked upon the reduction
of Uru-san as a small affair to be settled by the way, and vexed at not
having been able to take it by one assault, tried negotiation. In fact,
they were suffering from lack of provisions. The Japanese sent back a
defiant answer, and some of them profited by the lull in the fighting
to make fires of broken arrows and lances, to strip the armor from the
dead and frozen carcasses of their steeds, and enjoy a dinner of hot
horse-meat. The vast number of shafts that had fallen within the walls,
were gathered into stacks, and those damaged were reserved for fuel.
Outside the citadel, they lay under the wall in heaps many feet high.
The next day, February 6th, was one of quiet, but it was intensely
cold, and many of the worn out soldiers of the garrison died. Sitting
under the sunny side of the towers for warmth, they were found in this
position frozen to death. Yet amid all the suffering, the Japanese
jested with each other, poured out mutual compliments, and kept light
hearts and defiant spirits.
A council of war had been held February 2d, at Fusan, and a messenger
sent to encourage the garrison. By some means he was able to
communicate with his beleaguered brethren. With helmets off, the
leaders listened to the words of cheer and praise, and promised to hold
out yet longer.
While the lull or truce was in force, the Chinese were, according to
Ogawuchi, plotting to entrap the Japanese leaders. This they learned
from one Okomoto, a native of Japan, who had lived long in China, and
was a division commander of eight thousand men in the Chinese army. He
it was who first brought the offers of accommodation from the Ming
side. The Chinese proposed to get the Japanese leaders to come out of
their citadel, leave their horses and weapons at a certain place, and
go to the altar to swear before Heaven to keep the peace. Then the
Chinese were to surround and make prisoners of the Japanese. Okomoto’s
soul recoiled at the perfidy. Going by night to the side of the castle
near the hills, he was admitted in the citadel, and exposing the plot,
gave warning of the danger. A profound impression was produced on the
grateful leaders, who immediately made a plan to show their gratitude
to Okomoto. They swore by all the gods to reward also his sons and
daughters who were still living in Japan. When this fact was made known
to him, he burst into tears and said he had never forgotten his wife or
children; though he saw them often in his dreams, yet “the winds
brought him no news.”
On the following morning a Chinese officer, coming to the foot of the
wall, made signs with his standard, and offered the same terms in
detail which Okomoto had exposed. The Japanese leaders excused
themselves on the plea of sickness, and the parley came to nothing.
Yet the sufferings of the Japanese were growing hourly severer. To half
rations and hunger had succeeded famine, and with famine came actual
death from starvation. Unfortunately there was no well in the castle,
so the Japanese had at first sallied out, under cover of the night, and
carried water from the mountain brooks. The Chinese, discovering this,
posted archers in front of every accessible stream, and thus cut off
all approach by night or day. To hunger was added the torture of
thirst. The soldiers who fought by day stole out at night and licked
the wounds of their slain enemies and even secretly chewed the raw
flesh sliced from the corpses of the Chinese. Within the castle,
ingenuity was taxed to the utmost to provide sustenance from the most
unpromising substances. The famished soldiers chewed paper, trapped
mice and ate them, killed horses and devoured every part of them.
Braving the arrows of the Chinese pickets, they wandered at night
wherever their dead enemies lay, and searched their clothes for stray
grains of parched rice. On one occasion the Chinese, lying in wait,
succeeded in capturing one hundred of the garrison, that were prowling
like ghouls around the corpses of the slain. After this the commanders
forbade any soldier, on pain of death, to leave the castle. Yet famine
held revel within, and scores of starved and frozen multiplied into
hundreds, until room for the corpses was needed.
Tidings of the straits of the dwindling garrison at Uru-san having
reached the other Japanese commanders, Nabéshima and Kuroda, they
marched to the relief of their compatriots. One of the Chinese
generals, Rijobai, leaving camp, set out to attack them.
The foiled Chinese commander-in-chief, angry at the refusal of the
Japanese to come to his camp, ordered a fresh attack on the castle.
This time fresh detachments took the places of others when wearied. The
day seemed shut out by the dust of horses, the smoke of guns, the
clouds of arrows, and the masses of flags. Again the scaling ladders
were brought, but made useless by the vigilant defenders in armor iced
with frozen sweat, and chafing to the bone. Their constant labor made
“three hours seem like three years.” The attack was kept up unceasingly
until February 12th, when the exhausted garrison noticed the Chinese
retreating. The van of the reinforcements from Fusan had attacked the
allies in the rear, and a bloody combat was raging. At about the same
time the fleet, laden with provisions, was on its way and near the
starving garrison.
Next morning the keen eyes of their commander noticed flocks of wild
birds descending on the Chinese camp. The careful scrutiny of the
actions of wild fowl formed a part of the military education of all
Japanese, and they inferred at once that the camp was empty and the
birds, attracted by the refuse food, were feeding without fear. Orders
were immediately given to a detachment to leave the castle and march in
pursuit. Passing through the deserted Ming camp, they came up with the
forces of Kuroda and Nabéshima, who had gained a great victory over the
allies. In this battle of the river plain of Gisen, February 9, 1598,
the Japanese had eighteen thousand men engaged. Their victory was
complete, thirteen thousand two hundred and thirty-eight heads of
Coreans and Chinese being collected after the retreat of the allies.
The noses and ears were, as usual, cut off and packed for shipment to
Kiōto.
The sufferings of the valiant defenders were now over. Help had come at
the eleventh hour. For fourteen days they had tasted neither rice nor
water, except that melted from snow or ice. The abundant food from the
relief ships was cautiously dealt out to the famished, lest sudden
plenty should cause sudden death. The fleet men not only congratulated
the garrison on their brave defence, but decorated the battered walls
with innumerable flags and streamers, while they revictualed the
magazines. On the ninth, the garrison went on the ships to go to
Sezukai, another part of the coast, to recruit their shattered
energies. With a feeling as if raised from the dead, the warriors took
off their armor. The reaction of the fearful strain coming at once upon
them, they found themselves lame and unable to stand or sit. Even in
their dreams, they grappled with the Ming, and, laying their hand on
their sword, fought again their battles in the land of dreams. For
three years afterward they did not cease these night visions of war.
According to orders given, the number of the dead lying on the frozen
ground, within two or three furlongs of the castle, was counted, and
found to be fifteen thousand seven hundred and fifty-four. Of the
Japanese, who had starved or frozen to death, eight hundred and
ninety-seven were reported.
In the camp of the allies, crimination and recrimination were going on,
the Coreans angry at being foiled before Uru-san, and the Chinese
mortified that one fortress, with its garrison, could not have been
taken. They made their plans to go back and try the siege anew, when
the explosion of their powder magazine, which killed many of their men,
changed their plans. For his failure the Chinese commander-in-chief was
cashiered in disgrace.
On May 10th the soldiers of the garrison, now relieved, left for their
homes in Japan.
Thus ended the siege of Uru-san, after lasting an entire year.
After this nothing of much importance happened during the war. The
invaders had suffered severely from the cold and the climate, and from
hunger in the desolated land. Numerous skirmishes were fought, and a
continual guerilla war kept up, but, with the exception of another
naval battle between the Japanese and Chinese, in which artillery was
freely used, there was nothing to influence the fortunes of either
side. In this state of inaction, Hidéyoshi fell sick and died,
September 9, 1598, at the age of sixty-three. Almost his last words
were, “Recall all my troops from Chō-sen.” The governors appointed by
him to carry out his policy at once issued orders for the return of the
army. The orders to embark for home were everywhere gladly heard in the
Japanese camps by the soldiers whose sufferings were now to end. Before
leaving, however, many of the Japanese improved every opportunity to
have a farewell brush with their enemies.
It is said, by a trustworthy writer, that 214,752 human bodies were
decapitated to furnish the ghastly material for the “ear-tomb” mound in
Kiōto. Ogawuchi reckons the number of Corean heads gathered for
mutilation at 185,738, and of Chinese at 29,014; all of which were
despoiled of ears or noses. It is probable that 50,000 Japanese,
victims of wounds or disease, left their bones in Corea.
Thus ended one of the most needless, unprovoked, cruel, and desolating
wars that ever cursed Corea, and from which it has taken her over two
centuries to recover.