Title: The History of Korea (vol. 1 of 2)
Author: Hulbert, Homer B. (Homer Bezaleel)
Language: English
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                          Transcriber’s Note:

This version of the text cannot represent certain typographical effects.
Italics are delimited with the ‘_’ character as _italic_.

Errors, when reasonably attributable to the printer, have been
corrected. Please see the transcriber’s note at the end of this text for
details. Corrections made to the text are summarized there.

Illustrations have been moved to avoid falling within a paragraph.

                                  THE
                            HISTORY OF KOREA

                    HOMER B. HULBERT, A.M., F.R.G.S.
                       Editor of THE KOREA REVIEW



                              TWO VOLUMES



                              ILLUSTRATED



                              SEOUL, 1905
                     THE METHODIST PUBLISHING HOUSE

------------------------------------------------------------------------



CONTENTS.

       PREFACE                                                  I
       INTRODUCTORY NOTE                                        V
       ANCIENT KOREA 2257 B.C.-890 A.D.         Vol. I          1
       MEDIEVAL KOREA 890-1392                  Vol. I        127
       MODERN KOREA 1392-1904                   Vol. I        295



                                Preface.


The sources from which the following History of Korea is drawn are
almost purely Korean. For ancient and medieval history the Tong-sa
Kang-yo has been mainly followed. This is an abstract in nine volumes of
the four great ancient histories of the country. The facts here found
were verified by reference to the Tong-guk Tong-gam, the most complete
of all existing ancient histories of the country. Many other works on
history, geography and biography have been consulted, but in the main
the narrative in the works mentioned above has been followed.

A number of Chinese works have been consulted, especially the Mun-hon
Tong-go wherein we find the best description of the wild tribes that
occupied the peninsula about the time of Christ.

It has been far more difficult to obtain material for compiling the
history of the past five centuries. By unwritten law the history of no
dynasty in Korea has ever been published until after its fall. Official
records are carefully kept in the government archives and when the
dynasty closes these are published by the new dynasty. There is an
official record which is published under the name of the Kuk-cho Po-gam
but it can in no sense be called a history, for it can contain nothing
that is not complimentary to the ruling house and, moreover, it has not
been brought down even to the opening of the 19th century. It has been
necessary therefore to find private manuscript histories of the dynasty
and by uniting and comparing them secure as accurate a delineation as
possible of the salient features of modern Korean history. In this I
have enjoyed the services of a Korean scholar who has made the history
of this dynasty a special study for the past twenty-five years and who
has had access to a large number of private manuscripts. I withhold his
name by special request. By special courtesy I have also been granted
access to one of the largest and most complete private libraries in the
capital. Japanese records have also been consulted in regard to special
points bearing on the relations between Korea and Japan.

A word must be said in regard to the authenticity and credibility of
native Korean historical sources. The Chinese written character was
introduced into Korea as a permanent factor about the time of Christ,
and with it came the possibility of permanent historical records. That
such records were kept is quite apparent from the fact that the dates of
all solar eclipses have been carefully preserved from the year 57 B.C.
In the next place it is worth noticing that the history of Korea is
particularly free from those great cataclysms such as result so often in
the destruction of libraries and records. Since the whole peninsula was
consolidated under one flag in the days of ancient Sil-la no dynastic
change has been effected by force. We have no mention of any catastrophe
to the Sil-la records: and Sil-la merged into Koryŭ and Koryŭ into
Cho-sŭn without the show of arms, and in each case the historical
records were kept intact. To be sure, there have been three great
invasions of Korea, by the Mongols, Manchus and Japanese respectively,
but though much vandalism was committed by each of these, we have reason
to believe that the records were not tampered with. The argument is
three-fold. In the first place histories formed the great bulk of the
literature in vogue among the people and it was so widely disseminated
that it could not have been seriously injured without annihilating the
entire population.

In the second place these invasions were made by peoples who, though not
literary themselves, had a somewhat high regard for literature, and
there could have been no such reason for destroying histories as might
exist where one dynasty was forcibly ejected by another hostile one. In
the third place the monasteries were the great literary centers during
the centuries preceding the rise of the present dynasty, and we may well
believe that the Mongols would not seriously molest these sacred
repositories. On the whole then we may conclude that from the year 57
B.C. Korean histories are fairly accurate. Whatever comes before that is
largely traditional and therefore more or less apocryphal.

One of the greatest difficulties encountered is the selection of a
system of romanisation which shall steer a middle course between the
Scilla of extreme accuracy and the Charybdis of extreme simplicity. I
have adopted the rule of spelling all proper names in a purely phonetic
way without reference to the way they are spelled in native Korean. In
this way alone can the reader arrive at anything like the actual
pronunciation as found in Korea. The simple vowels have their
continental sounds: _a_ as in “father,” _i_ as in “ravine,” _o_ as in
“rope” and _u_ as in “rule.” The vowel _e_ is used only with the grave
accent and is pronounced as in the French “_recit_.” When a vowel has
the short mark over it, it is to be given the flat sound: _ă_ as in
“fat,” _ŏ_ as in “hot,” _ŭ_ as in “nut.” The umlaut _ö_ is used but it
has a slightly more open sound than in German. It is the “unrounded o”
where the vowel is pronounced without protruding the lips. The pure
Korean sound represented by _oé_ is a pure diphthong and is pronounced
by letting the lips assume the position of pronouncing _o_ while the
tongue is thrown forward as if to pronounce the short _e_ in “met.” Eu
is nearly the French eu but with a slightly more open sound. As for
consonants they have their usual sounds, but when the surds _k_, _p_ or
_t_ in the body of a word are immediately preceded by an open syllable
or a syllable ending with a sonant, they change to their corresponding
sonants: _k_ to _g_, _p_ to _b_ and _t_ to _d_. For instance, in the
word _Pak-tu_, the _t_ of the _tu_ would be _d_ if the first syllable
were open. No word begins with the sonants _g_, _b_ or _d_.

In Korean we have the long and short quantity in vowels. _Han_ may be
pronounced either simply _han_ or longer _haan_, but the distinction is
not of enough importance to compensate for encumbering the system with
additional diacritical marks.

In writing proper names I have adopted the plan most in use by
sinologues. The patronymic stands alone and is followed by the two given
names with a hyphen between them. All geographical names have hyphens
between the syllables. To run the name all together would often lead to
serious difficulty, for who would know, for instance, whether _Songak_
were pronounced _Son-gak_ or _Song-ak_?

In the spelling of some of the names of places there will be found to be
a slight inconsistency because part of the work was printed before the
Korea Branch of the Royal Asiatic Society had determined upon a system
of romanization, but in the main the system here used corresponds to
that of the Society.

This is the first attempt, so far as I am aware, to give to the English
reading public a history of Korea based on native records, and I trust
that in spite of all errors and infelicities it may add something to the
general fund of information about the people of Korea.

                                                              H.B.H.

    SEOUL, KOREA, 1905.



                           Introductory Note.


Geography is the canvas on which history is painted. Topography means as
much to the historian as to the general. A word, therefore, about the
position of Korea will not be out of place.

The peninsula of Korea, containing approximately 80,000 square miles,
lies between 33° and 43° north latitude, and between 124° 30′ and 130°
30′ east longitude. It is about nine hundred miles long from north to
south and has an average width from east to west of about 240 miles. It
is separated from Manchuria on the northwest by the Yalu or Am-nok
River, and from Asiatic Russia on the northeast by the Tu-man River.
Between the sources of these streams rise the lofty peaks of White Head
Mountain, called by the Chinese Ever-white or Long-white Mountain. From
this mountain whorl emanates a range which passes irregularly southward
through the peninsula until it loses itself in the waters of the Yellow
Sea, thus giving birth to the almost countless islands of the Korean
archipelago. The main watershed of the country is near the eastern coast
and consequently the streams that flow into the Japan Sea are neither
long nor navigable, while on the western side and in the extreme south
we find considerable streams that are navigable for small craft a
hundred miles or more. While the eastern coast is almost entirely
lacking in good harbors the western coast is one labyrinth of estuaries,
bays and gulfs which furnish innumerable harbors. It is on the western
watershed of the country that we will find most of the arable land and
by far the greater portion of the population.

We see then that, geographically, Korea’s face is toward China and her
back toward Japan. It may be that this in part has moulded her history.
During all the centuries her face has been politically, socially and
religiously toward China rather than toward Japan.

The climate of Korea is the same as that of eastern North America
between the same latitudes, the only difference being that in Korea the
month of July brings the “rainy season” which renders nearly all roads
in the interior impassable. This rainy season, by cutting in two the
warmer portion of the year, has had a powerful influence on the history
of the country; for military operations were necessarily suspended
during this period and combatants usually withdrew to their own
respective territories upon its approach.

The interior of Korea is fairly well wooded, although there are no very
extensive tracts of timber land. A species of pine largely predominates
but there is also a large variety of other trees both deciduous and
evergreen.

Rice is the staple article of food throughout most of the country. Among
the mountain districts in the north where rice cannot be grown potatoes
and millet are largely used. An enormous amount of pulse is raised,
almost solely for fodder, and other grains are also grown. The bamboo
grows sparsely and only in the south. Ginseng is an important product of
the country.

The fauna of Korea includes several species of deer, the tiger, leopard,
wild pig, bear, wolf, fox and a large number of fur bearing animals
among which the sable and sea-otter are the most valuable. The entire
peninsula is thoroughly stocked with cattle, horses, swine and donkeys,
but sheep are practically unknown. The fisheries off the coast of Korea
are especially valuable and thousands of the people earn a livelihood on
the banks. Pearls of good quality are found. Game birds of almost
infinite variety exist and all the commoner domestic birds abound.

As to the geology of the country we find that there is a back bone of
granite formation with frequent outcroppings of various other forms of
mineral life. Gold is extremely abundant and there are few prefectures
in the country where traces of it are not found. Silver is also common.
Large deposits of coal both anthracite and bituminous have been
discovered, but until recently little has been done to open up the
minerals of the country in a scientific manner.

Ethnologically we may say that the people are of a mixed Mongolian and
Malay origin, although this question has as yet hardly been touched
upon. The language of Korea is plainly agglutinative and may, without
hesitation, be placed in the great Turanian or Scythian group.

The population of Korea is variously estimated from ten to twenty
millions. We shall not be far from the truth if we take a middle course
and call the population thirteen millions. Somewhat more than half of
the people live south of a line drawn east and west through the capital
of the country.



                                 PART I
                             ANCIENT KOREA



                               Chapter I.

Tan-gun.... his antecedents.... his origin.... he becomes king.... he
    teaches the people.... his capital.... he retires.... extent of his
    kingdom.... traditions.... monuments.


In the primeval ages, so the story runs, there was a divine being named
Whan-in, or Che-Sŏ: “Creator.” His son, Whan-ung, being affected by
celestial _ennui_, obtained permission to descend to earth and found a
mundane kingdom. Armed with this warrant, Whan-ung with three thousand
spirit companions descended upon Ta-băk Mountain, now known as Myo-hyang
San, in the province of P’yŭng-an, Korea. It was in the twenty-fifth
year of the Emperor Yao of China, which corresponds to 2332 B.C.

He gathered his spirit friends beneath the shade of an ancient _pak-tal_
tree and there proclaimed himself King of the Universe. He governed
through his three vice-regents, the “Wind General,” the “Rain Governor,”
and the “Cloud Teacher,” but as he had not yet taken human shape, he
found it difficult to assume control of a purely human kingdom.
Searching for means of incarnation he found it in the following manner.

At early dawn, a tiger and a bear met upon a mountain side and held a
colloquy.

“Would that we might become men” they said. Whan-ung overheard them and
a voice came from out the void saying, “Here are twenty garlics and
apiece of artemisia for each of you. Eat them and retire from the light
of the sun for thrice seven days and you will become men.”

They ate and retired into the recesses of a cave, but the tiger, by
reason of the fierceness of his nature, could not endure the restraint
and came forth before the allotted time; but the bear, with greater
faith and patience, waited the thrice seven days and then stepped forth,
a perfect woman.

The first wish of her heart was maternity, and she cried, “Give me a
son.” Whan-ung, the Spirit King, passing on the wind, beheld her sitting
there beside the stream. He circled round her, breathed upon her, and
her cry was answered. She cradled her babe in moss beneath that same
_pak-tal_ tree and it was there that in after years the wild people of
the country found him sitting and made him their king.

This was the Tan-gun, “The Lord of the Pak-tal Tree.” He is also, but
less widely, known as Wang-gŭm. At that time Korea and the territory
immediately north was peopled by the “nine wild tribes” commonly called
the _Ku-i_. Tradition names them respectively the Kyŭn, Pang, Whang,
Făk, Chŭk, Hyŭn, P‘ung, Yang and U. These, we are told, were the
aborigines, and were fond of drinking, dancing and singing. They dressed
in a fabric of woven grass and their food was the natural fruits of the
earth, such as nuts, roots, fruits and berries. In summer they lived
beneath the trees and in winter they lived in a rudely covered hole in
the ground. When the Tan-gun became their king he taught them the
relation of king and subject, the rite of marriage, the art of cooking
and the science of house building. He taught them to bind up the hair by
tying a cloth about the head. He taught them to cut down trees and till
fields.

The Tan-gun made P‘yŭng-yang the capital of his kingdom and there,
tradition says, he reigned until the coming of Ki-ja, 1122 B.C. If any
credence can be given this tradition it will be by supposing that the
word Tan-gun refers to a line of native chieftains who may have
antedated the coming of Ki-ja.

It is said that, upon the arrival of Ki-ja, the Tan-gun retired to
Ku-wŭl San (in pure Korean A-sa-dal) in the present town of Mun-wha,
Whang-hă Province, where he resumed his spirit form and disappeared
forever from the earth. His wife was a woman of Pi-sŏ-ap, whose location
is unknown. As to the size of the Tan-gun’s kingdom, it is generally
believed that it extended from the vicinity of the present town of
Mun-gyŭng on the south to the Heuk-yong River on the north, and from the
Japan Sea on the east to Yo-ha (now Sŭng-gyŭng) on the west.

As to the events of the Tan-gun’s reign even tradition tells us very
little. We learn that in 2265 B.C. the Tan-gun first offered sacrifice
at Hyŭl-gu on the island of Kang-wha. For this purpose he built an altar
on Mari San which remains to this day. We read that when the great
Ha-u-si (The Great Yü), who drained off the waters which covered the
interior of China, called to his court at To-san all the vassal kings,
the Tan-gun sent his son, Pu-ru, as an envoy. This was supposed to be in
2187 B.C. Another work affirms that when Ki-ja came to Korea Pu-ru fled
northward and founded the kingdom of North Pu-yŭ, which at a later date
moved to Ka-yŭp-wŭn, and became Eastern Pu-yŭ. These stories show such
enormous discrepancies in dates that they are alike incredible, and yet
it may be that the latter story has some basis in fact, at any rate it
gives us our only clue to the founding of the Kingdom of Pu-yŭ.

Late in the Tan-gun dynasty there was a minister named P‘ăng-o who is
said to have had as his special charge the making of roads and the care
of drainage. One authority says that the Emperor of China ordered
P‘ăng-o to cut a road between Ye-măk, an eastern tribe, and Cho-sŭn.
From this we see that the word Cho-sŭn, according to some authorities,
antedates the coming of Ki-ja.

The remains of the Tan-gun dynasty, while not numerous, are interesting.
On the island of Kang-wha, on the top of Mari San, is a stone platform
or altar known as the “Tan-gun’s Altar,” and, as before said, it is
popularly believed to have been used by the Tan-gun four thousand years
ago. It is called also the Ch’am-sŭng Altar. On Chŭn-dung San is a
fortress called Sam-nang which is believed to have been built by the
Tan-gun’s three sons. The town of Ch’un-ch’ŭn, fifty miles east of
Seoul, seems to have been an important place during this period. It was
known as U-su-ju, or “Ox-hair Town,” and there is a curious confirmation
of this tradition in the fact that in the vicinity there is today a plot
of ground called the U-du-bol, or “Ox-head Plain.” A stone tablet to
P’ang-o is erected there. At Mun-wha there is a shrine to the Korean
trinity, Whan-in, Whan-ung and Tan-gun. Though the Tan-gun resumed the
spirit form, his grave is shown in Kang-dong and is 410 feet in
circumference.



                              Chapter II.

Ki-ja.... striking character.... origin.... corrupt Chu.... story of
    Tal-geui.... Shang dynasty falls.... Ki-ja departs.... route....
    destination.... allegience to China.... condition of Korea....
    Ki-ja’s companions.... reforms.... evidences of genius.... arguments
    against Korean theory.... details of history meager.... Cho-sun
    sides against China.... delimitation of Cho-sun.... peace with Tsin
    dynasty.... Wi-man finds asylum.... betrays Cho-sun.... Ki-jun’s
    flight.


Without doubt the most striking character in Korean history is the sage
Ki-ja, not only because of his connection with its early history but
because of the striking contrast between him and his whole environment.
The singular wisdom which he displayed is vouched for not in the
euphemistic language of a prejudiced historian but by what we can read
between the lines, of which the historian was unconscious.

The Shang, or Yin, dynasty of China began 1766 B.C. Its twenty-fifth
representative was the Emperor Wu-yi whose second son, Li, was the
father of Ki-ja. His family name was Cha and his surname Su-yu, but he
is also known by the name Sö-yŭ. The word Ki-ja is a title meaning “Lord
of Ki,” which we may imagine to be the feudal domain of the family. The
Emperor Chu, the “Nero of China” and the last of the dynasty, was the
grandson of Emperor T’ă-jŭng and a second cousin of Ki-ja, but the
latter is usually spoken of as his uncle. Pi-gan, Mi-ja and Ki-ja formed
the advisory board to this corrupt emperor.

All that Chinese histories have to say by way of censure against the
hideous debaucheries of this emperor is repeated in the Korean
histories; his infatuation with the beautiful concubine, Tal-geui; his
compliance with her every whim; his making a pond of wine in which he
placed an island of meat and compelled nude men and women to walk about
it, his torture of innocent men at her request by tying them to heated
brazen pillars. All this is told in the Korean annals, but they go still
deeper into the dark problem of Tal-geui’s character and profess to
solve it. The legend, as given by Korean tradition, is as follows.

The concubine Tal-geui was wonderfully beautiful, but surpassingly so
when she smiled. At such times the person upon whom she smiled was
fascinated as by a serpent and was forced to comply with whatever
request she made. Pondering upon this, Pi-gan decided that she must be a
fox in human shape, for it is well known that if an animal tastes of
water that has lain for twenty years in a human skull it will acquire
the power to assume the human shape at will. He set inquiries on foot
and soon discovered that she made a monthly visit to a certain mountain
which she always ascended alone leaving her train of attendants at the
foot. Armed detectives were put on her track and, following her
unperceived, they saw her enter a cave near the summit of the mountain.
She presently emerged, accompanied by a pack of foxes who leaped about
her and fawned upon her in evident delight. When she left, the spies
entered and put the foxes to the sword, cutting from each dead body the
piece of white fur which is always found on the breast of the fox. When
Tal-geui met the emperor some days later and saw him dressed in a
sumptuous white fur robe she shuddered but did not as yet guess the
truth. A month later, however, it became plain to her when she entered
the mountain cave and beheld the festering remains of her kindred.

On her way home she planned her revenge. Adorning herself in all her
finery, she entered the imperial presence and exerted her power of
fascination to the utmost. When the net had been well woven about the
royal dupe, she said,

“I hear that there are seven orifices in the heart of every good man. I
fain would put it to the test.”

“But how can it be done?”

“I would that I might see the heart of Pi-gan;” and as she said it she
smiled upon her lord. His soul revolted from the act and yet he had no
power to refuse. Pi-gan was summoned and the executioner stood ready
with the knife, but at the moment when it was plunged into the victim’s
breast he cried,

“You are no woman; you are a fox in disguise, and I charge you to resume
your natural shape.”

Instantly her face began to change; hair sprang forth upon it, her nails
grew long, and, bursting forth from her garments, she stood revealed in
her true character—a white fox with nine tails. With one parting snarl
at the assembled court, she leaped from the window and made good her
escape.

But it was too late to save the dynasty. Pal, the son of Mun-wang, a
feudal baron, at the head of an army, was already thundering at the
gates, and in a few days, a new dynasty assumed the yellow and Pal,
under the title Mu-wang, became its first emperor.

Pi-gan and Mi-ja had both perished and Ki-ja, the sole survivor of the
great trio of statesmen, had saved his life only by feigning madness. He
was now in prison, but Mu-wang came to his door and besought him to
assume the office of Prime Minister. Loyalty to the fallen dynasty
compelled him to refuse. He secured the Emperor’s consent to his plan of
emigrating to Cho-sŭn or “Morning Freshness,” but before setting out he
presented the Emperor with that great work, the Hong-bŭm or “Great-Law,”
which had been found inscribed upon the back of the fabled tortoise
which came up out of the waters of the Nak River in the days of Ha-u-si
over a thousand years before, but which no one had been able to decipher
till Ki-ja took it in hand. Then with his five thousand followers he
passed eastward into the peninsula of Korea.

Whether he came to Korea by boat or by land cannot be certainly
determined. It is improbable that he brought such a large company by
water and yet one tradition says that he came first to Su-wŭn, which is
somewhat south of Chemulpo. This would argue an approach by sea. The
theory which has been broached that the Shantung promontory at one time
joined the projection of Whang-hă Province on the Korean coast cannot be
true, for the formation of the Yellow Sea must have been too far back in
the past to help us to solve this question. It is said that from Su-wŭn
he went northward to the island Ch’ŭl-do, off Whang-hă Province, where
today they point out a “Ki-ja Well.” From there he went to P‘yŭng-yang.
His going to an island off Whang-hă Province argues against the theory
of the connection between Korea and the Shantung promontory.

[Illustration: _A TABLET TO KI-JA._]

In whatever way he came, he finally settled at the town of P‘yŭng-yang
which had already been the capital of the Tan-gun dynasty. Seven cities
claimed the honor of being Homer’s birth place and about as many claim
to be the burial spot of Ki-ja. The various authorities differ so widely
as to the boundaries of his kingdom, the site of his capital and the
place of his interment that some doubt is cast even upon the existence
of this remarkable man; but the consensus of opinion points clearly to
P‘yŭng-yang as being the scene of his labors.

It should be noticed that from the very first Korea was an independent
kingdom. It was certainly so in the days of the Tan-gun and it remained
so when Ki-ja came, for it is distinctly stated that though the Emperor
Mu-wang made him King of Cho-sŭn he neither demanded nor received his
allegience as vassal at that time. He even allowed Ki-ja to send envoys
to worship at the tombs of the fallen dynasty. It is said that Ki-ja
himself visited the site of the ancient Shang capital, but when he found
it sown with barley he wept and composed an elegy on the occasion, after
which he went and swore allegience to the new Emperor. The work entitled
Cho-sŏ says that when Ki-ja saw the site of the former capital sown with
barley he mounted a white cart drawn by a white horse and went to the
new capital and swore allegience to the Emperor; and it adds that in
this he showed his weakness for he had sworn never to do so.

Ki-ja, we may believe, found Korea in a semi-barbarous condition. To
this the reforms which he instituted give abundant evidence. He found at
least a kingdom possessed of some degree of homogeneity, probably a
uniform language and certainly ready communication between its parts. It
is difficult to believe that the Tan-gun’s influence reached far beyond
the Amnok River, wherever the nominal boundaries of his kingdom were. We
are inclined to limit his actual power to the territory now included in
the two provinces of P‘yŭng-an and Whang-hă.

We must now inquire of what material was Ki-ja’s company of five
thousand men made up. We are told that he brought from China the two
great works called the _Si-jun_ and the _So-jun_, which by liberal
interpretation mean the books on history and poetry. The books which
bear these names were not written until centuries after Ki-ja’s time,
but the Koreans mean by them the list of aphorisms or principles which
later made up these books. It is probable, therefore, that this company
included men who were able to teach and expound the principles thus
introduced. Ki-ja also brought the sciences of manners (well named a
science), music, medicine, sorcery and incantation. He brought also men
capable of teaching one hundred of the useful trades, amongst which silk
culture and weaving are the only two specifically named. When,
therefore, we make allowance for a small military escort we find that
five thousand men were few enough to undertake the carrying out of the
greatest individual plan for colonization which history has ever seen
brought to a successful issue.

These careful preparations on the part of the self-exiled Ki-ja admit of
but one conclusion. They were made with direct reference to the people
among whom he had elected to cast his lot. He was a genuine civilizer.
His genius was of the highest order in that, in an age when the sword
was the only arbiter, he hammered his into a pruning-hook and carved out
with it a kingdom which stood almost a thousand years. He was the ideal
colonizer, for he carried with him all the elements of successful
colonization which, while sufficing for the reclamation of the
semi-barbarous tribes of the peninsula, would still have left him
self-sufficient in the event of their contumacy. His method was
brilliant when compared with even the best attempts of modern times.

His penal code was short, and clearly indicated the failings of the
people among whom he had cast his lot. Murder was to be punished with
death inflicted in the same manner in which the crime had been
committed. Brawling was punished by a fine to be paid in grain. Theft
was punished by enslaving the offender, but he could regain his freedom
by the payment of a heavy fine. There were five other laws which are not
mentioned specifically. Many have surmised, and perhaps rightly, that
they were of the nature of the _o-hang_ or “five precepts” which
inculcate right relations between king and subject, parent and child,
husband and wife, friend and friend, old and young. It is stated,
apocryphally however, that to prevent quarreling Ki-ja compelled all
males to wear a broad-brimmed hat made of clay pasted on a framework. If
this hat was either doffed or broken the offender was severely punished.
This is said to have effectually kept them at arms length.

Another evidence of Ki-ja’s genius is his immediate recognition of the
fact that he must govern the Korean people by means of men selected from
their own number. For this purpose he picked out a large number of men
from the various districts and gave them special training in the duties
of government and he soon had a working corps of officials and prefects
without resorting to the dangerous expedient of filling all these
positions from the company that came with him. He recognised that in
order to gain any lasting influence with the people of Korea he and his
followers must adapt themselves to the language of their adopted country
rather than make the Koreans conform to their form of speech. We are
told that he reduced the language of the people to writing and through
this medium taught the people the arts and sciences which he had
brought. If this is true, the method by which the writing was done and
the style of the characters have entirely disappeared. Nothing remains
to give evidence of such a written language. We are told that it took
three years to teach it to the people.

The important matter of revenue received early attention. A novel method
was adopted. All arable land was divided into squares and each square
was subdivided into nine equal parts; eight squares about a central one.
Whoever cultivated the eight surrounding squares must also cultivate the
central one for the benefit of the government. The latter therefore
received a ninth part of the produce of the land. Prosperity was seen on
every side and the people called the Ta-dong River the Yellow River of
Korea.

As a sign that his kingdom was founded in peace and as a constant
reminder to his people he planted a long line of willows along the bank
of the river opposite the city, so P‘yung-yang is sometimes called The
Willow Capital.

It is contended by not a few that Ki-ja never came to Korea at all and
they base their belief upon the following facts. When the Han Emperor
Mu-je overcame northern Korea and divided it into four parts he called
the people savages, which could not be if Ki-ja civilized them. The
Chinese histories of the Tang dynasty affirm that Ki-ja’s kingdom was in
Liao-tung. The histories of the Kin dynasty and the Yuan or Mongol
dynasty say that Ki-ja had his capital at Kwang-nyŭng in Liao-tung, and
there is a Ki-ja well there today and a shrine to him. There was a
picture of him there but it was burned in the days of Emperor Se-jong of
the Ming dynasty. A Korean work entitled Sok-mun Heun-t’ong-go says that
Ki-ja’s capital was at Ham-pyŭng-no in Liao-tung. The Chinese work
Il-t’ong-ji of the time of the Ming dynasty says that the scholars of
Liao-tung compiled a work called Söng-gyŭng-ji which treated of this
question. That book said that Cho-sŭn included Sim-yang (Muk-den),
Pong-ch’ŭn-bu, Eui-ju and Kwang-nyŭng; so that half of Liao-tung
belonged to Cho-sun. The work entitled Kang-mok says that his capital
was at P’yŭng-yang and that the kingdom gradually broadened until the
scholar O Si-un said of it that it stretched from the Liao River to the
Han. This last is the commonly accepted theory and so far as Korean
evidence goes there seems to be little room for doubt.

Ki-ja was fifty-three years old when he came to Korea and he reigned
here forty years. His grave may be seen to-day at To-san near the city
which was the scene of his labors. Some other places that claim the
honor of containing Ki-ja’s tomb are Mong-hyŭn, Pak-sung and
Sang-gu-hyun in northern China.

It was not till thirty-six generations later that Ki-ja received the
posthumous title of T’ă-jo Mun-sŭng Tă-wang.

The details of the history of K-ja’s dynasty are very meager and can be
given here only in the most condensed form.[A]

Footnote A:

  The following details of the Ki-ja dynasty are taken from a work
  recently compiled in P’yung-yang and claiming to be based on private
  family records of the descendants of Ki-ja. It is difficult to say
  whether any reliance can be placed upon it but as it is the only
  source of information obtainable it seems best to give it. The dates
  are of course all B.C.

[Illustration: _THE TOMB OF KI-JA._]

In 1083 Ki-ja died and was succeeded by his son Song. Of his reign of
twenty-five years we know little beyond the fact that he built an
Ancestral Temple. His successor, Sun, was a man of such filial piety
that when his father died he went mad. The next king, Iăk, adopted for
his officials the court garments of the Sang Kingdom in China. His son,
Ch’un, who ascended the throne in 997 raised fifty-nine regiments of
soldiers containing in all 7300 men. The flag of the army was blue. In
943 the reigning king, Cho, feeling the need of cavalry, appointed a
special commission to attend to the breeding of horses, and with such
success that in a few years horses were abundant. In 890 King Săk hung a
drum in the palace gate and ordained that anyone having a grievance
might strike the drum and obtain an audience. In 843 a law was
promulgated by which the government undertook to support the hopelessly
destitute. In 773 King Wŭl forbade the practice of sorcery and
incantation. In 748 naval matters received attention and a number of war
vessels were launched. The first day of the fifth moon of 722 is
memorable as marking the first solar eclipse that is recorded in Korean
history. A great famine occurred in 710. King Kwŭl selected a number of
men who could speak Chinese and who knew Chinese customs. These he
dressed in Chinese clothes which were white and sent them across the
Yellow Sea with a large fleet of boats loaded with fish, salt and
copper. With these they purchased rice for the starving Koreans. At this
time all official salaries were reduced one half. In 702 King Whe
ordered the making of fifteen kinds of musical instruments. He also
executed a sorceress of An-ju who claimed to be the daughter of the Sea
King and deceived many of the people. In 670 King Cho sent an envoy and
made friends with the King of Che in China. He also revised the penal
code and made the theft of a hundred million cash from the government or
of a hundred and fifty millions from the people a capital crime. He
ordered the construction of a building of 500 _kan_ for an asylum for
widows, orphans and aged people who were childless. In 664 one of the
wild tribes of the north sent their chief, Kil-i-do-du, to swear
allegiance to Cho-sŭn. In 659 there came to Korea from the Chu Kingdom
in China a man by the name of Pak Il-jŭng, who brought with him a
medicine called _myun-dan-bang_ which he claimed was the elixir of
youth. By his arts he succeeded in gaining the ear of the king and for
many years was virtually ruler of the country. At last a king came to
the throne who had the wisdom and nerve to order his execution. At this
the whole land rejoiced. Banished men were recalled and prisoners were
liberated. In 593 King Ch’am came to the throne at the age of five. His
uncle acted as regent. But a powerful courtier Kong Son-gang secured the
regent’s assassination and himself became virtual ruler. He imprisoned
the king in a small pavilion and tried to make him abdicate, but in this
was unsuccessful and himself met the assassin’s steel. In 560 the Ha
tribe, inhabiting the northern Japanese island of I-so, sent their
chief, Wha-ma-gyŭn-hu-ri, to swear allegiance to Cho-sŭn. In 505 the
wild tribes to the north became restive and King Yŭ gathered 3000 troops
and invaded their territory, taking 1000 heads and adding a wide strip
of country to his realm. He put teachers in each of the magistracies to
teach the people agriculture and sericulture. In 426, during the reign
of King Cheung, occurred a formidable rebellion. U Yi-ch’ung of T’ă-an
(now Cha-san) arose and said “I am the Heaven Shaker.” With a powerful
force he approached the capital and besieged it. The king was forced to
flee by boat and take refuge at Hyŭl-gu (probably an island). But not
long after this the loyal troops rallied about the king and the rebel
was chased across the northern border. In 403 the king of Yŭn sent an
envoy to Korea with greetings. This Yŭn kingdom had its capital at
Chik-ye-sŭng where Peking now stands, and its territory was contiguous
to Cho-sŭn on the west. But in spite of these friendly greetings the
king of Yŭn sent an army in 380 and seized a district in western
Cho-sun. They were soon driven back. Fifteen years later a Yŭn general,
Chin-ga, came with 20,000 troops and delimited the western border of
Cho-sŭn but the Cho-sŭn general Wi Mun-ŭn gathered 30,000 men and lying
in ambush among the reeds beside the O-do River surprised the enemy and
put them to flight. In 346 a wild chieftain of the north came and asked
aid against Yŭn. It was granted to the extent of 10,000 troops. These
with 1000 cavalry of the wild tribe attacked and took the border
fortress of Sang-gok. Soon after, Yun sued for peace and it was granted.

This ends the apocryphal account of the Ki-ja dynasty. Its contents are
circumstantial enough to seem plausible yet we cannot but doubt the
authenticity of any records which pretend to go back to such a remote
period.

The Chou dynasty in China had long been on the decline and now, in 305
B.C. had reached a point of extreme weakness. In view of this the
governor of the tributary state of Liao-tung who had always passed under
the title of Hu or “Marquis” dared to assume the title Wang or “King”
and so to defy the power of China. Cho-sŭn threw herself into the
balance in favor of her great patron and hastened to attack Liao-tung in
the rear. But before this course had become inevitable a warning voice
was raised and one of the councillors, Ye, who was gifted with more
knowledge of the signs of the times than his fellows pointed out the
inevitable overthrow of the Chou dynasty, and he advised that Cho-sŭn
make her peace with the new “King” of the Yŏn kingdom of Liao-tung,
rather than brave his anger by siding against him. The advice was
followed and Cho-sŭn threw off the light reins of allegiance to China
and ranged herself alongside the new kingdom. This we learn from the
annals of the Wei dynasty of China. But apparently Cho-sŭn, stretching
as it did to and beyond the Liao River, was too tempting a morsel for
the ambitious king of Yŭn to leave untasted. So he picked a quarrel with
the king of Cho-sŭn and delimited his territory as far as the Yalu
River, a stretch of 2,000 _li_, even to the town of Pan-han whose
identity is now lost. He followed up this success by overcoming the wild
tribes to the north and added 1,000 _li_ more to his domains, securing
it from attack, as he supposed, by building a wall from Cho-yang to
Yang-p’yŭng.

When Emperor Shih of the Tsin dynasty ascended the throne of China in
221 B.C. and soon after began that tremendous work the Great Wall of
China, the fortieth descendant of Ki-ja was swaying the scepter of
Cho-sŭn under the name Ki-bi, posthumous title Chong-t’ong Wang. As soon
as the news of this great undertaking reached the ears of this monarch
he hauled down his colors and surrendered at discretion, sending an
envoy to do obeisance for him.

King Ki-bi died and his son Ki-jun, the last of the dynasty reigned in
his stead. For some years all was quiet, but at last the scepter was
wrested from the hands of the short-lived Tsin dynasty by the founder of
the illustrious Han, and across the border from Cho-sŭn all was turmoil
and confusion. Fugitives from the three states of Yun, Che and Cho were
seeking asylum anywhere, and thousands were hurrying across the Yalu and
craving the protection of Ki-jun. The only protection he could give them
from the victorious Han was remoteness from the latter’s base of
operations; so he allowed them to settle along the valley of the Yalu
and its southern tributaries. This was in the twentieth year of his
reign, 200 B.C.

Unfortunately for Cho-sŭn, the Han emperor made No-gwan, one of his
generals, governor of Yŭn. This gentleman had ideas of his own, and
finding such good material for an army among the half-wild people of his
province he decided to go on an empire hunt on his own account.

The story of his desperate fight and final defeat at the hands of the
Han forces, of his flight northward to the wild tribe of Hyung-no, is
interesting; but we must turn from it to follow the fortunes of one of
his lieutenants, a native of the Yŭn, named Wi-man. Retreating eastward
alone and in disguise, according to some writers, or according to others
with an escort of 1,000 men, he eluded his pursuers and at last crossed
the P’ă-su (the Yalu of today) and was received with open arms by his
own kin who had already settled there. In the days of the Han dynasty
the word P’ă-su meant the Yalu River, but in the days of the Tang
dynasty it meant the Ta-dong. Hence much confusion has arisen.

Wi-man threw himself upon the protection of Ki-jun who, little knowing
the nature of the man he was harboring, good-naturedly consented and
accompanied his welcome with the substantial gift of a hundred _li_
square of land in the north. Wi-man, on his part, engaged to act as
border guard and give timely warning of the approach of an enemy. He was
already on good terms with the people of the Chin-bŭn tribe, and now he
began to cultivate their friendship more assiduously than ever. In a
short time he found himself at the head of a considerable following
composed partly of Yŭn refugees and partly of Chin-bŭn adventurers.

Being thus prepared and weighing all the chances, he concluded to stake
his whole fortune on a single throw. Sending a swift messenger to the
court of Ki-jun at P‘yŭng-yang, he informed that peace loving monarch
that an innumerable army was advancing from China in four divisions and
would soon be at the doors of Cho-sŭn, and that he, Wi-man, must hasten
to the capital with all his force to act as body-guard of the King. The
ruse was successful and before Ki-jun and his court had awakened to the
situation Wi-man was on them. An attempt was made to stop his advance
when quite too late, but it held the traitor in check long enough for
Ki-jun and his immediate court to load their treasure on boats; and as
the triumphal army of Wi-man entered the gates of P‘yŭng-yang the last
representative of the dynasty of Ki-ja slipped quietly down the river,
seeking for himself a more congenial home in the south. This occurred,
so far as we can judge from conflicting documents, in the year 193 B.C.

This was an event of utmost importance in the history of the peninsula.
It opened up to the world the southern portion of Korea, where there
were stored up forces that were destined to dominate the whole peninsula
and impress upon it a distinctive stamp. But before following Ki-jun
southward we must turn back and watch the outcome of Wi-man’s treachery.



                              Chapter III.

Wi-man.... establishes his kingdom.... extent.... power soon waned....
    ambitious designs.... China aroused.... invasion of Korea.... U-gu
    tries to make peace.... siege of P‘yŭng-yang.... it falls.... the
    land redistributed.... the four provinces.... the two provinces.


Having secured possession of Ki-jun’s kingdom, Wi-man set to work to
establish himself firmly on the throne. He had had some experience in
dealing with the wild tribes and now he exerted himself to the utmost in
the task of securing the allegiance of as many of them as possible. He
was literally surrounded by them, and this policy of friendliness was an
absolute necessity. He succeeded so well that ere long he had won over
almost all the adjacent tribes whose chieftains frequented his court and
were there treated with such liberality that more than once they found
themselves accompanying embassies to the court of China.

It is said that when his kingdom was at its height it extended far into
Liao-tung over all northern and eastern Korea and even across the Yellow
Sea where it included Ch’ŭng-ju, China. Its southern boundary was the
Han River.

So long as Wi-man lived he held the kingdom together with a strong hand,
for he was possessed of that peculiar kind of power which enabled him to
retain the respect and esteem of the surrounding tribes. He knew when to
check them and when to loosen the reins. But he did not bequeath this
power to his descendants. His grandson, U-gŭ, inherited all his ambition
without any of his tact. He did not realise that it was the strong hand
and quick wit of his grandfather that had held the kingdom together and
he soon began to plan a still further independence from China. He
collected about him all the refugees and all the malcontents, most of
whom had much to gain and little to lose in any event. He then cut off
all friendly intercourse with the Han court and also prevented the
surrounding tribes from sending their little embassies across the
border. The Emperor could not brook this insult, and sent an envoy,
Sŭp-ha, to expostulate with the headstrong U-gŭ; but as the latter would
not listen, the envoy went back across the Yalu and tried what he could
do by sending one of the older chiefs to ask what the king meant by his
conduct. U-gŭ was still stubborn and when the chief returned to Sŭp-ha
empty-handed he was put to death. Sŭp-ha paid the penalty for this rash
act, for not many days after he had been installed governor of Liao-tung
the tribe he had injured fell upon him and killed him.

This was not done at the instigation of U-gŭ, but unfortunately it was
all one to the Emperor. It was the “Eastern Barbarians” who, all alike,
merited punishment. It was in 107 B.C. that the imperial edict went
forth commanding all Chinese refugees in Korea to return at once, as
U-gŭ was to be put down by the stern hand of war.

In the autumn of that year the two generals, Yang-bok and Sun-ch’i,
invaded Korea at the head of a strong force; but U-gŭ was ready for them
and in the first engagement scattered the invading army, the remnants of
which took refuge among the mountains. It was ten days before they
rallied enough to make even a good retreat. U-gŭ was frightened by his
own good luck for he knew that this would still further anger the
Emperor; so when an envoy came from China the king humbled himself,
confessed his sins and sent his son to China as hostage together with a
gift of 5,000 horses. Ten thousand troops accompanied him. As these
troops were armed, the Chinese envoy feared there might be trouble after
the Yalu had been crossed. He therefore asked the Prince to have them
disarmed. The latter thought he detected treachery and so fled at night
and did not stop until he reached his father’s palace in P‘yŭng-yang.
The envoy paid for this piece of _gaucherie_ with his head.

Meanwhile Generals Yang-bok and Sun-ch’i had been scouring Liao-tung and
had collected a larger army than before. With this they crossed the
Ya-lu and marched on P‘yŭng-yang. They met with no resistance, for U-gŭ
had collected all his forces at the capital, hoping perhaps that the
severity of the weather would tire out any force that might be sent
against him. The siege continued two months during which time the two
generals quarreled incessantly. When the Emperor sent Gen. Kong Son-su
to see what was the matter, Gen. Sun-ch’i accused his colleague of
treason and had him sent back to China, where he lost his head. The
siege, continued by Gen. Sun-ch’i, dragged on till the following summer
and it would have continued longer had not a traitor within the town
assassinated the king and fled to the Chinese camp. Still the people
refused to make terms until another traitor opened the gates to the
enemy. Gen. Sun-ch’i’s first act was to compel Prince Chang, the heir
apparent, to do obeisance. But the people had their revenge upon the
traitor who opened the gate for they fell upon him and tore him to
pieces before he could make good his escape to the Chinese camp.

Such was the miserable end of Wi-man’s treachery. He had cheated Ki-jun
out of his kingdom which had lasted almost a thousand years, while the
one founded by himself lasted only eighty-eight. It fell in the
thirty-fourth year of the Han Emperor Wu-ti, in the year 106 B.C.

Upon the downfall of Wi-man’s kingdom, the country was divided by the
Chinese into four provinces called respectively Nang-nang, Im-dun,
Hyŭn-do and Chin-bŭn. The first of these, Nang-nang, is supposed to have
covered that portion of Korea now included in the three provinces of
P‘yung-an, Whang-hă and Kyŭng-geui. Im-dun, so far as we can learn, was
located about as the present province of Kang-wŭn, but it may have
exceeded these limits. Hyŭn-do was about coterminous with the present
province of Ham-gyŭng in the northeast. Chin-bŭn lay beyond the Yalu
River but its limits can hardly be guessed at. It may have stretched to
the Liao River or beyond. It is exceedingly doubtful whether the
conquerors themselves had any definite idea of the shape or extent of
these four provinces. Twenty-five years later, in the fifth year of
Emperor Chao-ti 81 B.C. a change in administration was made. Chin-bŭn
and Hyŭn-do were united to form a new province called P’yung-ju, while
Im-dun and Nang-nang were thrown together to form Tong-bu. In this form
the country remained until the founding of Ko-gu-ryŭ in the twelfth year
of Emperor Yuan-ti, 36 B.C.

It is here a fitting place to pause and ask what was the nature of these
wild tribes that hung upon the flanks of civilization and, like the
North American Indians, were friendly one day and on the war-path the
next. Very little can be gleaned from purely Korean sources, but a
Chinese work entitled the Mun-hön T’ong-go deals with them in some
detail, and while there is much that is quite fantastic and absurd the
main points tally so well with the little that Korean records say, that
in their essential features they are probably as nearly correct as
anything we are likely to find in regard to these aborigines (shall we
say) of north-eastern Asia.



                              Chapter IV.

The wild tribes.... the “Nine Tribes” apocryphal.... Ye-mak....
    position.... history.... customs.... Ye and Mak perhaps two....
    Ok-jo .... position.... history.... customs.... North Ok-jo....
    Eum-nu.... position.... customs.... the western tribes.... the
    Mal-gal group.... position.... customs.... other border tribes.


As we have already seen, tradition gives us nine original wild tribes in
the north named respectively the Kyŭn, Pang, Whang, Păk, Chŭk, Hyŭn,
P’ung, Yang, and U. These we are told occupied the peninsula in the very
earliest times. But little credence can be placed in this enumeration,
for when it comes to the narration of events we find that these tribes
are largely ignored and numerous other names are introduced. The
tradition is that they lived in Yang-gok, “The Place of the Rising Sun.”
In the days of Emperor T’ai-k’an of the Hsia dynasty, 2188 B.C. the wild
tribes of the east revolted. In the days of Emperor Wu-wang, 1122 B.C.
it is said that representatives from several of the wild tribes came to
China bringing rude musical instruments and performing their queer
dances. The Whe-i was another of the tribes, for we are told that the
brothers of Emperor Wu-wang fled thither but were pursued and killed.
Another tribe, the So-i, proclaimed their independence of China but were
utterly destroyed by this same monarch.

It is probable that all these tribes occupied the territory north of the
Yalu River and the Ever-white Mountains. Certain it is that these names
never occur in the pages of Korean history proper. Doubtless there was
more or less intermixture and it is more than possible that their blood
runs in the veins of Koreans today, but of this we cannot be certain.

We must call attention to one more purely Chinese notice of early Korea
because it contains perhaps the earliest mention of the word Cho-sŭn. It
is said that in Cho-sŭn three rivers, the Chŭn-su, Yŭl-su, and San-su,
unite to form the Yŭl-su, which flows by (or through) Nang-nang. This
corresponds somewhat with the description of the Yalu River.

We now come to the wild tribes actually resident in the peninsula and
whose existence can hardly be questioned, whatever may be said about the
details here given.

We begin with the tribe called Ye-măk, about which there are full
notices both in Chinese and Korean records. The Chinese accounts deal
with it as a single tribe but the Korean accounts, which are more exact,
tell us that Ye and Mak were two separate “kingdoms.” In all probability
they were of the same stock but separate in government.

Ye-guk (_guk_ meaning kingdom) is called by some Ye-wi-guk. It is also
know as Ch’ŭl. It was situated directly north of the kingdom of Sil-la,
which was practically the present province of Kyŭng-sang, so its
boundary must have been the same as that of the present Kang-wŭn
Province. On the north was Ok-jŭ, on the east the Great Sea, and on the
west Nang-nang. We may say then that Ye-guk comprised the greater
portion of what is now Kang-wŭn Province. To this day the ruins of its
capital may be seen to the east of the town of Kang-neung. In the palmy
days of Ye-guk its capital was called Tong-i and later, when overcome by
Sil-la, a royal seal was unearthed there and Hă-wang the king of Sil-la
adopted it as his royal seal. After this town was incorporated into
Sil-la it was known as Myŭng-ju.

In the days of the Emperor Mu-je, 140 B.C., the king of Ye-guk was
Nam-nyŭ. He revolted from Wi-man’s rule and, taking a great number of
his people, estimated, fantastically of course, at 380,000, removed to
Liao-tung, where the Emperor gave him a site for a settlement at
Chang-hă-gun. Some accounts say that this colony lasted three years.
Others say that after two years it revolted and was destroyed by the
Emperor. There are indications that the remnant joined the kingdom of
Pu-yŭ in the north-east for, according to one writer, the seal of Pu-yŭ
contained the words “Seal of the King of Ye” and it was reported that
the aged men of Pu-yŭ used to say that in the days of the Han dynasty
they were fugitives. There was also in Pu-yŭ a fortress called the “Ye
Fortress.” From this some argue that Nam-nyŭ was not a man of the east
but of the north. Indeed it is difficult to see how he could have taken
so many people so far especially across an enemy’s country.

When the Chinese took the whole northern part of Korea, the Ye country
was incorporated into the province of Im-dun and in the time of the
Emperor Kwang-mu the governor of the province resided at Kang-neung. The
Emperor received an annual tribute of grass-cloth, fruit and horses.

The people of Ye-guk were simple and credulous, and not naturally
inclined to warlike pursuits. They were modest and unassuming, nor were
they fond of jewels or finery. Their peaceful disposition made them an
easy prey to their neighbors who frequently harassed them. In later
times both Ko-gu-ryŭ and Sil-la used Ye-guk soldiers in part in
effecting their conquests. People of the same family name did not
intermarry. If a person died of disease his house was deserted and the
family found a new place of abode. We infer from this that their houses
were of a very poor quality and easily built; probably little more than
a rude thatch covering a slight excavation in a hill-side. The use of
hemp was known as was also that of silk, though this was probably at a
much later date. Cotton was also grown and woven. By observing the stars
they believed they could foretell a famine; from which we infer that
they were mainly an agricultural people. In the tenth moon they
worshipped the heavens, during which ceremony they drank, sang and
danced. They also worshipped the “Tiger Spirit.” Robbery was punished by
fining the offender a horse or a cow. In fighting they used spears as
long as three men and not infrequently several men wielded the same
spear together. They fought entirely on foot. The celebrated Nang-nang
bows were in reality of Ye-guk make and were cut out of _pak-tal_ wood.
The country was infested with leopards. The horses were so small that
mounted men could ride under the branches of the fruit trees without
difficulty. They sold colored fish skins to the Chinese, the fish being
taken from the eastern sea.

We are confronted by the singular statement that at the time of the Wei
dynasty in China, 220-294 A.D. Ye-guk swore allegiance to China and
despatched an envoy four times a year. There was no Ye-mak in Korea at
that time and this must refer to some other Ye tribe in the north. It is
said they purchased exemption from military duty by paying a stipulated
annual sum. This is manifestly said of some tribe more contiguous to
China than the one we are here discussing.

Măk-guk, the other half of Ye-măk, had its seat of government near the
site of the present town of Ch’un-ch’ŭn. Later, in the time of the
Sil-la supremacy, it was known as U-su-ju. It was called Ch’ŭn-ju in the
time of the Ko-ryŭ rule.

The ancient Chinese work, Su-jun, says that in the days of Emperor
Mu-song (antedating Ki-ja) the people of Wha-ha Man-măk came and did
obeisance to China. This may have been the Korean Măk. Mencius also
makes mention of a greater Măk and a lesser Măk. In the time of the Han
dynasty they spoke of Cho-sün, Chin-bŭn and Ye-măk. Mencius’ notice of a
greater and lesser Măk is looked upon by some as an insult to the memory
of Ki-ja, as if he had called Ki-ja’s kingdom a wild country; but the
above mention of the three separately is quoted to show that Mencius had
no such thought.

The annals of Emperor Mu-je state, in a commentary, that Măk was north
of Chin-han and south of Ko-gu-ryŭ and Ok-jŭ and had the sea to the
east, a description which exactly suits Ye-măk as we know it.

The wild tribe called Ok-jŭ occupied the territory east of Kă-ma San and
lay along the eastern sea-coast. It was narrow and long, stretching a
thousand _li_ along the coast in the form of a hook. This well describes
the contour of the coast from a point somewhat south of the present
Wŭn-san northward along the shore of Ham-gyŭng Province. On its south
was Ye-măk and on its north were the wild Eum-nu and Pu-yŭ tribes. It
consisted of five thousand houses grouped in separate communities that
were quite distinct from each other politically, and a sort of
patriarchal government prevailed. The language was much like that of the
people of Ko-gu-ryŭ.

When Wi-man took Ki-jun’s kingdom, the Ok-jŭ people became subject to
him, but later, when the Chinese made the four provinces, Ok-jŭ was
incorporated into Hyŭn-do. As Ok-jŭ was the most remote of all the wild
tribes from the Chinese capital, a special governor was appointed over
her, called a Tong-bu To-wi, and his seat of government was at Pul-lă
fortress. The district was divided into seven parts, all of which were
east of Tan-dan Pass, perhaps the Tă-gwul Pass of to-day. In the sixth
year of the Emperor Kwang-mu, 31 A.D., it is said that the governorship
was discontinued and native magnates were put at the head of affairs in
each of the seven districts under the title Hu or Marquis. Three of the
seven districts were Wha-ye, Ok-jŭ and Pul-lă. It is said that the
people of Ye-guk were called in to build the government houses in these
seven centers.

When Ko-gu-ryŭ took over all northern Korea, she placed a single
governor over all this territory with the title Tă-in. Tribute was
rendered in the form of grass-cloth, fish, salt and other sea products.
Handsome women were also requisitioned. The land was fertile. It had a
range of mountains at its back and the sea in front. Cereals grew
abundantly. The people are described as being very vindictive. Spears
were the weapons mostly used in fighting. Horses and cattle were scarce.
The style of dress was the same as that of Ko-gu-ryŭ.

When a girl reached the age of ten she was taken to the home of her
future husband and brought up there. Having attained a marriageable age
she returned home and her fiancé then obtained her by paying the
stipulated price.

Dead bodies were buried in a shallow grave and when only the bones
remained they were exhumed and thrust into a huge hollowed tree trunk
which formed the family “vault.” Many generations were thus buried in a
single tree trunk. The opening was at the end of the trunk. A wooden
image of the dead was carved and set beside this coffin and with it a
bowl of grain.

The northern part of Ok-jŭ was called Puk Ok-jŭ or “North Ok-jŭ.” The
customs of these people were the same as those of the south except for
some differences caused by the proximity of the Eum-nu tribe to the
north, who were the Apaches of Korea. Every year these fierce people
made a descent upon the villages of the peaceful Ok-jŭ, sweeping
everything before them. So regular were these incursions that the Ok-jŭ
people used to migrate to the mountains every summer, where they lived
in caves as best they could, returning to their homes in the late
autumn. The cold of winter held their enemies in check.

We are told that a Chinese envoy once penetrated these remote regions.
He asked “Are there any people living beyond this sea?” (meaning the
Japan Sea.) They replied “Sometimes when we go out to fish and a tempest
strikes us we are driven ten days toward the east until we reach islands
where men live whose language is strange and whose custom it is each
summer to drown a young girl in the sea.” Another said “Once some
clothes floated here which were like ours except that the sleeves were
as long as the height of a man.” Another said “A boat once drifted here
containing a man with a double face, one above the other. We could not
understand his speech and as he refused to eat he soon expired.”

The tribe of Ok-jŭ was finally absorbed in Ko-gu-ryŭ in the fourth year
of King T’ă-jo Wang.

The Eum-nu tribe did not belong to Korea proper but as its territory was
adjacent to Korea a word may not be out of place. It was originally
called Suk-sin. It was north of Ok-jŭ and stretched from the Tu-man
river away north to the vicinity of the Amur. Its most famous mountain
was Pul-ham San, It is said to have been a thousand _li_ to the
north-east of Pu-yŭ. The country was mountainous and there were no cart
roads. The various cereals were grown, as well as hemp.

The native account of the people of Eum-nu is quite droll and can hardly
be accepted as credible. It tells us that the people lived in the trees
in summer and in holes in the ground in winter. The higher a man’s rank
the deeper he was allowed to dig. The deepest holes were “nine rafters
deep.” Pigs were much in evidence. The flesh was eaten and the skins
were worn. In winter the people smeared themselves an inch thick with
grease. In summer they wore only a breach-cloth. They were extremely
filthy. In the center of each of these winter excavations was a common
cesspool about which everything else was clustered. The extraordinary
statement is made that these people picked up pieces of meat with their
toes and ate them. They sat on frozen meat to thaw it out. There was no
king, but a sort of hereditary chieftainship prevailed. If a man desired
to marry he placed a feather in the hair of the damsel of his choice and
if she accepted him she simply followed him home. Women did not marry
twice, but before marriage the extreme of latitude was allowed. Young
men were more respected than old men. They buried their dead, placing a
number of slaughtered pigs beside the dead that he might have something
to eat in the land beyond the grave. The people were fierce and cruel,
and even though a parent died they did not weep. Death was the penalty
for small as well as great offences. They had no form of writing and
treaties were made only by word of mouth. In the days of Emperor Yüan-ti
of the Eastern Tsin dynasty, an envoy from this tribe was seen in the
Capital of China.

We have described the tribes of eastern Korea. A word now about the
western part of the peninsula. All that portion of Korea lying between
the Han and Yalu rivers constituted what was known as Nang-nang and
included the present provinces of P‘yŭng-an and Whang-hă together with a
portion of Kyŭng-geui. It was originally the name of a single tribe
whose position will probably never be exactly known; but it was of such
importance that when China divided northern Korea into four provinces
she gave this name of Nang-nang to all that portion lying, as we have
said, between the Han and the Yalu. The only accounts of these people
are given under the head of the Kingdom of Ko-gu-ryŭ which we shall
consider later. But between Nang-nang and the extreme eastern tribes of
Ok-jŭ there was a large tract of country including the eastern part of
the present province of P’yŭng-an and the western part of Ham-gyŭng.
This was called Hyŭn-do, and the Chinese gave this name to the whole
north-eastern part of Korea. No separate accounts of Hyŭn-do seem to be
now available.

Before passing to the account of the founding of the three great
kingdoms of Sil-la, Păk-je and Ko-gu-ryŭ, we must give a passing glance
at one or two of the great border tribes of the north-west. They were
not Koreans but exercised such influence upon the life of Korea that
they deserve passing notice.

In that vast tract of territory now known as Manchuria there existed, at
the time of Christ, a group of wild tribes known under the common name
Mal-gal. The group was composed of seven separate tribes, named
respectively—Songmal, Păk-tol, An-gŭ-gol, Pul-lal, Ho-sil, Heuk-su
(known also as the Mul-gil) and the Păk-san. Between these tribes there
was probably some strong affinity, although this is argued only from the
generic name Mal-gal which was usually appended to their separate names,
and the fact that Mal-gal is commonly spoken of as one. The location of
this group of tribes is determined by the statement (1) that it was
north of Ko-gu-ryŭ and (2) that to the east of it was a tribe anciently
called the Suk-sin (the same as the Eum-nu,) and (3) that it was five
thousand _li_ from Nak-yang the capital of China. We are also told that
in it was the great river Sog-mal which was three _li_ wide referring it
would seem to the Amur River. These tribes, though members of one
family, were constantly fighting each other and their neighbors and the
ancient records say that of all the wild tribes of the east the Mal-gal
were the most feared by their neighbors. But of all the Mal-gal tribes
the Heuk-su were the fiercest and most warlike. They lived by hunting
and fishing. The title of their chiefs was Tă-mak-pul-man-lol-guk. The
people honored their chiefs and stood in great fear of them. It is said
that they would not attend to the duties of nature on a mountain,
considering, it would seem, that there is something sacred about a
mountain. They lived in excavations in the sides of earth banks,
covering them with a rough thatch. The entrance was from above. Horses
were used but there were no other domestic animals except pigs. Their
rude carts were pushed by men and their plows were dragged by the same.
They raised a little millet and barley, and cultivated nine kinds of
vegetables. The water there, was brackish owing to the presence of a
certain kind of tree the bark of whose roots tinged the water like an
infusion. They made wine by chewing grain and then allowing it to
ferment. This was very intoxicating. For the marriage ceremony the bride
wore a hempen skirt and the groom a pig skin with a tiger skin over his
head. Both bride and groom washed the face and hands in urine. They were
the filthiest of all the wild tribes. They were expert archers, their
bows being made of horn, and the arrows were twenty-three inches long.
In summer a poison was prepared in which the arrow heads were dipped. A
wound from one of these was almost instantly fatal. The almost
incredible statement is made in the native accounts that the dead bodies
of this people were not interred but were used in baiting traps for wild
animals.

Besides the Mal-gal tribes there were two others of considerable note,
namely the Pal-hă and the Kŭ-ran of which special mention is not here
necessary, though their names will appear occasionally in the following
pages. They lived somewhere along the northern borders of Korea, within
striking distance. The last border tribe that we shall mention is the
Yŭ-jin whose history is closely interwoven with that of Ko-gu-ryŭ. They
were the direct descendants, or at least close relatives, of the Eum-nu
people. They were said to have been the very lowest and weakest of all
the wild tribes, in fact a mongrel tribe, made up of the offscourings of
all the others. They are briefly described by the statement that if they
took up a handful of water it instantly turned black. They were good
archers and were skilful at mimicing the deer for the purpose of
decoying it. They ate deer flesh raw. A favorite form of amusement was
to make tame deer intoxicated with wine and watch their antics. Pigs,
cattle and donkeys abounded. They used cattle for burden and the hides
served for covering. The houses were roofed with bark. Fine horses were
raised by them. It was in this tribe that the great conquerer of China,
A-gol-t’a, arose, who paved the way for the founding of the great Kin
dynasty a thousand years or more after the beginning of our era.



                               Chapter V.

Southern Korean.... Ki-jun’s arrival.... differences which he found....
    three groups.... Ma-han.... position.... peculiarities....
    characteristics.... worship.... tatooing.... numbers....
    Chin-han.... Chinese immigration.... customs.... Pyön-han....
    position.... habits.... the philological argument.... southern
    origin.... Ki-jun and his descendants.


We must now ask the reader to go with us to the southern portion of the
peninsula where we shall find a people differing in many essential
respects from the people of the north, and evincing not merely such
different but such opposite characteristics from the people of the north
that it is difficult to believe that they are of the same origin.

When King Ki-jun, the last of the Ki-ja dynasty proper was driven from
P’yŭng-yang by the unscrupulous Wi-man, he embarked, as we have already
seen, upon the Ta-dong River accompanied by a small retinue of officials
and servants. Faring southward along the coast, always within sight of
land and generally between the islands and mainland, he deemed it safe
at last to effect a landing. This he did at a place anciently known as
Keum-ma-gol or “Place of the Golden Horse,” now Ik-san. It should be
noticed that this rendering is simply that of the Chinese characters
that were used to represent the word Keum-ma-gol. In all probability it
was a mere transliteration of the native name of the place by the use of
the Chinese, and the rendering here given was originally unthought of.

They found the land inhabited, but by a people strange in almost every
particular. The explicitness with which all native accounts describe the
people whom Ki-jun found in the south is in itself a striking argument
in favor of the theory that a different race of people was there
encountered. The southern part of the peninsula was divided between
three groups of peoples called respectively Ma-han, Chin-han and
Pyön-han. How these names originated can hardly be learned at this date,
but it would seem that they were native words; for the last of the
three, Pyön-han, was also called Pyön-jin, a word entering into the
composition of many of the names of the towns peopled by the Pyön-han
tribes. It is necessary for us now to take a brief glance at each of
these three groups, for in them we shall find the solution of the most
interesting and important problem that Korea has to offer either to the
historian or ethnologist.

The Ma-han people occupied the south-western part of the peninsula,
comprising the whole of the present province of Ch’ung-ch’ŭng and the
northern part of Chŭl-la. It may have extended northward nearly to the
Han river but of this we cannot be sure. On its north was the tribe of
Nang-nang, on the south was probably a part of Pyön-han but one
authority says that to the south of Ma-han were the Japanese or Wă-in.
These Japanese are carefully described and much color is given to this
statement by certain coincidences which will be brought out later. No
Korean work mentions these Japanese and it may be that the Japanese
referred to were those living on the islands between Korea and Japan.
But we can easily imagine the thrifty islanders making settlements of
the southern coast of Korea.

The first striking peculiarity of the Ma-han people, and one that
differentiates them from the northern neighbors, was the fact that they
were not one tribe but a congeries of small settlements each entirely
independent of the others, each having its own chief, its own army, its
own laws. It is said that they lived either among the mountains or along
the coast, which would point to the existence of two races, the one
inland, indigenous, and the other, colonists from some other country.
The Ma-han people were acquainted with agriculture, sericulture and the
use of flax and hemp. Their fowls had tails ninety-five inches long.
Here is one of the interesting coincidences that uphold the contention
that the Japanese were in the peninsula at that time. These peculiar
fowls are now extinct, but, within the memory of people now living, such
fowls were quite common in Japan and preserved specimens in the museum
at Tokyo show that the above measurements are by no means unusual in
that breed of fowl. It would seem then that Japan procured them from
Korea, or else the Japanese colonists introduced them into Korea.

Another point which differentiates the south from the north was the fact
that a walled town was a thing unknown in the south; as the Korean
writer puts it “There was no difference between town and country.” Their
houses were rough thatched huts sunken a little below the surface of the
ground, as is indicated by the statement that the houses were entered
from the top. These people of Ma-han were strong and fierce and were
known by the loudness and vehemence of their speech. This accords well
with the further fact that they were the virtual governors of all south
Korea, for it was Ma-han who furnished rulers for Chin-han. These people
did not kneel nor bow in salutation. There was no difference in the
treatment of people of different ages or sexes. All were addressed
alike.

Another marked difference between these people and those of the north
was that the Ma-han people held neither gold nor silver in high repute.
We may safely reckon upon the acquisitive faculty as being the most keen
and pervasive of all the faculties of eastern as well as western
peoples, and that the north should have been acquainted with the uses
and values of these metals while the south was not, can argue nothing
less than a complete ignorance of each other. The southern people loved
beads strung about the head and face, a trait that naturally points to
the south and the tropics. In the summer they worshipped spirits, at
which time they consumed large quantities of intoxicating beverages
while they sang and danced, several “tens of men” dancing together and
keeping time with their feet. In the autumn, after the harvest, they
worshipped and feasted again. In each of the little settlements there
was a high priest whose business it was to worship for the whole
community. They had a kind of monastic system, the devotees of which
fastened iron drums to high posts and beat upon them during their
worship.

Another striking statement is that tatooing was common. This is another
powerful argument in favor of the theory of a southern origin, for it is
apparent that tatooing is a form of dress and is most in vogue where the
heat renders the use of clothing uncomfortable. As might be expected,
this habit has died out in Korea, owing without doubt to the comparative
severity of the climate; but within the memory of living men it has been
practiced on a small scale, and today there is one remnant of the custom
in the drawing of a red colored thread under the skin of the wrist in
making certain kinds of vow or promises.

In the larger towns the ruler was called Sin-ji and in the smaller ones
Eup-ch’a. They had tests of endurance similar to those used by North
American Indians. One of them consisted in drawing a cord through the
skin of the back and being hauled up and down by it without a murmur.

We are told that in Ma-han there were 100,000 houses, each district
containing, from 1,000 to 10,000 houses. This would give an approximate
population of 500,000. The names of the fifty-four districts or kingdom
included in Ma-han are given in the appendix together with those of
Chin-han and Pyön-han.

We are told that the aged men of Chin-han held the tradition that
thousands of Chinese fled to Korea in the days of the Tsin dynasty,
255-209 B.C., and that the people of Ma-han gave them land in the east
and enclosed them in a palisade, and furnished them with a governor who
transmitted the office to his son. This could refer however only to a
small portion of Chin-han. There was a large and widely scattered native
population occupying approximately the territory covered by the present
Kyŭng-sang Province. It is probable that these Chinese refugees
exercised a great influence over them and taught them many things. It is
not improbable that it was owing to this civilizing agency that Sil-la
eventually became master of the peninsula. But it should be carefully
noted that this Chin-han did not derive its name, from the Chin (Tsin)
dynasty of China through these Chinese refugees. The character used in
designating Chin-han is not the same as that used for the Chin dynasty.

The land was fertile. The mulberry flourished and silk culture was a
common employment. Horses and cattle were used both under the saddle and
as beasts of burden. Marriage rites were scrupulously observed and the
distinction between the sexes was carefully preserved. When a body was
interred men followed the bier waving feathers in the air to help waft
the soul of the departed on its flight to heaven. The country contained
much mineral wealth. Ye-măk, Ma-han and the Japanese all obtained metal
from Chin-han. Iron was the medium of exchange. They were fond of music
and the dance. Their music was made by means of a rude harp and an
instrument made by stretching wire back and forth inside a metal
cylinder which, when struck, caused the strings to vibrate. When a child
was born a stone was placed against its head to flatten it. Tattooing
was common in those parts contiguous to the Japanese, which would imply
that the custom was a borrowed one. When two men met on the road it was
considered good form for each to stop and insist upon the others passing
first.

It is hardly necessary to dwell upon the characteristics of the Pyön-han
people, for they were nearly the same as those of the people of
Chin-han. Some say they were within the territory of Chin-han, others
that they were south both of Ma-han and Chin-han, and nearest to the
Japanese. They tatooed a great deal. Beyond this fact little is known of
them excepting that their punishments were very severe, many offences
being punished with death.

It is difficult to say what was the nature of the bond between the
different districts which made up the whole body of either Ma-han,
Chin-han or Pyön-han. On the one hand we are told that the districts
were entirely separate and yet we find Ma-han, as a whole, performing
acts that imply some sort of federation at least if not a fixed central
government. In fact one Chinese work states that a town named Cha-ji was
the capital of all three of the Hans. We must conclude therefore from
those and subsequent statements that some sort of central government
prevailed, at least in Ma-han.

The names of the several kingdoms which composed the three Hans are
preserved to us, mutilated, in all probability, by reason of Chinese
transliteration, but still useful from a philological and ethnological
standpoint. If the reader will glance but casually at the list of these
separate districts as given in the appendix, he will see that there was
good cause for the division into three Hans. We will point out only the
most striking peculiarities here, as this belongs rather to the domain
of philology than to that of history. In Ma-han we find seven of the
names ending _ro_. We find two or three of the same in Pyön-han but none
in Chin-hau. In Ma-han we find fourteen names ending in _ri_ but none in
either of the others. In Pyön-han we find ten names beginning with
Pyön-jin which is wholly unknown to the other two. In this we also find
three with the unique suffix _mi-dong_. In Chin-han we find nine ending
in _kan_ and five in _kaye_, which are found in neither of the others.
It is hardly necessary to say that these cannot be mere coincidences. In
each group we find at least one considerable set of endings entirely
lacking in the others. As our own ending _ton_, _ville_, _burgh_,
_chester_ and _coln_ have an original significance, so these ending
_ro_, _ri_, _mi-dong_, _kan_ and _ka-ya_ have a meaning which should
supply us with important clues to the origin of the people of southern
Korea.

The marked polysyllabism of these names makes it impossible to imagine a
Chinese origin for them. It is seldom that a Manchu or Mongol name of a
place exceeds two syllables. On the other hand we find in Japan and
Polynesia common use of polysyllabic geographical names. A thorough
discussion of the subject here would be out of place, but this much must
be said, that several of these endings, as _ro_, _pin_ and _kan_, find
their almost exact counterpart in the Dravidian languages of southern
India, where they mean _village_, _settlement_ and _kingdom_.

The argument in favor of the southern origin of the people of the three
Hans is a cumulative one. The main points are; the structure and
vocabulary of the language, the nonintercourse with the people of
northern Korea, the custom of tattooing, the diminutive size of the
horses found nowhere else, except in the Malay peninsula, the tradition
of the southern origin of the people of the island of Quelpart, the
physiological similarity between the people, especially the females, of
Quelpart and Formosa, the seafaring propensities of the people of the
three Hans, their ignorance of the value of gold and silver, the
continuous line of islands stretching along the whole coast of China
together with the powerful ocean current which sweeps northward along
the Asiatic coast, the tradition of the Telugu origin of the ancient
sultans of Anam and the love of bead ornaments.

Such was the status of southern Korea when Ki-jun arrived at
Keum-ma-gol. By what means he obtained control of the government is not
related but the fact remains that he did so and founded a new kingdom
which was destined to survive nearly two centuries. Ki-jun died the same
year. No details are given of the events that transpired during the next
hundred years or more excepting that one Chinese work states that during
the reign of Emperor Wu-ti 140-88 B.C. frequent envoys went from Ma-han
to the Chinese court. We are also told that off the coast of Ma-han
among the islands lived a tribe called the Chu-ho, a people of smaller
stature than the people of Ma-han, and speaking a different language.
They cut the hair and wore skins for clothing but clothed only the upper
part of the body. They came frequently to Ma-han to barter cattle and
pigs.

Ki-jun’s seventh descendant was Hun, with the title of Wŭn-wang. His
reign began in 57 B.C. during the reign of the Han Emperor Hsuan-ti and
in the second year the great kingdom of Sil-la was founded in Chin-han.
In his twenty-second year the great northern kingdom of Ko-gu-ryŭ was
founded, 35 B.C., and nineteen years later the kingdom of Ma-han fell
before the forces of Păk-je.



                              Chapter VI.

The founding of Sil-la, Ko-gu-ryu, and Pak-je.... Sil-la.... legend....
    growth.... Tsushima a vassal.... credibility of accounts....
    Japanese relations.... early vicissitudes.... Ko-gu-ryu.... four
    Pu-yus.... legend.... location of Pu-yu.... Chu-mong founds
    Ko-gu-ryu.... growth and extent.... products.... customs....
    religious rites.... official grades.... punishments.... growth
    eastward.... Pak-je.... relations between Sil-la and Pak-je....
    tradition of founding of Pak-je.... opposition of wide tribes....
    the capital moved.... situation of the peninsula at the time of
    Christ.


In the year 57 B.C. the chiefs of the six great Chin-han states,
Yŭn-jun-yang-san, Tol-san-go-hö, Cha-sa-jin-ji, Mu-san-dă-su, Keum
san-ga-ri and Myŭng-whal-san-go-ya held a great council at Yun-chŭn-yang
and agreed to merge their separate fiefs into a kingdom. They named the
capital of the new kingdom Sŭ-ya-bŭl, from which the present word Seoul
is probably derived, and it was situated where Kyöng-ju now stands in
Kyüng-sang Province. At first the name applied both to the capital and
to the kingdom.

They placed upon the throne a boy of thirteen years, named Hyŭk-kŭ-se,
with the royal title Kŭ-sŭ-gan. It is said that his family name was Pak,
but this was probably an afterthought derived from a Chinese source. At
any rate he is generally known as Pak Hyŭk-kŭ-se. The story of his
advent is typically Korean. A company of revellers beheld upon a
mountain side a ball of light on which a horse was seated. They
approached it and as they did so the horse rose straight in air and
disappeared, leaving a great, luminous egg. This soon opened of itself
and disclosed a handsome boy. This wonder was accompanied by vivid light
and the noise of thunder. Not long after this another wonder was seen.
Beside the Yŭn-yüng Spring a hen raised her wing and from her side came
forth a female child with a mouth like a bird’s bill, but when they
washed her in the spring the bill fell off and left her like other
children. For this reason the well was named the Pal-ch’ŭn which refers
to the falling of the bill. Another tradition says that she was formed
from the rib of a dragon which inhabited the spring. In the fifth year
of his reign the youthful king espoused this girl and they typify to all
Koreans the perfect marriage.

As this kingdom included only six of the Chin-han states, it would be
difficult to give its exact boundaries. From the very first it began to
absorb the surrounding states, until at last it was bounded on the east
and south by the sea alone, while it extended north to the vicinity of
the Han River and westward to the borders of Na-han, or to Chi-ri San.
It took her over four hundred years to complete these conquests, many of
which were bloodless while others were effected at the point of the
sword. It was not until the twenty-second generation that the name
Sil-la was adopted as the name of this kingdom.

It is important to notice that the island of Tsushima, whether actually
conquered by Sil-la or not, became a dependency of that Kingdom and on
account of the sterility of the soil the people of that island were
annually aided by the government. It was not until the year 500 A.D. or
thereabouts that the Japanese took charge of the island and placed their
magistrate there. From that time on, the island was not a dependency of
any Korean state but the relations between them were very intimate, and
there was a constant interchange of goods, in a half commercial and half
political manner. There is nothing to show that the _daimyos_ of
Tsushima ever had any control over any portion of the adjacent coast of
Korea.

It gives one a strong sense of the trustworthiness of the Korean records
of these early days to note with what care the date of every eclipse was
recorded. At the beginning of each reign the list of the dates of solar
eclipses is given. For instance, in the reign of Hyŭk-kŭ-se they
occurred, so the records say, in the fourth, twenty-fourth, thirtieth,
thirty-second, forty-third, forty-fifth, fifty-sixth and fifty-ninth
years of his reign. According to the Gregorian calendar this would mean
the years 53, 31, 27, 25, 14, 12 B.C. and 2. A.D. If these annals were
later productions, intended to deceive posterity, they would scarcely
contain lists of solar eclipses. The marvelous or incredible stories
given in these records are given only as such and often the reader is
warned not to put faith in them.

The year 48 B.C. gives us the first definite statement of a historical
fact regarding Japanese relations with Korea. In that year the Japanese
pirates stopped their incursions into Korea for the time being. From
this it would seem that even at that early date the Japanese had become
the vikings of the East and were carrying fire and sword wherever there
was enough water to float their boats. It would also indicate that the
extreme south of Korea was not settled by Japanese, for it was here that
the Japanese incursions took place.

In 37 B.C. the power of the little kingdom of Sil-la began to be felt in
surrounding districts and the towns of Pyön-han joined her standards. It
was probably a bloodless conquest, the people of Pyön-han coming
voluntarily into Sil-la. In 37 B.C. the capital of Sil-la, which had
received the secondary name Keum-sŭng, was surrounded by a wall
thirty-five _li_, twelve miles, long. The city was 5,075 paces long and
3,018 paces wide. The progress made by Sil-la and the evident tendency
toward centralisation of all power in a monarchy aroused the suspicion
of the king of Ma-han who, we must remember, had considered Chin-han as
in some sense a vassal of Ma-han. For this reason the king of Sil-la, in
19 B.C., sent an envoy to the court of Ma-han with rich presents in
order to allay the fears of that monarch. The constant and heavy influx
into Sil-la of the fugitive Chinese element also disturbed the mind of
that same king, for he foresaw that if this went unchecked it might mean
the supremacy of Sil-la instead of that of Ma-han. This envoy from
Sil-la was Ho-gong, said to have been a native of Japan. He found the
king of Ma-han in an unenviable frame of mind and it required all his
tact to pacify him, and even then he succeeded so ill that had not the
Ma-han officials interfered the king would have had his life. The
following year the king of Ma-han died and a Sil-la embassy went to
attend the obsequies. They were anxious to find opportunity to seize the
helm of state in Ma-han and bring her into the port of Sil-la, but this
they were strictly forbidden to do by their royal master who generously
forebore to take revenge for the insult of the preceding year.

As this was the year, 37 B.C., which marks the founding of the powerful
kingdom of Ko-gur-yŭ, we must turn our eyes northward and examine that
important event.

As the founder of Ko-gur-yŭ originated in the kingdom of Pu-yŭ, it will
be necessary for us to examine briefly the position and status of that
tribe, whose name stands prominently forth in Korean history and
tradition. There were four Pu-yŭs in all; North Pu-yŭ, East Pu-yŭ,
Chŭl-bŭn Pu-yŭ and South Pu-yŭ. We have already, under the head of the
Tan-gun, seen that tradition gives to Pu-ru his son, the honor of having
having been the founder of North Pu-yŭ, or Puk Pu-yŭ as it is commonly
called. This is quite apocryphal but gives us at least a precarious
starting point. This Puk Pu-yŭ is said by some to have been far to the
north in the vicinity of the Amur River or on one of its tributaries, a
belief which is sustained to a certain extent by some inferences to be
deduced from the following legend.

It must have been about fifty years before the beginning of our era that
King Hă-bu-ru sat upon the throne of North Pu-yŭ. His great sorrow was
that Providence had not given him a son. Riding one day in the forest he
reached the bank of a swift rushing stream and there dismounting he
besought the Great Spirit to grant him a son. Turning to remount he
found the horse standing with bowed head before a great boulder while
tears were rolling down its face. He turned the boulder over and found
beneath it a child of the color of gold but with a form resembling a
toad. Thus was his prayer pm corr 37 answered answered.> He took the
curious child home and gave it the name Keum-wa or “Golden Toad.” Soon
after this the kingdom removed to East Pu-yŭ, or Tong Pu-yŭ, somewhere
near the “White Head Mountain,” known as Păk-tu San.

Arriving at the age of manhood, Keum-wa looked about for a wife. As he
was walking along the shore of U-bal-su (whether river or sea we do not
know) he found a maiden crying. Her name was Yu-wha, “Willow Catkin.” To
his inquiries she replied that she was daughter of the Sea King, Ha-băk,
but that she had been driven from home because she had been enticed away
and ravished by a spirit called Ha-mo-su. Keum-wa took her home as his
wife but shut her in a room to which the sun-light had access only by a
single minute aperture. Marvelous to relate a ray of light entered and
followed her to whatever part of the room she went. By it she conceived
and in due time gave birth to an egg, as large as five “measures.”
Keum-wa in anger threw it to the pigs and dogs but they would not touch
it. Cattle and horses breathed upon it to give it warmth. A stork from
heaven settled down upon it and warmed it beneath her feathers. Keum-wa
relented and allowed Yu-wha to bring it to the palace, where she wrapped
it in silk and cotton. At last it burst and disclosed a fine boy. This
precocious youth at seven years of age was so expert with the bow that
he won the name of Chu-mong, “Skillful Archer.” He was not a favorite
with the people and they tried to compass his death but the king
protected him and made him keeper of the royal stables. Like Jacob of
Holy Writ he brought his wits to bear upon the situation. By fattening
the poorer horses and making the good ones lean he succeeded in
reserving for his own use the fleetest steeds. Thus in the hunt he
always led the rout and secured the lion’s share of the game. For this
his seven brothers hated him and determined upon his death. By night his
mother sought his bed-side and whispered the word of warning. Chu-mong
arose and with three trusty councillors, O-i, Ma-ri and Hyŭp-pu, fled
southward until he found his path blocked by the Eum-ho River. There was
neither boat, bridge nor ford. Striking the surface of the water with
his bow he called upon the spirit of the river to aid him, for behind
him the plain smoked with the pursuing hoof-beats of his brothers’
horses. Instantly there came up from the depths of the river a shoal of
fish and tortoises who lay their backs together and thus bridged the
stream.

Fantastic as this story seems, it may have an important bearing upon the
question of the location of Pu-yŭ. Can we not see in this great shoal of
fish a reference to the salmon which, at certain seasons, run up the
Amur and its tributaries in such numbers that the water is literally
crowded with them? If there is any weight to this argument the kingdom
of Pu-yŭ, from which Chu-mong came, must have been, as some believe,
along the Sungari or some other tributary of the Amur.

Leaving his brothers baffled on the northern bank, Chu-mong fared
southward till he reached Mo-tun-gok by the Po-sul River where he met
three men, Chă-sa, clothed in grass cloth, Mu-gol in priestly garb and
Muk-hŭ, in seaweed. They joined his retinue and proceeded with him to
Chŭl-bon, the present town of Song-ch’ŭn, where he founded a kingdom. He
gave it the name of Ko-gu-ryŭ, from Ko, his family name, and Ku-ryŭ, a
mountain in his native Pu-yŭ. Some say the Ko is from the Chinese _Kao_,
“high,” referring to his origin. This kingdom is also known by the name
Chŭl-bon Pu-yu. It is said that Pu-ryu River flowed by the capital.
These events occurred, if at all, in the year 37 B.C. This was all
Chinese land, for it was a part of the great province of Tong-bu which
had been erected by the Emperor So-je (Chao-ti) in 81 B.C. Only one
authority mentions Chu-mong’s relations with Tong-bu. This says that
when he erected his capital at Chŭl-bon he seized Tong-bu. China had
probably held these provinces with a very light hand and the founding of
a vigorous native monarchy would be likely to attract the semi-barbarous
people of northern Korea. Besides, the young Ko-gu-ryŭ did not seize the
whole territory at once but gradually absorbed it. It is not unlikely
that China looked with complacency upon a native ruler who, while
recognising her suzerainty, could at the same time hold in check the
fierce denizens of the peninsula.

We are told that the soil of Ko-gu-ryŭ was fertile and that the cereals
grew abundantly. The land was famous for its fine horses and its red
jade, its blue squirrel skins and its pearls. Chu-mong inclosed his
capital in a heavy stockade and built store-houses and a prison. At its
best the country stretched a thousand _li_ beyond the Yalu River and
southward to the banks of the Han. It comprised the Nang-nang tribe from
which Emperor Mu-je named the whole north-western portion of Korea when
he divided northern Korea into four provinces. On the east was Ok-ju and
on its north was Pu-yŭ. It contained two races of people, one living
among the mountains and the other in the plains. It is said they had a
five-fold origin. There were the So-ro-bu, Chŭl-lo-bu, Sun-no-bu,
Kwan-no-bu and Kye-ro-bu. The kings at first came from the So-ro-bu line
but afterwards from the Kye-ro-bu. This probably refers to certain
family clans or parties which existed at the time of Chu-mong’s arrival
and which were not discontinued. Chu-mong is said to have married the
daughter of the king of Chŭl-bon and so he came into the control of
affairs in a peaceful way and the institutions of society were not
particularly disturbed.

Agriculture was not extensively followed. In the matter of food they
were very frugal. Their manners and customs were somewhat like those of
Pu-yŭ but were not derived from that kingdom. Though licentious they
were fond of clean clothes. At night both sexes gathered in a single
apartment and immorality abounded. Adultery, however, if discovered, was
severely punished. In bowing it was customary for these people to throw
out one leg behind. While travelling, men more often ran than walked.
The worship of spirits was universal. In the autumn there was a great
religious festival. In the eastern part of the peninsula there was a
famous cave called Su-sin where a great religious gathering occurred
each autumn. Their religious rites included singing and drinking. At the
same time captives were set free. They worshipped likewise on the eve of
battle, slaughtering a bullock and examining the body for omens.

Swords, arrows and spears were their common weapons. A widow usually
became the wife of her dead husband’s brother. When a great man died it
was common to bury one or more men alive with his body. The statement
that sometimes as many as a hundred were killed is probably an
exaggeration. These characteristics were those of the Nang-nang people
as well as of the rest of Ko-gu-ryŭ. The highest official grades were
called Sang-ga-dă, No-p’ă, Ko-ju-dă. Some say their official grades were
called by the names of animals, as the “horse grade” the “dog grade” the
“cow grade.” There were special court garments of silk embroidered with
gold and silver. The court hat was something like the present _kwan_ or
skull-cap. There were few prisoners. If a man committed a crime he was
summarily tried and executed, and his wife and children became slaves.
Thieves restored twelve-fold. Marriage always took place at the bride’s
house. The dead were wrapped in silks and interred, and commonly the
entire fortune of the deceased was exhausted in the funeral ceremony.
The bodies of criminals were left unburied. The people were fierce and
violent and thieving was common. They rapidly corrupted the simpler and
cleaner people of the Ye-măk and Ok-jŭ tribes.

No sooner had Chu-mong become firmly established in his new capital than
he began to extend the limits of his kingdom. In 35 B.C. he began a
series of conquests which resulted in the establishment of a kingdom
destined to defy the power of China for three quarters of a millennium.
His first operations were against the wild people to the east of him.
The first year he took Pu-ryu on the Ya-lu, then in 29 B.C. he took
Hăng-in, a district near the present Myo-hyang San. In 27 B.C. he took
Ok-jŭ, thus extending his kingdom to the shore of eastern Korea. In 23
B.C. he learned that his mother had died in far off Pu-yŭ and he sent an
embassy thither to do honor to her.

The year 18 B.C. beheld the founding of the third of the great kingdoms
which held the triple sceptre of Korea, and we must therefore turn
southward and examine the events which led up to the founding of the
kingdom of Păk-je.

When Chu-mong fled southward from Pu-yŭ he left behind him a wife and
son. The latter was named Yu-ri. Tradition says that one day while
playing with pebbles in the street he accidentally broke a woman’s water
jar. In anger she exclaimed “You are a child without a father.” The boy
went sadly home and asked his mother if it was true. She answered yes,
in order to see what the boy would do. He went out and found a knife and
was on the point of plunging it into his body when she threw herself
upon him saying “Your father is living and is a great king in the south.
Before he left he hid a token under a tree, which you are to find and
take to him.” The boy searched every where but could not find the tree.
At last, wearied out, he sat down behind the house in despair, when
suddenly he heard a sound as of picking, and noticing that it came from
one of the posts of the house he said “This is the tree and I shall now
find the token.” Digging beneath the post he unearthed the broken blade
of a sword. With this he started south and when he reached his father’s
palace he showed the token. His father produced the other half of the
broken blade and as the two matched he received the boy and proclaimed
him heir to the throne.

But he had two other sons by a wife whom he had taken more recently.
They were Pi-ryu and On-jo. When Yu-ri appeared on the scene these two
brothers, knowing how proverbially unsafe the head of a king’s relative
is, feared for their lives and so fled southward. Ascending Sam-gak San,
the mountain immediately behind the present Seoul, they surveyed the
country southward. Pi-ryu the elder chose the country to the westward
along the sea. On-jo chose to go directly south. So they separated,
Pi-ryu going to Mi-ch’u-hol, now In-ch’ŭn near Chemulpo, where he made a
settlement. On-jo struck southward into what is now Ch’ung-ch’ŭng
Province and settled at a place called Eui-rye-sŭng, now the district of
Chik-san. There he was given a generous tract of land by the king of
Ma-han; and he forthwith set up a little kingdom which he named South
Pu-yŭ. The origin of the name Păk-je is not definitely known. Some say
it was because a hundred men constituted the whole of On-jo’s party.
Others say that it was at first called Sip-je and then changed to Păk-je
when their numbers were swelled by the arrival of Pi-ryu and his party.
The latter had found the land sterile and the climate unhealthy at
Mi-ch’u-hol and so was constrained to join his brother again. On the
other hand we find the name Păk-je in the list of original districts of
Ma-han and it is probable that this new kingdom sprang up in the
district called Păk-je and this name became so connected with it that it
has came down in history as Păk-je, while in truth it was not called so
by its own people. It the same way Cho-sŭn is known today by the
medieval name Korea. Not long after Pi-ryu rejoined his brother he died
of chagrin at his own failure.

It must not be imagined that these three kingdoms of Sil-la, Ko-gu-ryŭ
and Păk-je, which represented so strongly the centripetal idea in
government, were allowed to proceed without vigorous protests from the
less civilized tribes about them. The Mal-gal tribes in the north, the
Suk-sin and North Ok-jŭ tribe in the north-east and Ye-măk in the east
made fierce attacks upon them as opportunity presented. The Mal-gal
tribes in particular seem to have penetrated southward even to the
borders of Păk-je, probably after skirting the eastern borders of
Ko-gu-ryŭ. Nominally Ko-gu-ryŭ held sway even to the Japan Sea but
practically the wild tribes roamed as yet at will all through the
eastern part of the peninsula. In the eighth year of On-jo’s reign, 10
B.C., the Mal-gal forces besieged his capital and it was only after a
most desperate fight that they were driven back. On-jo found it
necessary to build the fortresses of Ma-su-sŭng and Ch’il-chung-sŭng to
guard against such inroads. At the same time the Sŭn-bi were threatening
Ko-gu-ryŭ on the north, but Gen. Pu Bun-no lured them into an ambush and
routed them completely. The king rewarded him with land, horses and
thirty pounds of gold, but the last he refused.

The next year the wild men pulled down the fortresses lately erected by
King On-jo and the latter decided that he must find a better site for
his capital. So he moved it to the present site of Nam-han, about twenty
miles from the present Seoul. At the same time he sent and informed the
king of Ma-han that he had found it necessary to move. The following
year he enclosed the town in a wall and set to work teaching agriculture
to the people throughout the valley of the Han River which flowed near
by.

In the year which saw the birth of Christ the situation of affairs in
Korea was as follows. In the north, Ko-gu-ryŭ, a vigorous, warlike
kingdom, was making herself thoroughly feared by her neighbors; in the
central western portion was the little kingdom of Păk-je, as yet without
any claims to independence but waiting patiently for the power of Ma-han
so to decline as to make it possible to play the serpent in the bosom as
Wi-man had done to Ki-ja’s kingdom. In the south was Sil-la, known as a
peaceful power, not needing the sword because her rule was so mild and
just that people from far and near flocked to her borders and craved to
become her citizens. It is one of the compensations of history that
Sil-la, the least martial of them all, in an age when force seemed the
only arbiter, should have finally overcome them all and imposed upon
them her laws and her language.



                              Chapter VII.

Change of Ko-gu-ryu capital.... Sil-la raided.... Legend of
    Suk-ta’l-ba.... fall of Ma-han.... beginning of Chinese enmity
    against Ko-gu-ryu....the three kingdoms differentiated.... King
    Yu-ri degraded.... extension of Ko-gu-ryu.... Japanese corsairs...
    remnant of Ma-han revolts.... fall of Pu-yu.... origin of
    _in-gum_.... siege of Ko-gu-ryu capital raised.... Sil-la’s peaceful
    policy.... patronymics.... official grades.... unoccupied
    territory.... kingdom of Ka-rak.... legends.... position....
    dependencies.


We read that in 2 A.D. the king of Ko-gu-ryŭ was about to sacrifice a
pig to his gods, when the pig escaped and taking to its heels was chased
by the courtier Sŭl-chi into the district of Kung-nă. He caught the
animal near Wi-na Cliff, north of the Ch’o-san of today. When he
returned he described the place to the king as being rough and
consequently suitable for the site of a capital. Deer, fish and turtles
also abounded. He gave such a glowing account that the king was fain to
move his capital to that place, where it remained for two hundred and
six years.

In 4 A.D. Hyuk-kŭ-se, the wise king of Sil-la died and seven days later
his queen followed him. It is said that they were so completely one that
neither could live without the other. Nam-hă his son, with the title of
Ch’a-ch’a-ung, reigned in his stead. A remnant of the Nang-nang tribe,
hearing of the death of King Hyŭk-kŭ-se, thought it a fitting time to
make a raid into Sil-la territory, but they were beaten back.

In the third year of his reign, Nam-hă built a shrine to his father and
then put the management of the government into the hands of a man named
Sŭk-t’al-hă who had become his son-in-law. This man is one of the noted
men of Sil-la and his origin and rise are among the cherished traditions
of the people.

Somewhere in north-eastern Japan there was a kingdom known as Ta-p’a-ra
and there a woman, pregnant for seven years, brought forth an egg. The
neighbors thought it a bad omen and were minded to destroy it but the
mother, aware of their intentions, wrapped the egg in silk and cotton
and placing it in a strong chest committed it to the waters of the Japan
Sea. In time it drifted to A-jin Harbor on the coast of Sil-la where an
old fisherwoman drew it ashore and found upon opening it that it
contained a beautiful child. She adopted him and reared him in her
humble home. It was noticed that wherever the child went the magpies
followed him in flocks, so they gave him the name of Sŭk, the first part
of the Chinese word for magpie. The second part of his name was T’al,
“to put off” referring to his having broken forth from the egg, and the
final syllable of his name was Hă meaning “to open” for the fishwife
opened the chest. This boy developed into a giant both physically and
mentally. His foster-mother saw in him the making of a great man, and so
gave him what educational advantages she could afford. When he had
exhausted these she sent him to enter the service of the great statesman
Pyo-gong the same that had acted as envoy to Păk-je. Pyo-gong recognised
his merit and introduced him at court where his rise was so rapid that
ere long he married the king’s daughter and became vicegerent of the
realm, the king resigning into his hands the greater part of the
business of state.

The year 9 A.D. beheld the fall of the kingdom of Ma-han. We remember
that Ki-jun became king of Ma-han in 193 B.C. He died the same year and
was succeeded by his son Ki-t’ak with the title Kang-wang, who ruled
four years. It was in 58 B.C. that Ki-jun’s descendant Ki-hun (Wun-wang)
ascended the throne. It was in the second year of his reign that Sil-la
was founded and in his twenty-second year that Ko-gu-ryŭ was founded.
After twenty-six years of rule he died and left his son, Ki-jŭng, to
hold the scepter. It was this king who, in his sixteenth year gave On-jo
the plot of land which became the seat of the kingdom of Păk-je.
Twenty-six years had now passed since that act of generosity. Păk-je had
steadily been growing stronger and Ma-han had as steadily dwindled,
holding now only the two important towns of Wŭn-san and Köm-hyŭn. In
fact some authorities say that Ma-han actually came to an end in 16 B.C.
at the age of 177 years but that a remnant still held the towns of
Wŭn-san and Köm-hyŭn. The balance of proof is however with the statement
that Ma-han kept up at least a semblance of a state until 9 A.D.

The first sign of hostile intent on the part of Păk-je against her host,
Ma-han, had appeared some years before, when Păk-je had thrown up a line
of breast-works between herself and the capital of Ma-han. The latter
had no intention of taking the offensive but Păk-je apparently feared
that Ma-han would divine her hostile intent. Ma-han hastened to send a
message saying “Did I not give you a hundred _li_ of land? Why do you
then suspect me of hostile designs?” In answer, Păk-je partly from shame
and partly because she saw that Ma-han was wholly unsuspicious of her
ulterior designs, tore down the barriers and things went on as before.
But now that Ma-han was utterly weak, the king of Păk-je decided to
settle the matter by one bold stroke. He organised a great hunting
expedition and under cover of this approached the Ma-han capital and
took it almost without resistance. Thus, as Wi-man had paid back the
kindness of Ki-jun by treachery so now again On-jo paid back this last
descendant of Ki-jun in the same way.

Up to this time China had looked on with complacency at the growth of
Ko-gu-ryŭ but now Wang-mang the usurper had seized the throne of the Han
dynasty. His title was Hsin Whang-ti. One of his first acts seems to
have been directed against the powerful little kingdom that had
supplanted the two provinces of Tong-bu and P‘yŭng-ju into which China
had divided northern Korea. He was probably suspicious of a rapidly
growing and thoroughly warlike power which might at any time gather to
its standards the wild hordes of the north and sweep down into China.

Here was the beginning of a long struggle which lasted with occasional
intermissions until Ko-gu-ryŭ was finally destroyed some eight centuries
later. Ko-gu-ryŭ was uniformly China’s foe and Sil-la was as uniformly
her friend and ally. Păk-je was now one and now the other. It may be in
place to say here that the three powers that divided the peninsula
between them were strongly differentiated. Ko-gu-ryŭ in the north was a
strong, energetic, fierce, unscrupulous military power, the natural
product of her constituent elements. Sil-la was the very opposite;
always inclined toward peace and willing oftentimes to make very large
concessions in order to secure it. Her policy was always to conciliate,
and it was for this mainly that at the last China chose her as the one
to assume control of the whole peninsula. Păk-je differed from both the
others. She was as warlike as Ko-gu-ryŭ but as weak in military
resources as Sil-la. She therefore found her life one scene of turmoil
and strife and she was the first of the three to succumb.

It was in 12 A.D. that Wang-mang sent an envoy to Yu-ri, king of
Ko-gu-ryŭ, demanding aid in the work of subduing the wild tribes of the
north. This was refused by the headstrong Yu-ri, but the Emperor
compelled him to send certain troops to accompany the Chinese army. They
however took advantage of every opportunity to desert, and large numbers
of them formed a marauding band that penetrated the Liao-tung territory
and plundered and killed on every hand. For this cause the Emperor sent
against Ko-gu-ryŭ a strong force under Gen. Om-u, who speedily brought
the recalcitrant Yu-ri to terms, took away his title of royalty and left
him only the lesser title of Hu or “Marquis.” From that day began the
policy of reprisals on Chinese territory which Ko-gu-ryŭ steadily
pursued until it cost her life.

These were stirring days in all three of the kingdoms of the peninsula.
In 14 A.D. Ko-gu-ryŭ extended her territory northward by the conquest of
the Yang-măk tribe and at the same time she seized a strip of land
beyond the Liao River This shows that the castigation inflicted by
Wang-mang had not been very severe.

At the same time Sil-la was being harrassed along her southern sea-board
by Japanese corsairs, and while her small army was busy driving these
out the wild people of Nang-nang attacked her on the north. It is said
that one night a meteor fell in their camp and frightened them back to
their own country and thus Sil-la was saved.

Two years later the king Yu-ri of Ko-gu-ryŭ died and his son Mu-hyŭl
ascended the throne, bestowing on his father the title Tong-myŭng or
“Eastern Brightness.” The same year saw a remnant of the overthrown
kingdom of Ma-han, under the leadership of Captain Chu-geun, attempt to
wrest the scepter from Păk-je and restore the fallen house, but they
were defeated and together with their wives and children were put to the
sword. About this time an ancient royal seal was unearthed in northern
Sil-la, where Kang-neung now lies. It became the royal seal of Sil-la.

The next year Ko-gu-ryŭ, ever on the lookout for aggrandisement, made
the conquest of Pu-yŭ, the land from which Chu-mong had fled. The
tradition is as follows. Ta-so the king of Pu-yŭ, had become possessed
of a red crow with two bodies but only one head. The soothsayers said
“Two countries will be joined under one head”. The king replied “Then it
means that I shall conquer Ko-gu-ryŭ.” So he sent the bird to the king
of Ko-gu-ryŭ as a gage of war, but that astute monarch replied “Red is
the color of the south. I shall therefore conquer you.” Thereupon he
took the initiative and sent a powerful army northward to make good his
threat. The story says that as the army entered Li-mul forest the
soldiers found swords clashing together but wielded by invisible hands.
These they seized and hastened on. Soon they were joined by a gigantic
warrior with a white face who joined their party and gave his name as
Kwe-yu.

Approaching the capital of Pu-yŭ, they brought up at night before an
extensive marsh. The Pu-yŭ king, thinking to surprise them by a night
attack, attempted to cross the marsh, but became mired. The giant Kwe-yu
dashed into the swamp and brought to the Ko-gu-ryŭ king his rival’s
head. Upon this the Pu-yŭ forces surrendered; all but the brother of the
fallen king who fled with a hundred followers and settled near the Ya-lu
River, calling the place Kal-sa. This Ko-gu-ryŭ winked at.

In 24 A.D. the king of Sil-la died, having nominated as his successor
not his son but Sŭk-t’al-hă his son-in-law. After the obsequies had been
performed Sŭk-t’al-hă insisted that the prince assume the throne, but he
in turn insisted that the dead king’s orders be followed. As a
compromise Sŭk-t’al-hă proposed that they should find a man with sixteen
teeth in his upper jaw, as this was a sign of unusual wisdom, and that
upon him the throne should be bestowed. When it came to the test, it was
found that the prince himself was the man. He could no longer refuse and
ascended the throne under the title of Yi-sa-geum, or “Sixteen Teeth.”
The present word In-gum which means “king” was doubtless derived from or
is a corruption of this Sil-la word.

Meanwhile Ko-gu-ryŭ had been pushing her conquests steadily. Kă-ma and
Ku-da, two northern districts or “kingdoms” were absorbed and other
conquests were contemplated. The Emperor beheld these enlargements of
Ko-gu-ryŭ with some concern and in 27 A.D. sent a strong force to bring
her to terms. At the first encounter the forces of Ko-gu-ryŭ were routed
and fell back toward the capital which, as we have seen, was then at or
near the present town of Eui-ju. The king hastily summoned a council of
war at which it was decided to man the walls of the capital and try to
hold out until the enemy should be compelled by lack of food or the
severity of the weather to raise the siege. The Chinese knew that there
was little water within the wall and had high hopes of compelling a
speedy surrender. This was all too true and there was soon much distress
in the city; but a certain courtier said “If you will give me all the
fish in the city I will undertake to make the enemy raise the siege or I
will pay the penalty with my life.” He was given permission and soon he
had the soldiers along the wall going through the motions of a bath,
using fish scales for water. The scales glittered in the sun like drops
of water and the enemy supposing that there must therefore be a good
store of water in the city despaired of taking it by siege and so struck
their tents and returned to China.

The marked difference between Ko-gu-ryŭ and Sil-la was well illustrated
by the events of this year. While Ko-gu-ryŭ was reaching out covetous
hands in every direction and carrying fire and sword into the hamlets of
inoffensive neighbors, Sil-la was pursuing a course of such good will to
all both without and within her borders that natives of the wild tribes
to the north of her came in large numbers and settled on her soil, glad
to become citizens of so kind and generous a land. The king himself made
frequent tours of the country alleviating the distress of widows,
orphans and cripples. It was in 32 B.C. that he changed the name of the
six original families which united in founding Sil-la. The men of
Yang-san, Ko-hŭ, Tă-su, Ul-jin, Ka-ri, and of Myŭng-whal were named
respectively Yi, Ch’oé, Son, Chöng, Pă and Sŭl. These names will be
recognised at once as among the most common patronymics in Korea at the
present day, which adds confirmatory evidence that Korea of to-day is
essentially the Korea of the south. When we add to this the fact that
the names Pak, Kim, An, Ko, Sŭk, Yang, So, Sŭ, Kwŭn, Pă, Im, Na, Hyŭn,
Kwak, Ho, Whang, Chang, Sim and Yu originated in southern Korea the
argument becomes well-nigh conclusive. The only names of importance that
did not originate in southern Korea are Min, Song, Om, Cho, and Han; and
many of these originated in what must have been Ma-han territory. At the
same time the king established seventeen official grades and called them
respectively I-bŭl-son, I-ch’ŭk-son, I-son, P’a-jin-son, Tă-a-son,
A-son, Kil-son, Sa-son, etc.

It must be remembered that as yet neither of the “Three Kingdoms” had
begun to occupy all the territory that nominally belonged to it or that
lay within its “sphere of influence.” Between them lay large tracts of
land as yet unoccupied except by wild tribes. It is more than probable
that at no point did any of these kingdoms actually touch each other.
Ko-gu-ryŭ was broadening out northwards, Păk-je was at a standstill and
Sil-la was growing rather by immigration than by occupation of new
territory. As yet Sil-la had taken but four districts outside of the
original six, and so we see that a large part of the south was still in
the hands of the original inhabitants as given in the list of the
settlements of the three Hans. In 41 A.D. the nine districts whose names
ended in kan, namely A-do-gan, Yö-do-gan, P’i-do-gan, O-do-gan,
Yu-su-gan, Yu-ch’ŭn-gan, Sin-ch’ŭn-gan, Sin-gwi-gan and O-ch’ŭn-gan,
formed a confederacy and called it the “Kingdom of Ka-rak”. They placed
their capital at Ka-rak, the present town of Kim-hă, and made Keum Su-ro
their king. Tradition says that he obtained his Queen in the following
way. A boat approached the shore bearing a beautiful woman, Queen Ho,
whose ornamental name was Whang-ok or “Yellow Jade”. She came from the
far southern kingdom of A-yu-t’a, otherwise known as Ch’ŭn-ch’uk. It is
said that she lived a hundred and fifty-seven years and that the king
survived her one year. All that is told us of the history of this rival
of Sil-la is the list of her kings which will be found in the
chronological tables. After an existence of 491 years it came to an end
in the reign of the Sil-la king Pŭp-heung. It is also affirmed that when
Sil-la fell in 935, some worthless wretches who defiled the grave of
Keum Su-ro were mysteriously killed, one by the falling of a beam, one
by an invisible archer and nine others by a serpent eighteen feet long.
The records say that when the Japanese, at the time of the great
invasion three centuries ago, dug open this king’s grave they found
great store of gold and jade. The skull of the monarch was of prodigious
size, and beside his body lay two women whose features were well
preserved but which dissolved and melted away when exposed to the air.
It is barely possible that we here have an indication that embalming was
practiced, but if so we have no other intimation of it.

Ka-rak extended eastward as far as Wang-san River, six miles to the west
of the present Yang-san; to the north-east as far as Ka-ya San, the
present Ko-ryŭng; to the south and south-west as far as the coast and on
the west to Chi-ri San. From this we see that it was little inferior to
Sil-la in size.

Ka-rak had five dependencies, namely the districts known under the
common name of Ka-ya. They were So-ga-ya, Ko-ryŭng-ga-ya,
Song-san-ga-ya, Tă-ga-ya and A-ra-ga-ya. They correspond respectively to
the present towns of Ko-sŭng, Ham-ch’ang, Ham-ch’ang, Sŭng-ju, Ko-ryŭng
and Ham-an. Tradition says that one day when the chiefs of the nine
tribes of Ka-rak were banqueting they saw upon the slope of Sung-bong,
called also Ku-yii-bong, a singular cloud. From the sky above it came a
voice. They hastened up the mountain and there found a golden box
containing six golden eggs. These opened and disclosed six boys. One of
them was Keum Su-ro who became king of Ka-rak and the other five were
made chiefs of the five Ka-ya, subject to Ka-rak. Of these Ka-ya states
we know the founder of only one. He was descended from Kyŏn-mo-ju, the
female divinity of Ka-ya Mountain who wedded a celestial being,
Yi-ja-ga. Their off-spring was Yi-i-a-si, who founded one of the Ka-ya
states. The Ka-ya states fell before Sil-la some five hundred years
later in the reign of King Chin-heung.



                             Chapter VIII.

Vicissitudes of Ko-gu-ryu.... last Ma-han chief joins Sil-la.... Pak-je
    and Sil-la become sworn enemies.... legend of Kye-rim.... Pak-je
    worsted.... Ko-gu-ryu’s strength on the increase.... Sil-la’s rapid
    growth.... Ka-ya attacks Sil-la.... Ko-gu-ryu make compact with
    Ye-mak.... Su-sŭng’s evil reign.... roads in Sil-la.... Japanese
    raid.... legend.... an epicurean.... Pak-je’s victory.... origin of
    government loans.... Yun-u’s trickery.... capital of Ko-gu-ryu
    moved.... wild tribes attack Sil-la.... democratic ideas in
    Sil-la.... Ko-gu-ryu breaks with China.... and attacks Sil-la....
    China invades Ko-gu-ryu.... the king retreats.... relieved through
    treachery.... capital of Ko-gu-ryu moved to P’yung-yang....
    beginning of feud between Korea and Japan.... reforms in Pak-je....
    third century closes.... progress of Sil-la.... how Eul-bul became
    king of Ko-gu-ryu.... a noble lady of Sil-la is sent to Japan.


Mu-hyŭl, the third king of Ko-gu-ryŭ died in 45, leaving the kingdom to
the tender mercies of his son a worthless debauchee. Four years later he
in turn made way for Hă-u, a member of a collateral branch of the
family. Following the traditions of Ko-gu-ryŭ this ruler professed
loyalty to China on the one hand and seized all the Chinese territory he
could lay hands on, on the other. In 54 he was assassinated by one Tu-no
and the seven year old grandson of king Yu-ri was placed on the throne,
a regent being appointed to carry on the government until the boy
reached his majority. The good work continued. Ten forts were built in
western Liao-tung to guard against Chinese advances, which shows that
she had regained nearly all the territory she had lost at the hands of
the parvenu Wang-mang. The following year she took formal possession of
the territory of Ok-jŭ on the eastern coast.

In the year 58 Yu-ri, the third king of Sil-la died. He must not be
confounded with Yu-ri the second king of Ko-gu-ryŭ. The sound is the
same but the character is different. It was he who had the difference of
opinion with Sŭk-t’al-hă in regard to the succession. As he died without
issue the reins of government naturally passed into the hands of the
aged statesman Sŭk-t’al-hă. He was sixty-two years old when he assumed
the cares of royalty. In his fifth year the one remaining Ma-han chief,
Măng-so, who had escaped the appetite of Păk-je, went over to Sil-la, as
he concluded it was no longer possible to prolong a hopeless struggle
against Păk-je. Pok-am fortress thus passed into the hands of Sil-la.
Strange to say Păk-je not only did not resent this but even made
overtures to Sil-la for a friendly meeting of their respective kings in
the following year. Sil-la refused to sanction this, and the rebuff was
too much for the equanimity of Păk-je. From that day the attitude of
Păk-je toward Sil-la was one of studied hostility, broken only by an
occasional spasmodic attempt at reconciliation. Among the three
kingdoms, Sil-la was the only one that preserved her dignity intact and
kept herself untainted by the charge either of avarice or pusilanimity.

The year 66 brought forth another of those wonders that embellish the
legendary lore of Korea. The king of Sil-la was wakened one night by the
loud cackling of a hen, which seemed to come from a forest to the south.
A messenger was sent to see what was the cause of the disturbance and he
found a box hanging from the branch of a tree, while on the ground
beneath it there cluttered a white hen. When the box was placed before
the king and he had opened it a handsome child was found. It received
the name Keum Yun-ji. Some say this Yŭn-ji was merely a part of the name
while others affirm that it is a pure Sil-la word meaning “baby”. Up to
this time the kingdom had been called Sŭ-ra-bŭl but now the king changed
it to Kye-rim, _kye_ meaning “hen” and _rim_ meaning “woods.” So the
kingdom was called “Hen in the Woods”, not a very dignified name but
one, perhaps, that fitted well the military prowess of the kingdom.

In 68 Păk-je deemed herself strong enough to undertake operations
against Sil-la. She began by seizing the fortress of Wa-san. She enjoyed
possession of it for nine years but in the end she paid dear, for it was
retaken by Sil-la and the Păk-je garrison was put to the sword. This
year also saw a continuation of Ko-gu-ryŭ’s forward policy and the
little settlement of Kal-sa which had been make by Pu-yŭ fugitives was
absorbed. She followed this up by the conquest of Chu-ra farther north.
Her military strength seems to have been on the rapid increase.

In 80 the great Sŭk-t’al-hă died and was succeeded by the son of King
Nam-hă. He must have been of advanced age and yet not so old as to
prevent his becoming the greatest conqueror that Sil-la ever produced.
During the thirty-two years of his reign he added to the Sil-la crown
the districts of Eum-jip-pŭl, Ap-to, Pi-ji, Ta-bŭl, Ch’o-p’al, and
Sil-jik. These together with U-si and Kŭ-ch’il, which and been added the
year before his accession, formed a considerable increase in the
territory of the kingdom and added not a little to Sil-la’s reputation
as a military power. This king, P’a-sa, was one of those men who seem to
take hold of affairs by the right end and wring success from seeming
failure. He was as great an administrator as he was mild a conqueror. He
attended so carefully to the needs of the people that it is said that
during most of his reign food was so plentiful that the wayfarer needed
no money to pay for food or lodgings along the road.

The kingdom of Ka-ya, whose origin we noted in the previous chapter, now
assumed the offensive against Sil-la. The first intimation we have of
this is the fact that Sil-la in 88 built two forts named Ka-so and
Ma-du, the first of which was to guard against the encroachments of
Păk-je and the second to guard against those of Ka-ya. It was not till
three years later that Ka-ya actually opened hostilities by inaugurating
an expedition against Sil-la. As the event is not disclosed by the
annalists we may conclude that it was unsuccessful.

Ko-gu-ryŭ now extended the field of her military operations. She made
friends with the people of Ye-măk, to the east, and together with them
began a series of raids into Chinese territory beyond the northern
borders. The sixth king of Ko-gu-ryŭ, T’ă-jo Wang, had now reached the
sixty-ninth year of his reign so he turned over to his brother, Su-sŭng,
the administration of affairs. This brother was as ambitious as the king
and continued the league with Ye-măk and the encroachments upon China.
But he was disloyal to his brother and tried to form a combination
against him. In this he was not successful. The reign of this T’ă-jo
Wang was the longest one on record in Korean annals. He held the scepter
ninety-four years, thereby sorely trying the patience of his heir
apparent. That gentleman came to the throne at the green old age of
seventy-six, in the year 147 A.D. He showed however that his memory had
not yet failed him for one of his first acts was to arrest and put to
death all the wise men who had chidden him for attempting to unseat his
brother. Ko Pok-chang a celebrated scholar of that day was so
overwhelmed in view of this barbarous act that he asked to be destroyed
with the rest of the wise men, a wish that was probably granted. One day
this singular monarch having seen a white fox cross his path, an evil
omen, asked a soothsayer what it might portend. That individual
suggested that if the king should reform even the worst of omens would
turn out happily. The soothsayer lost his head as a result of his
candor; but from that day on, whenever the king wanted to consult a
soothsayer he found that they were all engaged in important work at some
distant point.

King Il-seung of Sil-la whose reign began 134 was the first to pay
attention to the building of good roads throughout the country. In his
fifth year he built a road from his capital to Chuk-yŭn, now Pung-geui,
and another one over Kye-ip Pass. These became very important
thoroughfares. We also find that his successor continued this good work
by opening roads thro to the north of the kingdom. These kings were not
many years behind the Romans in recognising the vast importance of good
roads both for administrative and military purposes.

The relations between Sil-la and Japan are graphically described in the
single statement that when someone circulated in the capital the rumor
that a company of Japanese were coming the people fled precipitately
from the city until it was half depopulated. When the mistake was
discovered they gradually came back.

The interesting legend of Yŭng-o and Se-o belongs to the year 158,
though it scarcely merits the “once upon a time” of a nursery tale.
Yŭng-o a poor fisherman lived with his wife Se-o beside the waters of
the Japan Sea on the eastern shore of Sil-la. One day as Yŭng-o was
seated on a great boulder beside the water, fishing, he felt the rock
tremble and then rise straight in air. He was carried, to his great
consternation, eastward across the sea and deposited in a Japanese
village. The Japanese folk took him for a god and made him their king at
once. When his wife found that he did not return from fishing she went
in search of him. Ascending the same rock that had carried him to Japan
she experienced the same novel extradition that had so surprised her
spouse. She found him metamorphosed into a king and was nothing loath to
become queen. But their departure brought disaster to Sil-la for the sun
and moon were darkened and the land was shrouded in gloom. The
sooth-sayers said it was because someone had gone to Japan. An envoy was
sent post haste to those islands in search of the fugitives, but found
to his dismay that they had become king and queen of one of the kingdoms
there. He told his story and besought them to return, but they seemed
well satisfied with the change. Se-o however brought out a roll of silk
and gave it to the envoy saying that if the king of Sil-la would spread
it out and sacrifice upon it the light would return. The event proved
the truth of her statement and when the king uttered the words of
invocation the sunlight burst forth again and all was well. It is an
interesting but melancholy fact that most of the arguments used to show
a Korean origin of things Japanese are based upon evidence nearly if not
quite as credible as this story. The Japanese work entitled the Kojiki
bears the same relation to the carefully detailed history of Sil-la that
the Niebelungenlied bears to the works of Tacitus.

When the time came for Su-sŭng, the sanguinary king of Ko-gu-ryŭ to die
a young scapegrace by the name of Ch’a-da came to the throne. His idea
of royalty was that it consisted in one long orgie. He attempted to
carry out his ideal but was cut short within a year by the assassin’s
knife. His motto, in his own words, was “Who does not wish to enjoy
life?” Epicureanism may have existed in Korea before but it had never
had so frank a disciple. Păk-ko a relative of the murdered king was
called from a mountain fastness whither he had fled for safety. They had
to ask him three times before they could convince him that it was not a
mere decoy.

By the year 168 either Păk-je had grown so strong or Sil-la so weak that
the former deemed it a fit time to make a grand demonstration all along
Sil-la’s western border. It is said she carried back a thousand captives
to grace her triumph. Sil-la, though filled with rage, was not in
condition to return the compliment in kind. She however sent an urgent
letter pointing out the advantages of peace and asking that the captives
be returned. We may imagine how this was received by the proud army
flushed as it must have been by an unwonted victory.

About this time was begun one of the ancient customs of Korea that has
ever since exerted an important influence upon the life of the people.
While hunting the king met a man weeping bitterly and upon being asked
what was the matter replied that he had not a grain of food to give his
parents. Thereupon the king gave him an order on the government granary
with the understanding that when autumn came he should pay it back. Thus
originated the _whan-sang_ or custom of making government loans in the
spring to be paid back with interest in the autumn. When this king died
he was succeeded by the grandson of old Sŭk-t’al-hă. He took in hand the
work of instilling new life into the well-nigh dead bones of Sil-la. His
first action was to establish two military stations at the capital so
that it might not be at the mercy of the first adventurer that might
pass that way. He also ordered the people to pay less attention to the
construction of fine government buildings and more to agriculture, the
back bone of the state.

Nam-mu the tenth king of Ko-gu-ryŭ died at night and the queen, desiring
to gain an extension of her power, slipped out of the palace and
hastened to the house of the king’s oldest brother Pal-gi. She stated
the case and urged him to hasten to the palace and assume the royal
prerogative. He refused to believe that the king was dead and accused
her of immodesty. She then hurried to the house of the younger brother
Yŭn-u and repeated the story. The young man accompanied her and when
morning broke it was found that he was established in the palace and
ready to meet all comers. Pal-gi raged and cursed. He stormed the palace
with his retainers, but being unsuccessful, was fain to beat a retreat
to Liao-tung.

The dawn of the third century saw the three states of Korea in the same
relative position as before. Ko-gu-ryŭ was still the same ambitious
military power, Păk-je was still her own worst enemy though flaunting
for the time being in the gay colors of a temporal triumph, Sil-la was
plodding along quietly paying more attention to internal improvements
and so earning the right which she afterward enjoyed of holding sway
over the whole peninsula. The first twenty-five years of the century
witnessed unusual activity on the part of the surrounding savages who in
view of the constantly increasing power of the three states beheld their
territories diminishing. The wild people of Kol-p’o, Chil-p’o and Ko-p’o
ravaged the borders of Sil-la but were driven back. On the south she
attacked and burned a settlement of Japanese corsairs who had apparently
gained a foothold on the mainland. Păk-je was also attacked on the east
by the savages and was obliged to build a wall at Sa-do to keep them
back. This period saw over a thousand Chinese refugees cross the Yalu
and find asylum in Ko-gu-ryŭ. It also saw U-wi-gŭ, the fruit of a
liaison between the eleventh king of Ko-gu-ryŭ and a farmer girl whom he
met while hunting, ascend the throne of Ko-gu-ryŭ. It witnessed a
remarkable exhibition of democratic feeling in Sil-la when the people
rejected Prince Sa-ba-ni and in his place set up Ko-i-rŭ to be king.

The year 240 was an important one in the history of Ko-gu-ryŭ. King
U-wi-gŭ was a man of boundless ambition and his temerity was as great as
his ambition. Ko-gu-ryŭ had been at peace with China for eight years
when, without warning, this U-wi-gŭ saw fit to cross the border and
invade the territory of his powerful neighbor. The town of
An-p’yŭng-hyŭn in western Liao-tung fell before the unexpected assault.
This unprovoked insult aroused the slumbering giant of the Middle
Kingdom and the hereditary feud that had existed for many years between
Ko-gu-ryŭ and China was intensified. At the same time U-wi-gŭ turned his
eyes southward and contemplated the subjugation of Sil-la. To this end
he sent an expedition against her in the following year. It was met on
the Sil-la border by a defensive force under Gen. Sŭk U-ro who withstood
the invaders bravely but was driven back as far as the “Palisades of
Ma-du” where he took a firm stand. As he could not be dislodged the
invading army found itself checked. Meanwhile a dark cloud was rapidly
overspreading Ko-gu-ryŭ’s western horizon. The great Chinese general, Mo
Gu-geum, with a force of 10,000 men advanced upon the Ko-gu-ryŭ outposts
and penetrated the country as far as the present Sŭng-ch’ŭn where he met
the Ko-gu-ryŭ army under the direct command of king U-wi-gŭ. The result
was an overwhelming victory for Ko-gu-ryŭ whose soldiers chased the
flying columns of the enemy to Yang-băk-kok where dreadful carnage
ensued. “Whom the gods would destroy they first make mad” proved true in
this case. U-wi-gŭ was so elated over the victory that he declared that
a handful of Ko-gu-ryŭ troops could chase an army of Chinese. Taking
five hundred picked cavalry he continued the pursuit; but he had boasted
too soon. Gen. Mo Gu-geum’s reputation was at stake. Rallying a handful
of his braves the latter turned upon his pursuers and handled them so
severely that they turned and fled. The Chinese followed up the timely
victory and threw themselves upon the army of Ko-gu-ryŭ so fiercely that
the tables were completely turned. It is said that in the engagement
that followed Ko-gu-ryŭ lost 18,000 men. King U-wi-gŭ, seeing that all
was lost, fled back to his capital and awaited developments. But Gen.
Wang-geui, Mo Gu-geum’s associate, pursued the king across the Yalu and
gave him no rest until he had fled eastward to the territory of Ok-jŭ on
the eastern coast. On his way thither he crossed Chuk-nyŭng Pass where
all his remaining guard forsook him and fled. One of his officials,
Mil-u, said “I will go back and hold the enemy at bay while you make
good your escape”. So with three or four soldiers he held the narrow
pass while the king found a retreat in a deep valley, where he succeeded
in getting together a little band of soldiers. He offered a reward to
anyone who should go and bring Mil-u safely to him. U Ok-ku volunteered
to go. Finding Mil-u wounded and lying on the ground he took him in his
arms and carried him to the king. The latter was so delighted to recover
his faithful follower that he nursed him back to life by his own hand. A
few days later the pursuit continued and the king was again hard
pressed. A courtier, Yu-ryu, offered to go to the enemy’s camp and in
some way stop the pursuit. Taking some food he went and boldly announced
that the king desired to surrender and had sent this gift ahead to
announce his coming. His words were believed and the general received
the gift. But Yu-ryu had concealed a short sword beneath the dishes and
when he approached the general he whipped out the weapon and plunged it
into the enemy’s breast. The next moment he himself was cut down by the
attendants. When the king learned that the pursuers had lost their
general he rallied his little force, threw himself upon them and put
them to flight. The following year U-wi-gŭ, recognising that his capital
was too near the border, decided to remove the court to P‘yŭng-yang
which had been the capital for so many centuries. Two years later he
made a treaty with Sil-la which remained unbroken for a century. He had
been cured of some of his over-ambitiousness. Yŭn-bul was his successor.

In the third year of King Ch’ŭm-hă of Sil-la, 249 A.D. the first envoy
ever received from Japan arrived at the shore of Sil-la. He was met by
Gen. Sŭk U-ro who addressed him in the following unaccountable manner,
“It would be well if your king and queen should come and be slaves in
the kitchen of the king of Sil-la”. Without a word the envoy turned
about and posted back to Japan. An invasion of Korea was determined upon
and soon a powerful force landed on the coast of that country. Gen. Sŭk
U-ro was filled with dismay and remorse. He confessed to the king that
he was the cause of this hostile display and begged to be allowed to go
alone and propitiate the advancing enemy. It was granted and he walked
straight into the Japanese camp and confessed his crime and asked that
he alone be punished. The Japanese took him at his word, burned him
alive in their camp and returned to their own land without striking a
blow. The following year the same envoy came again and was well received
by the king, but the widow of Gen. Sŭk U-ro desiring to avenge the blood
of her husband, obtained permission to work in the kitchen of the
envoy’s place of entertainment. There she found opportunity to poison
his food and thus accomplish her purpose. This of course put an end to
all hope of amity between the two countries and that event marks the
beginning of the feud which in spite of occasional periods of apparent
friendship, existed between the people of Japan and Korea until the year
1868. Hostilities did not however begin at once.

The latter half of the third century beheld few events of special
interest in the peninsula. During this period Păk-je seems to have made
a spasmodic effort at reform, for we read that she reorganised her
official system and set a heavy penalty for bribery, namely imprisonment
for life. She also patched up a shallow peace with Sil-la. In Ko-gu-ryŭ
a concubine of King Pong-sang tried to incense him against the queen by
showing him a leathern bag which she claimed the queen had made to drown
her in. The king saw through the trick and to punish the crafty
concubine had her killed in the very way she had described. A chief of
the Sŭn-bi tribe invaded Ko-gu-ryŭ and desecrated the grave of the
king’s father. The wild men of Suk-sin attempted to overthrow Sil-la but
the king’s brother drove them back and succeeded in attaching their
territory to the crown of Sil-la. It is said that when Sil-la was hard
pressed by a band of savages strange warriors suddenly appeared and
after putting the savages to flight, as suddenly disappeared. Each of
these strange warriors had ears like the leaves of the bamboo and when
it was discovered next day that the ground around the king’s father’s
grave was covered with bamboo leaves it was believed that he had come
forth from his grave with spirit warriors to aid his son.

With the opening of the fourth century the fifteenth king of Sil-la,
Ki-rim, made an extensive tour of his realm. He passed northward as far
as U-du-ju near the present Ch’un-ch’ŭn. He also visited a little
independent “kingdom” called Pi-ryul, now An-byŭn, and made many
presents, encouraged agriculture and made himself generally agreeable.
Not so with the king of Ko-gu-ryŭ. He was made of sterner stuff. He
issued a proclamation that every man woman and child above fifteen years
old should lend their aid in building a palace. Ko-gu-ryŭ had of late
years passed through troublous times and the people were in no mood to
undertake such a work. An influential courtier, Ch’ang Cho-ri, attempted
to dissuade the king but as he was not successful he settled the
question by assassinating the king. Eul-bul, who succeeded him, had a
chequered career before coming to the throne. Being the king’s cousin he
had to flee for his life. He first became a common coolie in the house
of one Eun-mo in the town of Sil-la. By day he cut wood on the hill
sides and by night he made tiles or kept the frogs from croaking while
his master slept. Tiring of this he attached himself to a salt merchant
but being wrongfully accused he was dragged before the magistrate and
beaten almost to death. The official Ch’ang Cho-ri and a few others knew
his whereabouts and, hunting him up, they brought him to the “Pul-yu
water” a hundred and ten li from P’yŭng-yang, and hid him in the house
of one O Măk-nam. When all was ripe for the final move, Ch’ang Cho-ri
inaugurated a great hunting party. Those who were willing to aid in
dethroning the king were to wear a bunch of grass in the hat as a sign.
The king was seized and imprisoned, and there hanged himself. His sons
also killed themselves and Eul-bul was then elevated to the perilous
pinnacle of royalty.

It was about the beginning of this century also that the Japanese,
during one of those spasmodic periods of seeming friendship asked the
king of Sil-la to send a noble maiden of Sil-la to be their queen. The
king complied and sent the daughter of one of his highest officials,
A-son-geup-ri.



                              Chapter IX.

Rise of Yŭn.... rebellion against China.... siege of Keuk Fortress
    raised.... Ko-gu-ryŭ surrenders to Yŭn.... Ko-gu-ryŭ disarmed....
    Japanese attack Sil-la.... Păk-je’s victory over Ko-gu-ryŭ.... moves
    her capital across the Han.... Păk-je people in Sil-la.... Yŭn is
    punished.... Buddhism introduced into Ko-gu-ryŭ.... and into
    Păk-je.... amnesty between Ko-gu-ryŭ and Păk-je.... but Ko-gu-ryŭ
    continues the war.... Păk-je in danger.... envoy to Japan....
    Ch’ŭm-nye usurps the throne of Păk-je.... and is killed.... Sil-la
    princes rescued.... Ko-gu-ryŭ and Păk-je receive investiture from
    China.... China’s policy.... Nul-ji’s reign.... Ko-gu-ryŭ and Păk-je
    transfer their allegience.... Yŭn extinct.... beginning of
    triangular war.... diplomatic relations.... Ko-gu-ryŭ falls from
    grace.... first war vessel.... diplomatic complications.... Păk-je
    humiliated.... her capital moved.


We have now come to the events which marked the rise of the great Yŭn
power in Liao-tung. They are so intimately connected with the history of
Ko-gu-ryŭ that we must give them in detail. For many years there had
been a Yŭn tribe in the north but up to the year 320 it had not come
into prominence. It was a dependency of the Tsin dynasty of China. Its
chiefs were known by the general name Mo Yong. In 320 Mo Yong-we was the
acting chief of the tribe. He conceived the ambitious design of
overcoming China and founding a new dynasty. The Emperor immediately
despatched an army under Gen. Ch’oe-bi to put down the incipient
rebellion. Ko-gu-ryŭ and the U-mun and Tan tribes were called upon to
render assistance against the rebels. All complied and soon the
recalcitrant chieftain found himself besieged in Keuk Fortress and was
on the point of surrendering at discretion when an event occurred which,
fortunately for him, broke up the combination and raised the siege. It
was customary before surrendering to send a present of food to the one
who receives the overtures of surrender. Mo Yong-we, in pursuance of
this custom, sent out the present, but for some reason it found its way
only into the camp of the U-mun forces while the others received none.
When this became known the forces of Ko-gu-ryŭ, believing that Mo
Yong-we had won over the U-mun people to his side, retired in disgust
and the Chinese forces, fearing perhaps a hostile combination, likewise
withdrew. The U-mun chiefs resented this suspicion of treachery and
vowed they would take Mo Yong-we single-handed. But this they could not
do, for the latter poured out upon them with all his force and scattered
them right and left. From this point dates the rise of Yŭn. Gen.
Ch’oe-bi fearing the wrath of the Emperor fled to Ko-gu-ryŭ where he
found asylum. Here the affair rested for a time. The kingdom of Yŭn
forebore to attack Ko-gu-ryŭ and she in turn was busy strengthening her
own position in view of future contingencies. Ten years passed during
which no events of importance transpired. In 331 Eul-bul the king of
Ko-gu-ryŭ died and his son Soé began his reign by adopting an active
policy of defense. He heightened the walls of P’yŭng-yang and built a
strong fortress in the north, called Sin-sŭng. He followed this up by
strengthening his friendly relations with the court of China. These
facts did not escape the notice of the rising Yŭn power. Mo Yong-whang,
who had succeeded Mo Yong-we, hurled an expedition against the new
Sin-sŭng Fortress and wrested it from Ko-gu-ryŭ. The king was compelled,
much against his will, to go to Liao-tung and swear fealty to the Yŭn
power. Two years later the capital was moved northward to Wan-do, in the
vicinity of the Eui-ju of today. This was done probably at the command
of Yŭn who desired to have the capital of Ko-gu-ryŭ within easy reach in
case any complications might arise.

Mo Yong-whang desired to invade China without delay but one of his
relatives, Mo Yong-han, advised him to disarm Ko-gu-ryŭ and the U-mun
tribe so that no possible enemy should be left in his rear when he
marched into China. It was decided to attack Ko-gu-ryŭ from the north
and west, but the latter route was to be the main one, for Ko-gu-ryŭ
would be expecting the attack from the north. The strategem worked like
a charm. Mo Yong-han and Mo Yong-p’ă led a powerful army by way of the
sea road while General Wang-u led a decoy force by the northern route.
The flower of the Ko-gu-ryŭ army, 50,000 strong, marched northward under
the king’s brother Mu to meet an imaginary foe while the king with a few
undisciplined troops held the other approach. As may be supposed, the
capital fell speedily into the enemy’s hands but the king escaped. The
Ko-gu-ryŭ forces had been successful in the north and might return any
day, so the Yun forces were forbidden to go in pursuit of the king. To
insure the good behavior of the king, however, they burned the palace,
looted the treasure, exhumed the body of the king’s father and took it,
together with the queen and her mother, back to the capital of Yŭn. With
such hostages as these Yŭn was safe from that quarter. The next year the
king offered his humble apologies and made a complete surrender, in view
of which his father’s body and his queen were returned to him but his
mother-in-law was still held. The same year Ko-gu-ryŭ moved her capital
back to P’yŭng-yang. A few years later by sending his son as substitute
he got his mother-in-law out of pawn.

In 344 new complications grew up between Sil-la and Japan. The Japanese
having already obtained one Sil-la maiden for a queen made bold to ask
for a royal princess to be sent to wed their king. This was peremptorily
refused and of course war was the result. A Japanese force attacked the
Sil-la coastguard but being driven back they harried the island of
P‘ung-do and finally worked around until they were able to approach the
capital. Finding the gates fast shut they laid siege to the city. But
their provisions were soon exhausted and they were compelled to retire.
Then the Sil-la forces swarmed out and attacked them in the rear and put
them to an ignominious flight. Some years later the Japanese made a
similar attempt but were outwitted by the Sil-la soldiers who made
manikins of grass to represent soldiers, and the Japanese, seeing these,
supposed that Sil-la had been reinforced and so retired from the
contest.

Ko-gu-ryŭ had been so severely handled by her northern neighbor that she
gave up for the time being her plans of conquest in that direction.
Instead of this she turned her attention toward her southern neighbor
Păk-je whose territory was a morsel not to be despised. About the year
360 she erected a fort at Ch’i-yang not far from the Păk-je capital
which was then at Nam-han. Into this she threw a large force consisting
of 20,000 infantry and cavalry. They began a systematic plundering of
Păk-je. The army of the latter, under the leadership of the Crown
Prince, fell suddenly upon this fort and gained a victory, for, when the
Ko-gu-ryŭ forces retired, they left 5,000 dead upon the field. Păk-je
followed up this victory by throwing up a line of breastworks along the
southern bank of the Han river to insure against a future surprise on
the part of her unscrupulous northern neighbor. But Păk-je’s victories
had shown her the weakness of Ko-gu-ryŭ and reprisals were therefore in
order. She equipped an army of 30,000 men and penetrated the country of
the enemy. She met no resistance until her army stood beneath the walls
of P‘yŭng-yang. An attempt was made to storm the town, during which the
king of Ko-gu-ryŭ was mortally wounded by an arrow, but the assault
failed and the Păk-je army withdrew in good order. The king of Păk-je,
elated over so many evidences of his growing power, promptly moved his
capital across the Han River into Ko-gu-ryŭ territory. Some say he
settled at Puk-han the great mountain fortress back of Seoul while
others say he settled at Nam P’yŭng-yang or “South P’yŭng-yang,” by
which is meant the present city of Seoul. Others still say it was at a
point a short distance outside the east gate of Seoul. But in spite of
the apparent successes of Păk-je it appears that the people were not
satisfied. It may be that military exactions had alienated their good
will, or it may be that they saw in these ambitious advances the sure
presage of speedy punishment at the hands of Ko-gu-ryŭ; but whatever the
cause may have been over a thousand people fled from Păk-je and found
asylum in Sil-la. The king set aside six villages as their place of
residence, and when Păk-je demanded to have them sent back answer was
returned that Sil-la could not drive from her borders those who had
sought asylum from the ill-treatment of Păk-je.

Three years before this, in 372, the Chinese had gained a signal victory
over the Yŭn kingdom and its king, Mo Yong-p’ung, had fled for safety to
Ko-gu-ryŭ. It must have been his last resource, for he was likely to
find little sympathy there. And so it proved for the king immediately
seized him and sent him a captive to China.

The year 372 beheld an event of prime importance in the history of
Ko-gu-ryŭ and of the whole peninsula. It was the introduction of
Buddhism. It is probable that before this time some knowledge of
Buddhism was current in Korea, but as it is eminently a sacerdotal
institution but little more than indefinite reports could have been
circulated previous to the coming of the monks. We are not told whether
this was done at the request of Ko-gu-ryŭ or whether it was at the
advice of Pu-gyŭn, one of the petty kings who then divided between them
the north of China. Be that as it may, in 372 A.D. images of Buddha were
brought by a monk, Sun-do, and also a Buddhist book called Pul-gyŭng.
For this the king of Ko-gu-ryŭ returned hearty thanks and forthwith set
his son and heir to learning the new doctrine. At the same time he gave
an impetus to the study of the Confucian code. It is quite probable that
to this new departure is due the fact that the next year the laws of the
country were overhauled and put in proper shape for use. In 375 two
great monasteries were built in the capital of Ko-gu-ryŭ. They were
called Cho-mun and I-bul-lan. It should be noticed that the introduction
of Buddhism into Korea was a government affair. There had been no
propagation of the tenets of this cult through emmisaries sent for the
purpose, there was no call for it from the people. In all probability
the king and his court were pleased at the idea of introducing the
stately ceremonial of the new faith. In fact it was a social event
rather than a religious one and from that date to this there has not
been a time when the people of Korea have entered heartily into the
spirit of Buddhism, nor have her most distinguished representatives
understood more than the mere forms and trappings of that religion which
among all pagan cults is the most mystical.

Păk-je was not long in following the example of her powerful neighbor.
In the year 384 a new king ascended the throne of Păk-je. His name was
Ch’im-yu. One of his first acts was to send an envoy to China asking
that a noted monk named Mararanta be sent to Păk-je to introduce the
Buddhist ritual. We notice that this request was sent to the Emperor
Hyo-mu (Hsia-wu), the proper head of the Eastern Tsin dynasty, while
Ko-gu-ryŭ had received hers at the hands of one of those petty kings who
hung upon the skirts of the weakening dynasty and waited patiently for
its dissolution. Each of these petty states, as well as the central
government of the Tsin, was on the lookout for promising allies and such
a request as this of Păk-je could scarcely be refused. Mararanta, whose
name smacks of the south and who certainly cannot have been a Chinaman,
was sent to the Păk-je capital. He was received with open arms. His
apartments were in the palace where he soon erected a Buddhist shrine.
Ten more monks followed him and Buddhism was firmly established in this
second of the three Korean states. The greatest deference was paid to
these monks and they were addressed by the honorific title To-seung.
Sil-la received Buddhism some fifty years later.

All this time fighting was almost continuous along the Ko-gu-ryŭ-Păk-je
border. The latter stood on the defensive and found it necessary in 386
to build a line of breastworks along the border, extending from
Ch’ŭng-mok-yŭng northward to P’al-gon-sung and thence westward to the
sea. An amnesty was brought about through a happy accident. A groom who
had accidentally broken the leg of a Păk-je prince’s horse had fled to
Ko-gu-ryŭ to escape punishment. Returning now to Păk-je, he purchased
pardon by informing the king that if, in battle, the Păk-je forces
should direct their whole force against that part of the enemy’s line
where they should see a red flag flying they would surely be successful.
This turned out to be true and Păk-je was once more successful, but
followed up her success only to the extent of securing a definite
cessation of hostilities and the erection of a boundary stone at
Su-gok-sŭng to witness forever against him who should dispute the point.
But when King Ch’im-yu of Ko-gu-ryŭ died in 392 and his son Tam-dok came
into power all previous obligations were swept away and he proceeded to
reopen the wound. He attacked Păk-je fiercely and took ten of her towns.
Then he turned northward and chastised the Kŭ-ran tribe. When this was
done he came back to the charge again and seized Kwang-nu Fortress. This
was an almost inaccessible position on a high rock surrounded by the
sea, but the hardy soldiers of Ko-gu-ryŭ after twenty days of siege
found seven paths by which the wall could be reached, and they finally
took the place by a simultaneous assault at these various points. When
the court of Păk-je heard of this well-nigh impossible feat, all hope of
victory in the field was taken away, and they could only bar the gates
of the capital and await the turn of events. This king, Tam-dok, was as
enthusiastically Buddhistic as his father. He made a decree that all the
people of Ko-gu-ryŭ should adopt the Buddhistic faith and a few years
later built nine more monasteries in P’yŭng-yang.

A year later King A-sin of Păk-je sent his son, Chön-ji, to Japan as an
envoy. It is likely, but not certain, that it was a last resource of
Păk-je to secure help against Ko-gu-ryŭ. This is the more likely from
the fact that he went not only as an envoy but also as a hostage, or a
guarantee of good faith. If this was the hope of Păk-je it failed, for
no Japanese army was forthcoming. As another means of self-preservation
King A-sin formed a great school of archery, but the people did not like
it; for exercise in it was compulsory, and many of the people ran away.

In 399 Ko-gu-ryŭ sent an envoy to the Yŭn capital to pay her respects,
but the king of that country charged Ko-gu-ryŭ with ambitious designs
and sent an army of 30,000 men to seize the fortresses of Sin-sŭng and
Nam-so, thus delimiting the frontier of Ko-gu-ryŭ to the extent of 700
_li_. They carried back with them 5,000 “houses,” which means
approximately 25,000 people, as captives. It is difficult to believe
this enumeration unless we conclude that it means that the people living
within the limit of the 700 _li_ were taken to be citizens of Yŭn.

The fifth century of our era dawned upon a troubled Korea. The tension
between the three rival powers was severe, and every nerve was strained
in the struggle for preeminence. In 402 Nă-mul, the king of Sil-la, died
and Sil-sŭng came to the throne. He sent out feelers in two directions,
one toward Ko-gu-ryŭ in the shape of a hostage, called by euphemism an
envoy, and another of the same sort to Japan; which would indicate that
Sil-la was still suffering from the depredations of the Japanese
corsairs. The envoy to Ko-gu-ryŭ was the king’s brother, Pok-ho, and the
one to Japan was also his brother, Mi-sa-heun. We remember that Păk-je
already had an envoy in Japan in the person of the king’s eldest son
Chön-ji. Now in 405 the king of Păk-je died. Chön-ji was the rightful
heir but as he was in Japan the second son should have assumed the reins
of government. As a fact the third son Chŭng-nye killed his brother and
seized the scepter. Hearing of his father’s death, Chön-ji returned from
Japan with an escort of a hundred Japanese, but learning of his
brother’s murder he feared treachery against himself and so landed on an
island off the coast where he remained until the people, with a fine
sense of justice, drove Ch’ăm-nye from the throne and welcomed back the
rightful heir.

Meanwhile interesting events were transpiring in Sil-la. In 403
Sil-sung, King of that land, fearing lest harm overtake his two brothers
whom he had sent the year before to Ko-gu-ryŭ and Japan, was seeking for
some means of getting them back. This might not be an easy thing to do,
for to ask their return so soon would perhaps arouse the suspicion of
these neighbors, and precipitate a war. Ko-gu-ryŭ had often taken up
arms for a less affront than this. An official, Pak Che-san, volunteered
to undertake this delicate mission even though it cost him his life. He
went first to Ko-gu-ryŭ and there proved so skillful a diplomat that he
soon brought Prince Pok-ho back to Sil-la. The mission to Japan was a
different matter, but he was equal to the occasion. Before starting out
he said to the king: “I will bring the Prince back though it cost my
life; only, before I go, I must ask you to _imprison my family_;
otherwise I cannot succeed.” The king acceded to this strange request
and Pak Che-san, starting immediately as if in flight, without even
changing his garments, fled until he came to the Yul Harbor. Even his
wife he repulsed, exclaiming “I have determined to die.” He apparently
feared that the sight of her might shake his loyal purpose. He arrived
in Japan as a political fugitive, but the king suspected him until news
came that his family had been imprisoned. This seemed to prove his
statement and he was received graciously. He pretended that he wished to
lead a Japanese force against Sil-la. Mi-sa-heun, the Prince whom he had
come to rescue, was in the secret and heartily seconded the plan. The
king made them joint leaders of an expedition. The fleet arrived at a
certain island and there Pak succeeded in spiriting Mi-sa-heun away by
night in a little boat while he himself remained behind, to delay the
inevitable pursuit. Mi-sa-heun begged him with tears to accompany him
but he refused to jeopardise Mi-sa-heun’s chances of escape by so doing.
In the morning he pretended to sleep very late and no one suspected the
flight of the Prince until late in the day when concealment was no
longer possible. When the Japanese found that they had been duped they
were in a terrible rage. They bound Pak and went in pursuit of the
run-away. But a heavy fog settled upon the sea and frustrated their
plan. Then they tortured their remaining victim and to their inquiries
he replied that he was a loyal subject of Kye-rim (the name of Sil-la at
that time) and that he would rather be a Kye-rim pig than a subject of
Japan; that he would rather be whipped like a school-boy in Kye-rim than
receive office in Japan. By these taunts he escaped a lingering death by
torture. They burned him alive there on the island of Mok-do. When the
king of Sil-la heard of his brave end he mourned for him and heaped upon
him posthumous honors, and Mi-sa-heun married his preserver’s daughter.
The wife of the devoted Pak ascended the pass of Ap-sul-yŭng whence she
could obtain a distant view of the islands of Japan. There she gave
herself up to grief until death put an end to her misery.

In 413 a new king came to the throne of Ko-gu-ryŭ. called Kö-ryŭn. As
China and Ko-gu-ryŭ had been kept apart by the intervening Yun, and had
acquired some power of sympathy through mutual fear of that power, we
are not surprised that the new king of Ko-gu-ryŭ condescended to receive
investiture from the Emperor, nor that the latter condescended in turn
to grant it. It was formally done, and the act of Ko-gu-ryŭ proclaimed
her vassalage to China. From that time on excepting when war existed
between them, the kings of Ko-gu-ryŭ were invested by the Emperor with
the insignia of royalty. Two years later the Emperor conferred the same
honor upon the king of Păk-je. It was always China’s policy to keep the
kingdoms at peace with each other so long as they all wore the yoke of
vassalage; but so soon as one or the other cast it off it was her policy
to keep them at war.

In 417 Nul-ji came to the throne of Sil-la and began a reign that was to
last well on toward half a century. He was a regicide. He had been
treated very harshly by the king and had more than once narrowly escaped
with his life. It is therefore the less surprising, though none the less
reprehensible, that when the opportunity presented of paying off old
scores he succumbed to the temptation. He ascended the throne not with
the title of I-sa-geum, which had been the royal title for centuries,
but with the new title of Ma-rip-kan. However doubtful may have been his
title to the crown his reign was a strong one. Among the far-reaching
effects of his reign the introduction of carts to be drawn by oxen was
the most important.

The friendly relations of Ko-gu-ryŭ with the Tsin dynasty were cut short
by the extinction of that dynasty in 419 but in 435 Ko-gu-ryŭ made
friendly advances toward the Northern Wei dynasty and, finding
sufficient encouragement, she transferred her allegience to that power.
Meantime Păk-je had transferred hers to the Sung dynasty which arose in
420.

It was in 436 that P’ung-hong, the “Emperor” of Yun, found himself so
weak that he could not withstand the pressure from the Chinese side and
asked the king of Ko-gu-ryŭ to grant him asylum. Consent was given and
an escort was sent to conduct him to the Ko-gu-ryŭ capital. He found
that this sort of life had its drawbacks; for, to begin with, the king
did not address him as emperor but simply as king. This was a great
affront to his dignity and, though he was treated very handsomely, he
assumed such a supercillious bearing that the king had to curtail his
retinue and his income. He had been given quarters in Puk-p’ung and from
there the mendicant emperor applied to the Sung Emperor for asylum. It
was granted, and seven thousand soldiers came to escort him; but ere
they arrived the king of Ko-gu-ryŭ sent two generals, Son-su and Ko-gu,
who killed the imperial refugee and nine of his attendants. The Sung
troops, arriving on the instant, discovered the crime and caught and
executed the two generals who had perpetrated it.

In 449 a Ko-gu-ryŭ general was out on a hunting expedition and the chase
brought him into Sil-la territory near the present town of Kang-neung.
The prefect of the district, in an excess of patriotic enthusiasm,
seized him and put him to death. An envoy came in haste to the Sil-la
capital demanding why this outrage had been committed. War would have
been declared on the spot had not Sil-la been profuse in apologies. She
might have spared herself this humiliation for war was sure to break out
soon in any case. When ng came to the throne of Păk-je in 455, Ko-gu-ryŭ
took advantage of the confusion, consequent upon the change, to attack
her. Sil-la, who, though ordinarily a peaceful power, had been perforce
drawn into war-like operations and had acquired some military skill, now
sided with Păk-je. Sending a considerable number of troops she
reinforced Păk-je to the extent of warding off the threatened invasion.
But Păk-je, though glad to find herself extricated from her position of
danger, would allow no feelings of gratitude to stand in the way of her
ancient feud against Sil-la; so this act of friendship not only did not
help toward peace but on the contrary, by showing Sil-la the fickleness
of Păk-je, made peace all the more impossible. The middle of the fifth
century marks the point when all friendly relations between the three
Korean states were broken off and an actual state of war existed between
them from this time on, though active military operations were not
constant. This we may call the Triangular War.

The key to this great struggle, which resulted in the advancement of
Sil-la to the control of the whole peninsula, lay not so much in the
relative military strength of the three rival kingdoms as in the skill
which each developed in diplomacy. Each was trying to gain the active
support of China, knowing very well that if China should once become
thoroughly interested in favor of any one of the three powers the other
two would be doomed.

We will remember that Ko-gu-ryŭ had cultivated friendly relations with
the Sung dynasty while Păk-je had made herself agreeable to the Wei
dynasty. In this Păk-je chose the wiser part for the Wei power was
nearer and more powerful. In 466 Ko-gu-ryŭ lost a splendid opportunity
to establish herself in the good graces of the Wei Emperor, and so
insure her preeminence in the peninsula. The Emperor Hsien-wen made
friendly advances and requested the daughter of the king of Ko-gu-ryŭ
for his wife. With a short-sightedness that is quite inexplicable this
request was put off by the lame excuse that his daughter was dead. This
being easily proved a falsehood, Ko-gu-ryŭ fell from the good graces of
the very power whose friendship she should have cultivated.

The year 467 witnessed an important innovation in Korea. Sil-la took the
lead in the construction of war vessels. The one made at that time was
doubtless intended for use against the Japanese corsairs. That Sil-la
had been gaining along military lines is shown by her successful repulse
of a Ko-gu-ryŭ invasion in this year, in which the wild people of some
of the Mal-gal tribes assisted Ko-gu-ryŭ. After the latter had been
driven back, Sil-la built a fortress at Po-eun on her northern border to
guard against a repetition of this invasion.

Ko-gu-ryŭ and Păk-je were now exerting themselves to the utmost to make
capital out of their Chinese alliances. Ko-gu-ryŭ sent rich presents and
richer words to the Sung capital and so won the confidence of that
power. Păk-je, on the other hand, sent word to the Wei Emperor that
Ko-gu-ryŭ was coquetting with the Sung court and with the wild Mal-gal
tribes, insinuating that this was all detrimental to the interests of
Păk-je’s patron.

As this was without result, she sent and asked openly that the Wei
Emperor send an army and chastise Ko-gu-ryŭ. The Emperor replied that
until Ko-gu-ryŭ committed some overt act of more hostile import than the
mere cementing of peaceful alliances no notice could be taken of her. In
other words the Wei power refused to be the aggressor, much to Păk-je’s
chagrin. The Wei Emperor sent this answer by way of Ko-gu-ryŭ and the
king of that country was ordered to grant the messenger a safe conduct
through his territory. But Ko-gu-ryŭ, as though bent on
self-destruction, refused to let him pass, and so the great northern
kingdom approached one step nearer the precipice which was to prove her
destruction. Upon learning the news of this affront the Emperor was
highly incensed and tried to send the messenger by way of a southern
port; but stress of weather rendered this impossible and Păk-je,
receiving no answer to her missive, took offense and would have nothing
more to do with China, for a time. By the time she had recovered her
temper, Ko-gu-ryŭ had in some way patched up her difficulty with the Wei
court and so scored a point against Păk-je. And for a time she was on
friendly terms with both the Wei and Sung dynasties.

At this point Ko-gu-ryŭ decided upon a bold attempt to swallow Păk-je
bodily. It was to be done partly by strategem and partly by force. A
monk of Ko-gu-ryŭ named To-rim, a fellow of excellent craft, arrived at
the Păk-je capital as if seeking refuge. The king received him with open
arms and, finding him an excellent chess player, made him his trusty
councilor. This monk told the king that the palaces, walls, tombs and
public buildings ought to be thoroughly repaired, and so induced him to
drain the public treasury in this work, and also in bringing a huge
monolith from Uk-nyi to the capital. This done the monk fled back to
Ko-gu-ryŭ and announced that the treasury of Păk-je was empty and it was
a good time to attack her. A large army was put in the field, guided by
one Kŭl-lu, a Păk-je fugitive from justice. Almost before Păk-je was
aware, her capital was surrounded. She had applied to Sil-la for help,
but too late. First the suburbs were laid in ashes, and then access
being gained, the palace was fired. The king fled with ten attendants
out the west gate, but Kŭl-lu the renegade followed and overtook him.
The king begged for mercy upon his knees but Kŭl-lu spit thrice in his
face, bound him and sent him to the fortress of A-han where lie was
killed. Then the Ko-gu-ryŭ army went back north carrying with them 8,000
captives, men and women.

Meanwhile Prince Mun-ju had obtained help from Sil-la and with 10,000
troops was hastening homewards. He found the city in ashes, his father
dead, the people mourning their lost, who had been dragged away captive.
He promptly assumed control of affairs, moved the capital southward to
Ung-jin the present Kong-ju, took all the Păk-je people away from
Han-yang (Seoul) and moved them back across the Han River and abandoned
all the territory beyond that natural barrier to Ko-gu-ryŭ to whom it
had originally belonged. The following year he tried to send a message
to the Sung Emperor by way of Ko-gu-ryŭ but the messenger was
intercepted and the message stopped.



                               Chapter X.

Quelpart.... origin of T’am-na.... new alliances.... advances in
    Sil-la.... but not in Păk-je nor Ko-gu-ryŭ.... temporary peace....
    Buddhism in Sil-la.... remnants of barbarism.... influence of
    Chinese literature.... important reforms.... Ko-gu-ryŭ’s foreign
    relations.... conquest of Dagelet Island.... posthumous titles....
    colors in official grades.... Wei displeased.... the “miracle” of Yi
    Cha-don.... end of Ka-rak.... Sil-la rejects Chinese calendar....
    confusion in China.... Păk-je attempts reform.... history of
    Sil-la.... two alliances.... Păk-je and Ko-gu-ryŭ envoys to
    China.... advance of Buddhism in Sil-la.... music in Sil-la.... war
    between Păk-je and Sil-la.... retrogression in Sil-la because of
    Buddhism.... Ko-gu-ryŭ and the Sui Emperor.... the _Ondali_.


Tradition says that in the dawn of history when the island of Che-ju
(Quelpart) was covered only with a tangled forest three sages arose from
a crevice in the ground. This spot is shown to this day by the people of
Che-ju. These three men were Ko-ŭlla, Yang-ŭlla and Pu-ŭlla. As they
stood upon the shore they saw three stout chests floating in from the
south-east. Drawing them to land and opening them the three wise men
discovered that each chest contained a calf, a colt, a dog, a pig and a
woman, together with sundry seeds, such as beans, wheat, barley, millet
and rice. By the three families thus organised the island was populated.
During the early days of Sil-la a certain court astrologer announced
that the “Friend Star” was visible in the south and that a distinguished
visitor would soon arrive. Soon after this three men came by boat from
Quelpart, landing at the harbor of T’am-jin, now Kang-jin. They came
straight to the court of Sil-la where they were hospitably entertained.
One of the visitors was Ko-hu, one was Ko-ch’ŭng, but the name of the
third is lost. The king called the first Sŭng-ju or “Lord of the Star,”
the second Wang-ja or “King’s Son” and the third To-nă or “The One who
has Come.” He named their country _T’am_ from the name of the port where
they landed, and _na_, which seems to have meant “Kingdom”, for we find
that the last syllable of Sil-la is this same _na_ changed by euphonic
laws to _la_. It is the root of the present Korean word _na-ra_ or
“kingdom.” So the kingdom was called T’am-na. The authorities are at a
loss to tell the date or even the reign during which these events
transpired. In the year 477 the little kingdom of T’am-na sent an envoy
to the court of Păk-je with gifts. This is the first really authentic
mention of the place. If tradition is of any value it must be confessed
that the story of the peopling of Quelpart points toward a southern
origin.

In 479 the aged king of Ko-gu-ryŭ, Kö-ryŭn, now in the sixty-eighth year
of his reign, sought and obtained recognition from Emperor Ko-je
(Kao-ti) the founder of the Ch’i dynasty in China. That this occurred in
the very first year after the founding of that dynasty shows how
sedulously Ko-gu-ryŭ was cultivating the good-will of the Chinese.
Păk-je was not far behind, for she swore allegiance to the same Emperor
only two years later.

During all these years it is to Sil-la that we must look for any signs
of internal improvement, any of those innovations which are the
mile-stones of progress. We saw above how she introduced the use of the
cart and so raised a great burden from the shoulders of the people. The
wheel is the great burden bearer of history. And now we find her
introducing further reforms. The first was the horse relay system called
the _yong-ma_. It did not bear so directly upon the condition of the
people but it afforded an opportunity for the rapid transmission of
official information and thus indirectly had an important bearing upon
the welfare of the masses. In the next place, she organised a general
market where at stated intervals merchants from the various districts
could meet and exchange commodities. These are things that we look upon
as matters of course and we do not realise their importance till we
imagine ourselves deprived of the comforts that spring from the
possibility of rapid communication and exchange of commodities. That
Ko-gu-ryŭ had not made similar advances in the line of industrial reform
is shown by the fact that when the Emperor of the Wei dynasty sent to
grant investiture to Na-un the twenty-first king of Ko-gu-ryŭ in 499 he
presented him with suits of clothes, flags, a crown and a cart. This
shows that carts were not as yet in common use in Ko-gu-ryŭ. As for
Păk-je, disaster was following upon disaster. At one time a thousand
people were swept away in a flood. Then famine carried away three
thousand. A few years later ten thousand people passed over into Sil-la
to save themselves from starvation.

The sixth century dawned upon a comparatively peaceful Korea; for the
time being the dogs of war were held in leash and feuds seem to have
been laid on the shelf. The three kingdoms employed their time in
different but characteristic ways. The king of Păk-je built an enormous
pleasure-house and adorned it with all manner of curious flowers and
animals. To the expostulations of his ministers he turned a deaf ear. A
few years later he was murdered by one of his courtiers. In truth, peace
was nearly as bad for Păk-je as war.

In Sil-la Buddhism had been introduced during the reign of Nul-ji,
417-458. A monk named Muk Ho-ja had been well received and was lodged in
the palace. But, at the first, Buddhism did not find congenial soil in
Sil-la. Tradition gives the following account of the first set-back
which it suffered there. In 502 while the king was idling an hour away
in a favorite summer-house outside the city, a raven appeared bearing in
its beak a letter. It laid the missive at the king’s feet and flew away.
The superscription said “If the king opens and reads this note two
people will die; if he does not open it one will die”. He determined not
to open it, but one of his attendants said, “The one referred to is Your
Majesty and therefore you should open it even though two lives are
sacrificed”. He broke the seal and read the strange words “Let the king
take his trustiest bow, hasten to the palace and shoot an arrow through
the zither case”. The king obeyed the mandate, hastened back to the
palace by a private gate, entered the queen’s apartments unannounced and
shot an arrow through a zither case that stood against the wall. The
arrow pierced the zither case and the High Priest who was hidden behind
it. The latter had taken advantage of the king’s absence to attack his
honor. He was strangled together with the guilty queen.

With all her attempts at progress some evidences of the grossest
barbarity still lingered in Sil-la. It was not, so the records tell us,
until the year 503 that Sil-la discontinued the horrible custom of
burying people alive when a king’s body was interred. It had been
customary to bury five boys and five girls alive on such occasions, but
in 503 the king published a decree forbidding the continuance of the
custom. The very barbarity of the custom renders its abolition the more
striking and places the name of king Chi-jeung, the twenty-second of his
line, among the names of Korea’s benefactors. At the same time the
custom of plowing with oxen was introduced, an innovation that had a
most far-reaching effect upon society. It was in the beginning of the
sixth century that Sil-la began to show evidences of the influence of
Chinese literature and thought. In 504 she adopted the Chinese word Wang
as the title of her kings in place of the pure Korean words I-sa-geum or
Ma-rip-kan. She also changed the name of the kingdom from Kye-rim to
Sil-la. We have been speaking of this kingdom under the name Sil-la but
as a matter of fact it was not so designated until the year 504 A.D.
Before that time it had been variously styled Sŭ-ya-bŭl, Sa-ro, and
Kye-rim. The word Sil-la is said to have been composed of the Chinese
words _Sin_ and _ra_, which when united become Sil-la according to
Korean laws of euphony. It is more than probable that it was merely an
adaptation of Chinese characters to pure Korean words, for the last
syllable _la_ or _na_ is the same as that used in other words, centuries
before that time, in southern Korea. The _na_ of T’am-na is the same
character. To the word Sil-la was added the word _Kuk_ or “kingdom”
which put her in line with the other vassals of China. The Confucian
code must have been making headway too, for in the following year the
custom was adopted of assuming a mourning garb for three years upon the
death of a parent. It was at this time that the influence of China upon
Korea began to bear its legitimate fruit. Chinese religion, literature,
government and art were beginning to mould the thought and life of the
Korean people. Many Chinese words had been introduced into Korea before
this time but the use of the Chinese character had not been general.

In the mean time Ko-gu-ryŭ had been paying attention not so much to
internal reforms as to external alliances. She sent to the Wei Emperor
begging him to remit the revenue in gold and jade, as they were
obtained, the one in Pu-yŭ, which she claimed the Mal-gal savages had
seized, and the other in Sŭp-na which she averred the wicked Păk-je had
feloniously taken. But she added “Of course all that Ko-gu-ryŭ has is
yours”. The Emperor good-naturedly remitted the revenue but urged his
vassal to continue the good work of subduing the wild tribes of the
peninsula. It is said that in a single year Ko-gu-ryŭ sent three
separate embassies to the Wei court. At the same time she was
coquetting, _sub rosa_, with the new Liang power which had arisen in
502. In this Păk-je of course followed suite. We thus see that the three
kingdoms spent their time in different ways; Sil-la in internal
improvement, Păk-je in self-gratification and Ko-gu-ryŭ in strengthening
her foreign relations.

In the year 512 the kingdom of U-san was added to the crown of Sil-la.
This was the little island of Dagelet, off the eastern coast of Korea,
about opposite the prefecture of Kang-neung. How Sil-la happened to
branch out in a policy of conquest we are not told, but having decided
to do so she did it very neatly. The expedition was led by Gen. Yi
Sa-bu. He ordered the construction of several lions with gaping mouths
and enormous fangs. They were carved from wood. He placed one of these
in the prow of each of the boats and when the little flotilla approached
the shores of the island the natives were called upon to lay down their
arms and surrender, or the lions would be set loose among them and would
tear them to pieces. This, it is averred, brought the trembling
islanders to their knees at once and Sil-la won a bloodless victory.
This is among the most cherished traditions of the Korean people.

With the accession of Wŭn-jong to the throne of Sil-la in 514 the
Chinese custom of conferring a posthumous title upon a deceased king was
introduced for the first time into Korea. Long before this the custom
had prevailed in Ko-gu-ryŭ of naming a dead king after the place in
which he was buried but to the very last the Ko-gu-ryŭ kings did not
receive posthumous honorific titles. Păk-je however followed Sil-la’s
example ten years later.

King Pŭp-heung of Sil-la in 520 reorganised the official list and
indicated the different grades of rank by different colors. The grades
called _t’a-do_, _kak-kan_ and _ta-a-son_ wore lavender. Those called
_a-son_ and _keup-son_, wore red, and carried the ivory memo tablets
that are common today. The _ta-na-ma_ and the _na-ma_ wore blue. The
_ta-sa_ and _sun-jo-ji_ wore hats of silk, shaped like the
broad-brimmed, round crowned hats of the chair-coolie of the present
day. The _pa-jin-son_ and the _ta-a-son_ wore red silk hats. The
_sang-dang_, _chuk-wi_ and _ta-sa_ wore red hat strings. The
kaleidoscopic colors of a royal Korean procession of today indicate what
a prominent role the love of color plays in the oriental temperament.

The Wei power in China was not pleased with the friendship that was
springing up between Ko-gu-ryŭ and the Liang court. This came to a
climax when she stopped a Liang envoy who was on his way to Ko-gu-ryŭ to
confer investiture upon the king. It may be that Ko-gu-ryŭ realised that
the Wei dynasty was waning to its close and that it was well to
cultivate the good-will of the young and rising Liang power; but if so
the forecast was false for the Liang power outlived the Wei only
twenty-four years.

The year 524 gave Sil-la Buddhism a new lease of life. Its most
celebrated representative was a monk named Muk Ho-ja who lived about the
middle of the fifth century. Coming from Ko-gu-ryŭ he had settled at the
town of Il-sŭng-gun where a Sil-la citizen had made him a cave dwelling.
The king of Sil-la received a gift of incense from China, but did not
know how to use it till this monk Muk Ho-ja showed him how. He told the
king to burn it and ask anything of the spirits, and they would grant
it. The king’s daughter was very ill at the time and the king burned the
incense and asked that his daughter be healed. The story says that she
immediately arose from her bed a well woman. This of course gave
Buddhism a long start. Since that time, as we have seen, Buddhism had
suffered a severe drawback in the person of the wicked monk who was
discovered in the act of abusing his sacerdotal function. It had
recovered from that shock however and had again assumed large
proportions in the state of Sil-la. The king had come so completely
under the influence of the monks that now in 524 the courtiers feared
that their power would be seriously threatened. They therefore used
every means to induce the king to moderate his views. The king gave his
reluctant assent to the execution of the high priest, Yi Cha-don.
Tradition says that when he was brought to execution he exclaimed “When
you slay me, my blood will flow not red like blood but white as milk and
then you will know that Buddhism is true.” And so it proved, for when
his head was severed from the trunk his blood flowed white like milk.
None could gainsay this evidence and from that day Buddhism advanced
with rapid steps. The following year the king made a law against the
killing of animals.

The kingdom of Ka-rak had existed side by side with Sil-la on terms of
mutual friendship for four hundred and eighty-two years, but in 527 her
king, Kim Ku-hyŭng, gave up his sovereign power and merged his kingdom
into that of Sil-la. He was however retained at the head of the Ka-rak
state under appointment by the king of Sil-la. It does not appear from
the scanty records that this was other than a peaceful change. Ka-rak
had long seen the growing power of Sil-la and doubtless recognised that
more was to be gained by becoming part of that kingdom than by standing
aloof and running the chance of becoming disputed territory between the
rival powers of the peninsula. She had been founded in 41 A.D. and now
she came to an end in 527, so her lease of life seems to have been four
hundred and eighty-six years rather than four hundred and eighty-two as
the records state. As the dates of her beginning and end are both taken
from the records the discrepancy must be laid at the door of the
recorder.

[Illustration: _READY FOR THE ROAD._]

About this time Sil-la discovered that it was useless to cultivate the
friendship of the Chinese powers. The Chinese territory was divided into
a number of petty kingdoms and more were on the eve of being founded.
None of them had strength enough to hold her own against the others,
much less to be of any avail in case of trouble in the peninsula.
Perhaps it was for this reason that in 535 Sil-la rejected the Chinese
calendar and named the year according to a plan of her own. In China the
Liang dynasty, the Northern Wei, and the Eastern Wei were all in the
field, while the Ch’en, the Northern Ch’i, the Northern Chu and the Sui
dynasties were just about to make their appearance and all to pass away
like summer clouds before the power of the mighty T’ang.

About the year 540 Păk-je moved her capital again; this time it was to
Sa-ja the site of the present prefecture of Pu-yŭ in the province of
Ch’ung-ch’ŭng. She seems to have had some aspirations after better
things, for in 541 she sent to the Liang court asking that books of
poetry, teachers of literature, Buddhist books, artisans and picture
painters be sent to help in creating a taste for literature and art in
that country. The request was granted.

The year 543 marks an important event in the life of Sil-la. The history
of that country existed as yet only in the form of notes, but now the
king ordered that a congress of the best scholars of the land set to
work compiling a proper history under the leadership of the great
scholar Kim-gŭ Ch’il-bu. We will notice that this was about two hundred
years before the earliest date that is set for the publication of the
Japanese work entitled the Kojiki. And it should be noticed likewise
that this history of Sil-la was not a collection of myths and stories
only, but a proper history, worked up from government records which a
certain degree of knowledge of Chinese had rendered the officials
capable of making and transmitting. One needs but to compare the Kojiki
with the Sam-guk-sa or “History of the Three Kingdoms” founded on these
records to see how immeasurably the latter excels the former as a source
of accurate historical evidence.

It was about this time that the wild tribes of the Mal-gal and Ye-măk
began to realise that the continued progress of Păk-je and Sil-la meant
extinction for themselves. So in 547 they joined Ko-gu-ryŭ in an attack
upon Păk-je; but Sil-la and Ka-ya rendered aid to Păk-je and the
northern allies were driven back. From this time on, during a period of
several years, Ko-gu-ryŭ, Ye-măk and Mal-gal were allies, and Sil-la,
Păk-je and Ka-ya were allies; a sort of dual arrangement, which
preserved a nice equilibrium in the peninsula.

In 549 the king of Păk-je sent an envoy to present his compliments to
the Liang Emperor. When he arrived at the capital of the Liang power he
found the palace in ashes and the reins of government in the hands of
the usurper Hu-gyŭng; so he took his stand before the Tan-mun (gate) and
wept aloud from morning till night. The passers-by, hearing his story,
stopped and wept with him. This of course did not please the usurper,
and the envoy was seized and thrown into prison where he stayed until
the rebellion was put down and the Emperor returned. As the Ch’i dynasty
arose in 550 we are not surprised to learn that Ko-gu-ryŭ sent an envoy
immediately to do obeisance and get into the good graces of the new
power.

It must be confessed that meantime Buddhism had been making rapid
strides in Sil-la. Monasteries had been erected and the new cult was
winning its way into the hearts of the people. In 551 the public
teaching of the eight laws of Buddhism against (1) the slaughter of
animals, (2) theft. (3) licentiousness, (4) lying, (5) drunkenness, (6)
ambition, (7) the eating of garlic, (8) levity, was decreed.

It is probable that the art of music was not highly developed at this
time but in 552 the king of Sil-la sent three men to the Ka-ya country
to learn music from a celebrated master named U Reuk; but that learned
man had come to realise that Ka-ya was doomed and, taking his
twelve-stringed instrument under his arm he went with his disciple Ni
Mun to the court of Sil-la. The three men, Pŭp-ji, Kye-go and Man-dok,
whom the king had appointed to study music, entered upon their duties
under this mail’s tutelage. One of them studied singing, another the use
of the instrument and a third dancing. When they had perfected
themselves in these ornamental arts they proposed to alter some of the
songs, on the plea that they were too licentious, but old U Reuk
violently objected to expurgated editions of his works, and so it was
stopped. From that time music became very popular and in many cases
students of this great branch of art went among the mountains and spent
years in practice. The instrument was called a _Ka-ya-geum_ from Ka-ya
where it originated. It is now called the _ka-go_ and is shaped like a
Korean zither but is smaller. Among the favorite songs that have come
down to the present time are “The Ascent of the Mountain,” “The Descent
of the Mountain,” “The Rustling Bamboo,” “The Stork Dance,” “The Blowing
Wind” and “The Monastery on the Mountain.” But music was not the only
art that flourished, for we are gravely told that an artist painted a
tree on the wall of “Yellow Dragon Monastery” with such skill that birds
tried to alight on its branches.

In 555 war broke out between Sil-la and Păk-je. We are not told its
cause but Sil-la was victorious and added to her territory a large tract
of country along the eastern side of Păk-je, which she erected into a
prefecture under the name of Wan-san-ju (now Chŭn-ju). One authority
says that in this war Păk-je lost one half of her territory to Sil-la.
It seems that Sil-la had by this time developed the taste for diplomatic
intercourse with China. Frequent embassies were sent on the long and
costly journey. Each of the three powers sent two and three times a year
to one or other of the various Chinese courts. The Emperor of the Ch’i
dynasty sent Sil-la great store of Buddhistic books. It is said that as
many as 1700 volumes were sent at one time.

When Păk-jong ascended the throne of Sil-la in 570 the Buddhistic
tendencies had begun to bear their legitimate fruits. The king was so
given over to it that he became a monk and the queen became a nun. All
thought of progress seems to have been given up and the revenues were
squandered in sending useless embassies to China. The style of Buddhism
prevalent in Sil-la is illustrated by the fact that in the second year
of this reign the minister of war took the king severely to task for
spending so much time in the chase, though the killing of animals is the
first prohibition of the Buddhist law. Tradition says that this faithful
minister, Hu-jik, plead in vain, and finally, when dying, asked to be
buried near the road the king usually took when going to hunt. It was
done and the king when passing the grave heard a noise of warning
proceeding from it. When he was told that it was the faithful but
neglected Hu-jik, the king determined on the spot that he would reform,
and so the faithful minister did more by his death than by his life.

It was in the year 586 that Ko-gu-ryŭ again moved her capital northward
to the old place near the present Eui-ju. Soon after this the Tsin
dynasty in China fell before the victorious Sui, and Ko-gu-ryŭ, who had
been friendly with the Tsin but had never cultivated the Sui, was left
in an extremely delicate position. She immediately began preparations
for repelling a Sui invasion. The Emperor however had no such intentions
and sent a swift messenger chiding the king for his unjust suspicions
and opening the way for a friendly understanding. This seemed a little
strained to the king and he feared treachery; so, while he greatly
desired to send an envoy, he hardly ventured to do so.

One of the famous traditions of Korea centers about this king. His
daughter when of tender years cried so much that on one occasion the
king impatiently exclaimed “When you grow up you cannot marry a man of
the nobility but we will marry you to an _ondali_.” Now an _ondali_ is a
very ignorant, foolish fellow, a boor. When the girl reached a
marriageable age the king who had forgotten all about his threat was for
marrying her to a high noble but the girl called to his remembrance the
words he had spoken and said she would marry no one but an _ondali_. The
king bound ten golden hairpins to her arm and drove the away from the
palace. She fled to the hut of an _ondali_ on the outskirts of the town
but he was away in the hills gathering elm bark to eat. His mother, old
and blind, said “You smell of perfume and your hands are soft and
smooth. My boy is only an ignorant _ondali_ and no match for you.”
Without answering, the maiden hastened to the hills and found the boy,
but he thought her a spirit and took to his heels and ran home as fast
as he could go. She followed and slept before his door that night. At
last the youth comprehended the situation and accepted the hand of the
princess. With the ten golden hairpins she set him up in the
horse-raising business. He bought the broken-down palace ponies and by
careful treatment made them sound and fleet again. In the chase he
always led the rout and when the King asked who he might be the answer
was “Only an _ondali_.” From this the youth advanced until he became a
famous general and had the honor of defeating a Chinese army in
Liao-tung. He was killed during an invasion of Sil-la but no one was
able to lift his dead body till his wife came and knelt beside it saying
“The dead and living are separated.” Then it was lifted and carried back
to Ko-gu-ryŭ.



                              Chapter XI.

Ko-gu-ryŭ relations with the Sui court.... Ko-gu-ryŭ suspected.... takes
    the offensive.... submits.... the Emperor suspicious.... the great
    Chinese invasion.... Chinese allies.... Ko-gu-ryŭ’s allies....
    Chinese cross the Liao.... go into camp.... naval expedition....
    defeated at P‘yŭng-yang.... routes of the Chinese army.... Ko-gu-ryŭ
    spy.... Ko-gu-ryŭ lures the Chinese on.... pretense of surrender....
    Chinese retreat.... terrible slaughter.... Păk-je neutral.... second
    invasion.... siege of Liao-tung fortress.... Chinese retire.... and
    give up the contest.... treaty with the T’ang Emperor.... triangular
    war renewed.... China neutral.... guerilla warfare.... first woman
    sovereign.... Păk-je retrogrades.... attacks Sil-la.... Păk-je’s
    terrible mistake.... Chinese spy.... rise of Hap So-mun.... the
    tortoise and the rabbit.... Taoism introduced.... China finally
    sides with Sil-la.... and announces her program.... preparations for
    war.... the invasion.... siege of Liao-tung Fortress.... siege of
    An-si Fortress.... Chinese retire.


We have seen that Ko-gu-ryŭ did not respond freely to the friendly
advances of the Sui power in China. Although a Sui envoy came and
conferred investiture upon the king in 590, yet the relations were not
cordial. Something was lacking. A mutual suspicion existed which kept
them both on the watch for signs of treachery. But two years later the
king did obeisance to the Emperor and was apparently taken into his good
graces. And now the net began to be drawn about Ko-gu-ryŭ. Her position
had always been precarious. She was the largest of the peninsular
kingdoms and the nearest to China. She was also nearest to the wild
tribes who periodically joined in an attempt to overthrow the Chinese
ruling dynasty. So Ko-gu-ryŭ was always more or less suspected of
ulterior designs and she seems to have realised it, for she always
sedulously cultivated the good-will of the Emperors. She knew very well
that with Sil-la and Păk-je, hereditary enemies, at her back, the day
when she fell under the serious suspicion of any strong dynasty in China
would be her day of doom. And so it proved in the end. She had now
thoroughly alienated the good-will and aroused the suspicions of the Sui
Emperor; Sil-la and Păk-je were in his good graces, and stirring times
were at hand. These two rival powers sent envoys to China urging the
Emperor to unite with them in invading Ko-gu-ryŭ and putting an end to
her once for all. To this the Emperor assented. Ko-gu-ryŭ knew that the
fight was on and, being the warlike power that she was, she boldly
determined to take the offensive. Drawing on her faithful allies the
Mal-gal for 10,000 troops she despatched these, together with her own
army, to western Liao-tung and across the river Liao, where the town of
Yŭng-ju was attacked and taken. This was her declaration of war. The
Emperor in 598 proclaimed the royal title withdrawn from the king of
Ko-gu-ryŭ and an army of 300,000 men was put in motion toward the
frontier. At the same time a naval expedition was fitted out. But
reverses occurred; storms by sea and bad management of the commissariat
by land rendered the expedition a failure. It opened the eyes of the
Ko-gu-ryŭ king however and he saw that the Emperor was fully determined
upon his destruction. He saw but one way to make himself safe and that
was by abject submission. He therefore hastened to tell the Emperor, “I
am a base and worthless subject, vile as ordure,” which was received by
the Emperor with considerable complaisancy, and a show of pardon was
made; but it was probably done only to keep Ko-gu-ryŭ from active
preparations until China could equip a much larger army and put it in
the field. Păk-je, who did not like to see affairs brought to a halt at
this interesting juncture, sent an envoy to China offering to act as
guide, to lead a Chinese army against the foe. When Ko-gu-ryŭ learned of
this her anger knew no bounds and she began to make reprisals upon
Păk-je territory.

About this time the Sui Emperor had business in the north. The Tol-gwŭl
tribe needed chastisement. When the Chinese forces entered the chief
town of the humbled tribe they found a Ko-gu-ryŭ emissary there. This
fed the Emperor’s suspicions for it looked as if Ko-gu-ryŭ were
preparing a league of the wild tribes for the purpose of conquest. He
therefore sent to Ko-gu-ryŭ saying “The king should not be afraid of me.
Let him come himself and do obeisance. If not, I shall send and destroy
him.” We may well imagine that this pressing invitation was declined by
the king.

The last year of the sixth century witnessed the compilation of the
first great history of Ko-gu-ryŭ, in 100 volumes. It was named the
Yu-geui or “Record of Remembrance.”

It took China some years to get ready for the carrying out of her plan,
but at last in 612 began one of the mightiest military movements in
history. China massed upon the western bank of the Liao River an army of
1,130,000 men. There were forty regiments of cavalry and eighty of
infantry. The army was divided into twenty-four battalions, marching
with an interval of forty _li_ between each, so that the entire army
stretched for 960 _li_ or 320 miles along the road. Eighty _li_ in the
rear came the Emperor with his body-guard.

When this enormous army reached the banks of the Liao they beheld on the
farther bank the soldiers of Ko-gu-ryŭ. Nothing can better prove the
hardihood of the Ko-gu-ryŭ soldiery than that, when they saw this
well-nigh innumerable host approach, they dared to dispute the crossing
of the river.

The Chinese army was composed of Chinese regulars and of allies from
twenty-four of their dependencies whose names are given as follows.
Nu-bang, Chang-jam, Myŭng-hă, Kă-ma, Kön-an, Nam-so, Yo-dong, Hyŭn-do,
Pu-yŭ, Nang-nang, Ok-jŭ, Chŭm-sŭn, Ham-ja, Hon-mi, Im-dun, Hu-sŭng,
Che-hă, Tap-don, Suk-sin, Kal-sŭk, Tong-i, Tă-bang and Yang-p’yŭng. One
would suppose from this long list that there could be few left to act as
allies to Ko-gu-ryŭ, but when we remember that the Mal-gal group of
tribes was by far the most powerful and warlike of all the northern
hordes we will see that Ko-gu-ryŭ was not without allies. In addition to
this, Ko-gu-ryŭ had two important factors in her favor; in summer the
rains made the greater part of Liao-tung impassable either for advance
or retreat, and in winter the severity of the weather rendered military
operations next to impossible. Only two courses were therefore open to
an invading army; either it must make a quick dash into Ko-gu-ryŭ in the
spring or autumn and retire before the summer rains or winter storms, or
else it must be prepared to go into camp and spend the inclement season
in an enemy’s country, cut off from its base of supplies. It was in the
spring that this invasion took place and the Emperor was determined to
carry it through to a finish in spite of summer rains or winter storms.

No sooner had the Chinese army reached the Liao River than the engineers
set to work bridging the stream. So energetically was the work done that
in two days a double span was thrown across. There had been a
miscalculation however, for it fell six feet short of reaching the
eastern bank, and the Ko-gu-ryŭ soldiers were there to give them a warm
welcome. The Chinese troops leaped from the unfinished end of the bridge
and tried to climb up the steep bank, but were again and again driven
back. The eastern bank was not gained until Gen Măk Chŭl-jang leaped to
the shore and mowed a path for his followers with his sword. At this
point the Ko-gu-ryŭ generals Chön Sa-ung and Măng Keum-ch’a were killed.

When the whole army had effected a crossing the Emperor sent 1200 troops
to occupy the fortified town of Liao-tung but the Ko-gu-ryŭ general,
Eul-ji Mun-dŭk, hastened thither and drove back this detachment of
Chinese in confusion. The Emperor learned of the retreat and proceeded
toward the scene of action. When he came up with the flying detachments
of his defeated force he severely reprimanded the generals in charge and
chided them for being lazy and afraid of death. But it was now late in
June and the rainy season was at hand, so the Emperor with his whole
army went into camp at Yuk-hap Fortress a little to the west of the town
of Liao-tung, to await the end of the wet season.

He was unwilling however to let all this time pass without any active
work; so he sent a fleet of boats by sea to sail up the Ta-dong River
and attack P’yüng-yang. This was under the leadership of Gen. Nă Ho-a.
Landing his force on the bank of the Ta-dong, sixty _li_ below the city,
he enjoyed there a signal victory over a small force which had been sent
to head him off. This made the general over-confident and in spite of
the protests of his lieutenants he marched on P‘yŭng-yang without an
hour’s delay. With twenty thousand troops he went straight into the
town, the gates being left wide open for him. This was a ruse on the
part of the Ko-gu-ryŭ forces. A strong body of Ko-gu-ryŭ troops had
hidden in a monastery in Nă-gwak Fort on the heights within the city.
The Chinese found themselves entrapped and Gen. Nă was forced to beat a
hasty retreat with what forces he had left, and at last got back to
Hă-p’o (harbor) in Liao-tung. What the Emperor said to him is not known
but it could not have been flattering.

The rainy season had now come and gone and the main plan of the invasion
was ready to be worked out. It was necessary for the Emperor to spread
out his force over the country in order to find forage, and so, in
approaching the borders of Ko-gu-ryŭ, it was decided that they should
come by several different routes. Gen. U Mun-sul led a detachment by way
of Pu-yŭ, Gen. U Chung-mun by way of Nang-nang, Gen. Hyŭng Wŭn-hang by
way of Yo-dong, Gen. Sŭl Se-ung by way of Ok-jŭ, Gen. Sin Se-ung by way
of Hyŭn-do, Gen. Chang Keun by way of Yang-p’yăng, Gen. Cho Hyo-jă by
way of Kal-sŭk, Gen. Ch’oe Hong-seung by way of Su-sung, Gen. Wi
Mun-seung by way of Cheung-ji. It is said that they all rendezvoused on
the western bank of the Yalu River, but if so there must have been great
changes in the position of these wild tribes. It is more than probable
that like the North American Indians they had moved further and further
back from their original lands until they were far beyond the Yalu and
Tumen rivers.

In the early autumn of 612 the whole army lay just east of the Yalu
River.

The king of Ko-gu-ryŭ sent Gen. Eul-ji Mun-dŭk to the Chinese camp to
tender the Emperor a pretense of surrender but in reality to spy out his
position and force. When he appeared the Emperor was minded to kill him
on the spot but thought better of it and, after listening to what he had
to say, let him go. Not an hour after he had gotten beyond the Chinese
pickets the Emperor changed his mind again and sent in pursuit of him;
but the general had too good a start and made too good use of his time
to allow himself to be retaken.

And now appeared one of the disadvantages of being far from one’s base
of supplies, and in an enemy’s country. Some weeks before this each
Chinese soldier had been given three bags of rice and told that he must
carry them on the march, besides his other necessary accoutrements.
Death was to the penalty of throwing any of it away. The result was that
most of them buried a large part of the rice in their tents and so
escaped detection. Now they were short of provisions, while the generals
thought their knapsacks were full of rice. The Ko-gu-ryŭ Gen. Eul-ji,
who had been in their camp, however, knew about it. He entered upon a
geurilla warfare with the object of luring the enemy far into Ko-gu-ryŭ
territory and then cutting them to pieces at leisure. To this end he
made a feigned retreat several times each day, thus giving the enemy
confidence and blinding them to his own strength. It was decided that a
Chinese force of 305,000 men under Gen. U Chung-mun should proceed
straight to P’yŭng-yang. It seemed wholly unnecessary that the whole
army of 1,130,000 men should undergo that long march when only a
pusillanimous enemy barred the way.

On they came toward the capital without meeting anything but a few
skirmishers, until they reached the Sal-su, a stream only thirty _li_
from P’yŭng-yang. Crossing this the Chinese went into camp for a few
days to recover from the fatigue of the rapid march before attacking the
town.

At this point Gen. Eul-ji began operations. He wrote a very humble
letter sueing for mercy. When the Chinese general received this, his
course of reasoning must have been something as follows: “My forces are
completely exhausted by this long march; the provisions are almost gone;
I shall find the capital defended by desperate men; it may be that I
shall be handled as roughly as were the forces of Gen. Nă. I will accept
this submission and start back in time to reach the Yalu before my
provisions are entirely gone. I will thus spare my army and gain the
desired end as well.”

Whether this was his course of reasoning or not, sure it is that he
accepted the submission tendered him and put his army in motion toward
the Yalu. But before his forces had gone a mile they found themselves
attacked on all sides at once by an unseen foe which seemed to fill the
forests on either side the road. When half the army had gotten across
the Sal-su the other half was fiercely attacked and cut to pieces or
driven like dumb cattle over the face of the country, where they were
butchered at leisure. The retreat became a flight, the flight a rout,
and still the Ko-gu-ryŭ soldiers hung on their flanks like wolves and
dragged them down by scores and hundreds. It is said that in a single
day and night the fugitive Chinese covered four hundred and fifty _li_,
and when the remnant of that noble army of 305,000 men that had swept
across the Yalu went back across that historic stream it was just 2700
strong. Over 300,000 men had perished along the hill-sides and among the
forests of Ko-gu-ryŭ. The Emperor in anger imprisoned the over-confident
Gen. U Chung-mun.

Meanwhile what of Păk-je? She had promised that she would rise and
strike Ko-gu-ryŭ simultaneously with the Emperor, but when the moment
for action came, like the paltroon that she was, she waited to see which
side would be most likely to win in the end. When the Chinese fled back
to the border in panic Păk-je quietly stacked her arms and said nothing
about attacking her neighbor.

Winter was now at hand, or would be before another plan could be
perfected and carried out. The army was without provisions. There was
nothing left but to retreat. The Chinese army, still a mighty host,
moved slowly back across the Liao River and Ko-gu-ryŭ was left to her
own pleasant musings. All that China gained was that portion of
Ko-gu-ryŭ lying west of the Liao River, which the Emperor erected into
three prefectures.

If Ko-gu-ryŭ flattered herself that her troubles were all over she was
wofully mistaken. With the opening of spring the Emperor’s determination
to humble her was as strong as ever. All the courtiers urged him to give
over the attempt. They had seen enough of Ko-gu-ryŭ. The Emperor,
however, was firm in his determination, and in the fourth moon another
army was launched against the hardy little kingdom to the east. It
crossed the Liao without opposition but when it arrived at Tong-whang
Fortress, near the present Eui-ju, it attempted in vain to take it. The
Emperor decided therefore to make a thorough conquest of all the
Liao-tung territory and delimit the possessions of Ko-gu-ryŭ as far as
the Yalu River, To this end siege was laid to the Fortress of Liao-tung.
After twenty days the town was still intact and the Chinese seemingly as
far from victory as ever. Ladders were tried but without effect. A bank
of earth was thrown up as high as the wall of the town, but this too
failed. Platforms of timber were erected and rolled up to the wall on
trucks of eight wheels each. This seemed to promise success but just as
the attempt was to be made fortune favored Ko-gu-ryŭ, for news came to
the Chinese that an insurrection had arisen in China, headed by Yang
Hyŭn-gam. The tents were hastily struck and the army by forced marches
moved rapidly back towards China. At first the Ko-gu-ryŭ forces thought
this was a mere feint but when the truth was known they rushed in
pursuit and succeeded in putting several thousands of the Chinese braves
_hors de combat_.

The following year the Emperor wanted to return to the charge but an
envoy came from Ko-gu-ryŭ offering the king’s humble submission. To this
the Emperor replied “Then let him come in person and present it.” This
he would not do.

Four years later the king of Ko-gu-ryŭ died and his brother Kön-mu
assumed control. It was in this same year 618 that the great T’ang
dynasty was founded on the ruins of the Sui and the fear of vengeance
was lifted from Ko-gu-ryŭ. She immediately sent an envoy to the T’ang
court offering her allegiance. Păk-je and Sil-la were only a year behind
her in paying their respects to the new Emperor. As a test of Ko-gu-ryŭ
sincerity, Emperor Kao-tsu demanded that she send back the captives
taken during the late war. As the price of peace Ko-gu-ryŭ complied and
sent back 10,000 men. The next year the T’ang Emperor conferred the
title of royalty upon all the three kings of the peninsula which,
instead of settling the deadly feud between them, simply opened a new
and final scene of the fratricidal struggle. To Ko-gu-ryŭ the Emperor
sent books on the Shinto faith, of the introduction of which into Korea
we here have the first intimation.

Now that danger from the west no longer threatened Ko-gu-ryŭ, she turned
to her neighbors and began to exercise her arms upon them. Păk-je also
attacked Sil-la fiercely and soon a triangular war was being waged in
the peninsula which promised to be a war of extermination unless China
should interfere. Of course each wished the Emperor to interfere in her
behalf and each plied the throne of China with recriminations of the
others and with justifications of herself until the Emperor was wholly
at a loss to decide between them. Perhaps it was not his policy to put
an end to the war but let it rage until the whole peninsula was
exhausted, when it would become an easy prey to his arms. At any rate he
gave encouragement to none of them but simply told them to stop
fighting. Ko-gu-ryŭ diplomatically added to her supplications a request
for Buddhist, Taoist and Shinto teachers.

The details of this series of hostilities between the three Korean
states form a tangled skein. First one border fort was taken and then
recovered, then the same was repeated at another point; and so it went
all along the line, now one being victorious and now another. Large
forces were not employed at any one time or place, but it was a skirmish
fire all along the border, burning up brightly first at one spot and
then at another. One remarkable statement in the records, to the effect
that Ko-gu-ryŭ began the building of a wall straight across the
peninsula from Eui-ju to the Japan Sea to keep out the people of the
northern tribes, seems almost incredible. If true it is another
testimony to the great power of Ko-gu-ryŭ. It is said the work was
finished in sixteen years.

In 632, after a reign of fifty years, King Chim-p’yŭng died without male
issue but his daughter Tong-man, a woman of strong personality, ascended
the throne of Sil-la, being the first of her sex that ever sat on a
Korean throne.

Many stories are told of her precocity. Once when she was a mere child
her father had received from the Emperor a picture of the _mok-tan_
flower together with some seeds of the same. She immediately remarked
that the flowers would have no perfume. When asked why she thought so
she replied “Because there is no butterfly on them in the picture.”
While not a valid argument, it showed a power of observation very
uncommon in a child. This proved to be true, for when the seeds sprouted
and grew the blossoms had no fragrance. The Emperor conferred upon her
the title of royalty, the same as upon a male sovereign.

The first few years of her reign were peaceful ones for Sil-la, and
Păk-je, as usual when relieved of the stress of war, fell back into her
profligate ways again. The king built gardens and miniature lakes,
bringing water from a point some twenty _li_ away to supply them. Here
he spent his time in sport and debauchery while the country ruled
itself.

In the fifth year of her reign Queen Tong-man, while walking in her
palace grounds, passed a pond of water but suddenly stopped and
exclaimed “There is war on our western border.” When asked her reasons
for thinking so she pointed to the frogs in the pond and said “See how
red their eyes are. It means that there is war on the border.” As if to
bear out her statement, swift messengers came the next day announcing
that Păk-je was again at work along the western border. So runs the
story.

And so the fight went on merrily all along the line, while at the
capitals of the three kingdoms things continued much as usual. Each of
the countries sent Princes to China to be educated, and the diplomatic
relations with China were as intimate as ever; but in 642 Păk-je made
the great mistake of her life. After an unusually successful military
campaign against Sil-la during which she seized forty of her frontier
posts, she conceived the bright idea of cutting off Sil-la’s
communication with China. The plan was to block the way of Sil-la envoys
on their way to China. Thus she thought that China’s good will would be
withdrawn from her rival, Sil-la. It was a brilliant plan but it had
after effects which worked ruin for Păk-je. Such a momentous undertaking
could not be kept from the ears of the Emperor nor could Sil-la’s envoys
be thus debarred from going to the Emperor’s court. When the whole
matter was therefore laid before the Chinese court the Emperor
immediately condemned Păk-je in his own mind.

About this time a Chinese envoy named Chin Ta-t’ok arrived on the
borders of Ko-gu-ryŭ. On his way to the capital he pretended to enjoy
all the views along the way and he gave costly presents to the prefects
and gained from them accurate information about every part of the route.
By this means he spied out the land and carried a fund of important
information back to the Emperor. He advised that Ko-gu-ryŭ be invaded
both by land and sea, for she would not be hard to conquer.

It was in this year 642 that a Ko-gu-ryŭ official named Hap So-mun
assassinated the king and set up the king’s nephew Chang as king. He
himself became of course the court favorite. He was a man of powerful
body and powerful mind. He was as “sharp as a falcon.” He claimed to
have risen from the water by a miraculous birth. He was hated by the
people because of his cruelty and fierceness. Having by specious
promises so far mollified the dislike of the officials as to have gained
a position under the government he became worse than before and some of
the officials had an understanding with the king that he must be put out
of the way. This came to the ears of Hap So-mun and he gave a great
feast, during the course of which he fell upon and killed all those who
had advised against him. He then pm corr 95 sic sent> and killed the
king in the palace, cut the body in two and threw it into a ditch. Then,
as we have seen, he set up Chang as king. This Hap So-mun is said to
have worn five swords on his person all the time. All bowed their heads
when he appeared and when he rode in state he passed over the prostrate
bodies of men.

When an envoy, soon after this, came from Sil-la he was thrown into
prison as a spy and was told that he would be released as soon as Sil-la
should restore to Ko-gu-ryŭ the two districts of Ma-hyŭn which had at
one time belonged to Ko-gu-ryŭ. This envoy had a friend among the
Ko-gu-ryŭ officials and to him he applied for help. That gentleman gave
him advice in the form of an allegory. It was as follows.

The daughter of the Sea King being ill, the physicians said that she
could not recover unless she should eat the liver of a rabbit. This
being a terrestrial animal it was of course almost impossible to obtain,
but finally a tortoise volunteered to secure a rabbit and bring it to
the king. Emerging from the sea on the coast of Sil-la the tortoise
entered a field and found a rabbit sleeping under a covert. Awakening
the animal he began to tell of an island off the shore where there were
neither hawks nor hunters—a rabbit’s paradise, and volunteered to take
the rabbit across to it upon his back. When well out at sea the tortoise
bade the rabbit prepare for death, for his liver was needed by the Sea
King. After a moment’s rapid thought the rabbit exclaimed “You might
have had it without all this ado, for when the Creator made rabbits he
made them with detachable livers so that when they became too warm they
could take them out and wash them in cool water and then put them back.
When you found me I had just washed mine and laid it on a rock to dry.
You can have it if you wish, for I have no special use for it.” The
tortoise in great chagrin turned about and paddled him back to the
shore. Leaping to the land the rabbit cried “Good day, my friend, my
liver is safe inside of me.”

The imprisoned envoy pondered over this conundrum and its application
and finally solved it. Sending to the king he said “You cannot get back
the two districts by keeping me here. If you will let me go and will
provide me with an escort I will induce the Sil-la government to restore
the territory to you.” The king complied, but when the envoy had once
gotten across the border he sent back word that the restoration of
territory was not in his line of business and he must decline to discuss
the question at the court of Sil-la.

In 643 the powerful and much dreaded Hap So-mun sent to China asking the
Emperor to send a teacher of the Shinto religion; for he said that the
three religions, Buddhism, Taoism and Shintoism were like the three legs
of a kettle, all necessary. The Emperor complied and sent a teacher,
Suk-da, with eight others and with books to be used in the study of the
new cult.

The prowess of this Hap So-mun was well known at the Chinese court and
it kept the Emperor from attempting any offensive operations. He said it
would not do to drain China of her soldiers at such a critical time, but
that the Mal-gal tribes must first be alienated from their fealty to
Ko-gu-ryŭ and be induced to attack her northern border. Others advised
that Hap So-mun be allowed free rein so that all suspicion of aggression
on the part of China should be removed and Ko-gu-ryŭ would become
careless of her defenses. This would in time bring a good opportunity to
strike the decisive blow. It was in pursuance of this policy that the
Shinto teachers were sent and that Hap So-mun’s creature, Chang, was
given investiture. At the same time a Sil-la emmissary was on his way to
the Chinese court asking for aid against Ko-gu-ryŭ. The Emperor could
not comply but proposed three plans: first, that China stir up the
Mal-gal tribes to harry the northern borders of Ko-gu-ryŭ and so relieve
the strain on the south; second, that China give Sil-la a large number
of red flags which she should use in battle. The Păk-je or Ko-gu-ryŭ
forces, seeing these, would think that Sil-la had Chinese allies and
would hasten to make peace; third, that China should send an expedition
against Păk-je, which should unite with a Sil-la force and thus crush
the Păk-je power once for all and join her territory to that of Sil-la.
This would prepare the way for the subjugation of Ko-gu-ryŭ. But to this
advice the Emperor added that so long as Sil-la had a woman on the
throne she could not expect to undertake any large operations. She ought
to put a man on the throne and then, after the war was over, restore the
woman if she so wished. The Sil-la envoy pondered these three plans but
could come to no decision. So the Emperor called him a fool and sent him
away. We see behind each of these schemes a fear of Ko-gu-ryŭ. China was
willing to do anything but meet the hardy soldiers of Ko-gu-ryŭ in the
field.

We see that the Emperor had virtually decided in favor of Sil-la as
against Păk-je and Ko-gu-ryŭ. The long expected event had at last
occurred. Tacitly but really China had cast her vote for Sil-la and the
future of the peninsula was decided for so long as the Tang dynasty
should last. That the decision was a wise one a moment’s consideration
will show. Ko-gu-ryŭ never could be depended upon for six months in
advance and must be constantly watched; Păk-je, being really a mixture
of the northern and southern elements, had neither the power of the one
nor the peaceful disposition of the other but was as unstable as a
cloud. Sil-la on the other hand was purely southern, excepting for a
strain of Chinese blood brought in by the refugees from the Tsin
dynasty. Her temperament was even, her instincts peaceful, her
tendencies toward improvement and reform. She was by all means the best
ally China could have in the peninsula. And so the die was cast and
henceforth the main drift of Chinese sympathy is to be Sil-la-ward.

The year 644 was a fateful one for Korea. The Emperor sent an envoy to
Ko-gu-ryŭ and Păk-je commanding them to cease their depredations on
Sil-la. Thus was the Chinese policy announced. Păk-je hastened to comply
but Hap So-mun of Ko-gu-ryŭ replied that this was an ancient feud with
Sil-la and could not be set aside until Ko-gu-ryŭ recovered 500 _li_ of
territory that she had been despoiled of. The Emperor in anger sent
another envoy with the same demand, but Hap So-mun threw him into prison
and defied China. When he heard however that the Emperor had determined
upon an invasion of Ko-gu-ryŭ he changed his mind and sent a present of
gold to the Chinese court. But he was too late. The gold was returned
and the envoy thrown into prison.

There were many at the Chinese court who could remember the horrors of
that retreat from P’yŭng-yang when China left 300,000 dead upon the
hills of Ko-gu-ryŭ, and the Emperor was advised to move cautiously. He
however felt that unless Ko-go-ryŭ was chastised she might develop an
ambition towards imperialism and the throne of China itself might be
endangered. He therefore began to collect provisions on the northern
border, storing them at Tă-in Fortress. He called into his counsels the
old general, Chöng Wŭn-do, who had been an eye-witness of the disasters
of the late war with Ko-gu-ryŭ. This man gave healthful advice, saying
that the subjugation of Ko-gu-ryŭ would be no easy task; first, because
the way was so long; second, because of the difficulty of provisioning
the army; third, because of the stubborn resistance of Ko-gu-ryŭ’s
soldiers. He gave the enemy their due and did not minimize the
difficulties of the situation.

The Emperor listened to and profitted by this advice, for during the
events to be related his soldiers never suffered from over-confidence,
but in their advances made sure of every step as they went along.

Active operations began by the sending of an army of 40,000 men in 501
boats to the harbor of Nă-ju where they were joined by land forces to
the number of 60,000, besides large contingents from the wild tribes of
the north. Large numbers of ladders and other engines of war had been
constructed and were ready for use. Before crossing the Liao River the
Emperor made proclamation far and wide saying “Hap So-mun has killed our
vassal, King of Ko-gu-ryŭ, and we go to inquire into the matter. Let
none of the prefects along the way waste their revenues in doing us
useless honors. Let Sil-la, Păk-je and Kŭ-ran help us in this righteous
war.”

Crossing the Liao without resistance the Chinese forces marched toward
the fortress of Kön-an which soon fell into their hands. Some thousands
of heads fell here to show the rest of Ko-gu-ryŭ what they might expect
in case of contumacy. Then Ham-mo Fortress fell an easy victim. Not so
the renowned fortress of Liao-tung. As the Emperor approached the place
he found his way obstructed by a morass 200 _li_ in length. He built a
road through it and then when all his army had passed he destroyed the
road behind him as Pizarro burnt his ships behind him when he landed on
the shores of America to show his army that there was to be no retreat.
Approaching the town he laid siege to it and after a hard fight, during
which the Chinese soldiers lifted a man on the end of a long piece of
timber until he could reach and set fire to the defences that surmounted
the wall, an entrance was finally effected and the town taken. In this
battle the Chinese were materially aided by armor which Păk-je had sent
as a gift to the Chinese Emperor.

The Chinese were destined to find still greater difficulty in storming
An-si Fortress which was to Ko-gu-ryŭ what Metz is to Germany. It was in
command of the two generals, Ko Yŭn-su and Ko Hye-jin who had called to
their aid 100,000 warriors of the Mal-gal tribes. At first the Emperor
tried a ruse to draw the garrison out where he could give them battle.
The wise heads among the Ko-gu-ryŭ garrison strongly opposed the sortie
saying that it were better to await an opportunity to cut off the
Chinese from their base of supplies, and so entrap them; but they were
outvoted and the greater part of the Ko-gu-ryŭ and allied forces marched
out to engage the enemy in the open field. The Emperor ascended an
eminence where he could obtain a view of the enemy and he beheld the
camp of the Mal-gal allies stretching out forty _li_, twelve miles. He
determined to exercise the utmost caution. One of his generals, Wang
Do-jong begged to be allowed to march on P‘yŭng-yang, which he deemed
must be nearly bare of defenses, and so bring the war to a speedy close;
but the Emperor, like Hannibal when begged by his generals to march
straight into Rome, made the mistake of over-caution and so missed his
great opportunity. To the Emperor this sounded too much like a similar
attempt that had once cost China 300,000 men.

A messenger was sent to the Ko-gu-rŭ camp to say that China did not want
to fight but had only come to inquire into the cause of the king’s
death. As he intended, this put the Ko-gu-ryŭ forces off their guard and
that night he surrounded the fortress and the forces which had come out
to engage him. This was done in such a way that but few of the
surrounding Chinese army were visible. Seeing these, the Ko-gu-ryŭ
forces made a fierce onslaught anticipating an easy victory, instead of
which they soon found themselves surrounded by the flower of the Chinese
army and their retreat to the fortress cut off. It is said that in this
fight 20,000 Ko-gu-ryŭ troops were cut down and three thousand of the
Mal-gal allies, besides losing many through flight and capture. These
were all released and sent back to Ko-gu-ryŭ excepting 3,500 noblemen
whom the Emperor sent to China as hostages. This fight occurred outside
the An-si Fortress and the Emperor supposed the gates would now be
thrown open; but not so, for there was still a strong garrison within
and plenty of provisions; so they barred the gates and still defied the
Chinese. Upon hearing of the Chinese victory the neighboring Ko-gu-ryŭ
fortresses Ho-whang and Eui capitulated, not knowing that An-si still
held out against the victors.

Many of the Emperor’s advisers wanted him to ignore An-si and press on
into Ko-gu-ryŭ leaving it in the rear, but this the wary Emperor would
not consent to do, for he feared lest his retreat should be cut off. So
the weary siege was continued. One day, hearing the lowing of cattle and
the cackling of hens within the walls, the Emperor astutely surmised
that a feast was being prepared preparatory to a sortie that was about
to be made. Extra pickets were thrown out and the army was held in
readiness for the attack. That very night the garrison came down the
wall by means of ropes; but finding the besiegers ready for them they
retired in confusion and suffered a severe defeat. The siege went on.
The Chinese spent two months constructing a mound against the wall but
the garrison rushed out and captured it. It is said that during this
siege the Emperor lost an eye by an arrow wound, but the Chinese
histories do not mention it. The cold blasts of late autumn were now
beginning to give warning that winter was at hand and the Emperor was
obliged to consider the question of withdrawing. He was filled with
admiration of the pluck and bravery of the little garrison of An-si and
before he broke camp he sent a message to the commander praising his
faithfulness to his sovereign and presenting him with a hundred pieces
of silk. Then the long march back to China began, and the 70,000
soldiers wended their way westward, foiled a second time by the stubborn
hardihood of Ko-gu-ryŭ.



                              Chapter XII.

Revolt in Sil-la.... Ko-gu-ryŭ invaded.... Sil-la invades Păk-je....
    China decides to aid Sil-la.... war between Păk-je and Sil-la....
    relations with China.... league against Sil-la.... China diverts
    Ko-gu-ryŭ’s attention.... traitors in Păk-je.... Sŭng-ch’ung’s
    advice.... Chinese forces sent to Păk-je.... portents of the fall of
    Păk-je.... conflicting plans.... Sil-la army enters Păk-je....
    Păk-je capital seized.... Păk-je dismembered.... end of Păk-je....
    disturbances in Păk-je territory.... Ko-gu-ryŭ attacks Sil-la....
    final invasion of Ko-gu-ryŭ planned.... Păk-je malcontents....
    combination against Ko-gu-ryŭ.... siege of P‘yŭng-yang raised....
    Pok-sin’s fall.... Păk-je Japanese defeated.... governor of
    Ung-jin.... Buddhist reverses in Sil-la.... Sil-la king takes
    oath.... Nam-gŭn’s treachery.... the Mal-gal tribes desert
    Ko-gu-ryŭ.... the Yalu defended.... Chinese and Sil-la forces march
    on P‘yŭng-yang.... omens.... Ko-gu-ryŭ forts surrender.... Ko-gu-ryŭ
    falls.


Tong-man, the Queen ruler of Sil-la, died in 645 and was succeeded by
her sister Söng-man. The Emperor confirmed her in her accession to the
throne. It began to look seriously as if a gynecocracy was being
established in Sil-la. Some of the highest officials decided to effect a
change. The malcontents were led by Pi-un and Yŭm-jong. These men with a
considerable number of troops went into camp near the capital and
prepared to besiege it. For four days the rebels and the loyal troops
faced each other without daring to strike a blow. Tradition says a star
fell one night among the loyal forces and caused consternation there and
exultation among the traitors. But the loyal Gen. Yu-sin hastened to the
Queen and promised to reverse the omen. That night he prepared a great
kite and fastened a lantern to its tail. Then he exhorted the soldiers
to be of good cheer, sacrificed a white horse to the deities of the land
and flew the kite. The rebels, seeing the light rising from the loyal
camp, concluded that Providence had reversed the decree. So when the
loyal troops made their attack the hearts of the rebels turned to water
and they were driven over the face of the country and cut down with
great slaughter. That same year the Emperor again planned to attack
Ko-gu-ryŭ but the baleful light of a comet made him desist.

At the instigation of Hap So-mun, the king of Ko-gu-ryŭ sent his son to
China, confessed his faults and begged for mercy, but the Emperor’s face
was flint. The next year the message was again sent, but Ko-gu-ryŭ’s day
of grace was over. China’s answer was an army of 30,000 men and a mighty
fleet of ships. The fortress of Pak-chak in Liao-tung was besieged but
it was so fortified by nature as to be almost impregnable. The Emperor
therefore said “Return to China and next year we will send 300,000 men
instead of 30,000.” He then ordered the building of a war vessel 100
feet in length. He also had large store of provisions placed on O-ho
Island to be used by the invading army.

Meanwhile Sil-la had become emboldened by the professed preference of
China for her and she arose and smote Păk-je, taking twenty-one of her
forts, killing 30,000 of her soldiers and carrying away 9,000 prisoners.
She followed this up by making a strong appeal to China for help, saying
that unless China should come to her aid she would be unable to continue
her embassies to the Chinese court. The Emperor thereupon ordered Gen.
So Chöng-bang to take 200,000 troops and go to the aid of Sil-la. He
evidently was intending to try a new way of attacking Ko-gu-ryŭ. As the
Sil-la messenger was hastening homeward with this happy news emissaries
of Ko-gu-ryŭ dogged his footsteps and sought his life. Once he was so
hard pressed that he escaped only by a clever and costly ruse. One of
his suite dressed in his official garments and personated him and thus
drew the assassins off the scent and allowed himself to be killed, the
real envoy making good his escape. It was now for the first time that
Sil-la adopted the Chinese costume, having first obtained leave from the
Emperor. It is said that it resembled closely the costume used in Korea
today.

Unfortunately for Sil-la the Emperor died in 649 and Ko-gu-ryŭ began to
breathe freely again. It also emboldened Păk-je and she invaded Sil-la
with a considerable army and seized seven forts. Sil-la retaliated by
seizing 10,000 houses belonging to Păk-je subjects and killing the
leading Păk-je general, Eum-sang. Sil-la lost not a moment in gaining
the good will of the new Emperor. Envoys with presents were sent
frequently. She adopted the Chinese calendar and other customs from the
suzerain state and so curried favor with the powerful. The Păk-je envoy
was received coldly by the Emperor and was told to go and give back to
Sil-la the land that had been taken and to cease the hostilities. This
Păk-je politely declined to do. Each emperor of China seems to have
declined the legacy of quarrels handed down by his predecessor. So
bye-gones were bye-gones and Ko-gu-ryŭ was accepted again on her good
behavior.

With the end of Queen Söng-man’s reign affairs in the peninsula began to
focus toward that crisis which Ko-gu-ryŭ and Păk-je had so long been
preparing for themselves. In 655 a new combination was effected and one
that would have made Sil-la’s horizon very dark had she not been sure of
Imperial help. Her two neighbors formed a league against her, and of
course the Mal-gal tribes sided with Ko-gu-ryŭ in this new venture.
Păk-je and Ko-gu-ryŭ were drawn together by their mutual fear of Sil-la
and soon the allied armies were marching on Sil-la’s borders. At the
first onslaught thirty-three of Sil-la’s border forts passed into the
hands of the allies. It was now China’s last chance to give aid to the
most faithful of her Korean vassals, for otherwise she would surely have
fallen before this combination. A swift messenger was sent imploring the
Emperor for aid and stating that if it was not granted Sil-la would be
swallowed up. The Emperor had no intention of letting Sil-la be
dismembered and without a day’s delay troops were despatched into
Liao-tung under Generals Chŭng Myŭng-jin and So Chöng-bang. Many of
Ko-gu-ryŭ’s fortresses beyond the Yalu River were soon in the possession
of China. This was successful in diverting Ko-gu-ryŭ’s attention from
Sil-la, but Păk-je continued the fight with her. The advantage lay now
with one side and now with the other. The court of Păk-je was utterly
corrupt and except for a small army in the field under almost
irresponsible leadership, she was weak indeed.

Now it happened that a Sil-la man named Cho Mi-gon had been taken
captive and carried to Păk-je where he was employed in the household of
the Prime Minister. One day he made his escape and found his way across
the border into his native country, but there meeting one of the Sil-la
generals he was induced to go back and see what he could do in the
Păk-je capital towards facilitating an invasion on the part of his
countrymen. He returned and after sounding the Prime Minister found him
ready to sell his country if there was anything to be made out of it. It
is said that here began the downfall of Păk-je. The king of Păk-je was
utterly incompetent and corrupt. One of his best councillors was thrown
into prison and starved to death for rebuking him of his excesses. But
even while this faithful man was dying he sent a message to the king
saying “Do not fail to place a strong garrison at ‘Charcoal Pass’ and at
Păk River.” These were the two strategic points of Păk-je’s defenses; if
they were guarded well, surprise was impossible. From that time affairs
in Păk-je went from bad to worse. China kept Ko-gu-ryŭ busy in the north
and nothing of consequence was gained by either side in the south until
finally in 659 another Sil-la envoy made his appearance in the Emperor’s
court. At last the great desire of Sil-la was accomplished. The Emperor
ordered Gen. So Chöng-bang to take 130,000 men by boat to the shores of
Păk-je and there coöperate with a Sil-la army in the utter subjugation
of Păk-je. The Sil-la army went into camp at Nam-ch’ŭn and received word
from the Chinese general to meet him at the Păk-je capital in the
seventh moon.

Tradition says that the doom impending over Păk-je was shadowed forth in
advance by many omens and signs. Frogs, it is said, grew like leaves on
the trees and if anyone killed one of them he instantly fell dead. Among
the mountains black clouds met and fought one another. The form of an
animal, half dog and half lion, was seen in the sky approaching the
palace and uttering terrible bellowings and roarings. Dogs congregated
in the streets and howled. Imps of awful shape came into the palace and
cried “Păk-je is fallen, Păk-je is fallen,” and disappeared in the
ground. Digging there the king found a tortoise on whose back were
written the words “Păk-je is at full moon; Sil-la is at half moon.” The
diviners were called upon to interpret this. “It means that Sil-la is in
the ascendant while Păk-je is full and about to wane.” The king ordered
their heads off, and called in another company of diviners. These said
that it meant that Sil-la was half waned while Păk-je was at her zenith.
Somewhat mollified by this, the king called a grand council of war. The
advice given was of the most conflicting nature. Some said the Chinese
must be attacked first; others said the Sil-la forces must be attended
to first. A celebrated general who had been banished was sent for and
his advice was the same as that of the famous statesman whom the king
had starved in prison. “You must guard the ‘Charcoal Pass’ and the Pak
River.” But the majority of the courtiers said that the Chinese had
better be allowed to land before they were attacked and that the Sil-la
army should be allowed to come in part through the pass before being
opposed. This latter point was decided for them, for when the Păk-je
troops approached the pass they found that the Sil-la army was already
streaming through, and at its head was the famous Gen. Kim Yu-sin. When
the battle was joined the Păk-je forces held their ground and fought
manfully; but victory perched upon the banners of Sil-la and when the
battle was done nothing lay between the Sil-la forces and the capital of
Păk-je, the place of rendezvous. It is said that Gen. Ke-băk the leader
of the Păk-je forces killed all his family before starting out on this
expedition, fearing lest the thought of them might make him waver. He
fell in the battle.

The capital of Păk-je was situated on the site of the present town of
Sa-ch’ŭn. When the Sil-la warriors approached it the king fled to the
town now known as Kong-ju. He left all the palace women behind and they,
knowing what their fate would be at the hands of the Sil-la soldiery,
went together to a beetling precipice which overhangs the harbor of
Tă-wang and cast themselves from its summit into the water beneath. That
precipice is famed in Korean song and story and is called by the
exquisitely poetical name Nak-wha-am “Precipice of the Falling Flowers.”
The victors forced the gates of the capital and seized the person of the
Prince, the king’s second son, who had been left behind. A few days
later the King and the Crown Prince came back from their place of hiding
and voluntarily gave themselves up.

The allies had now met as they had agreed and Păk-je was at their mercy.
The Chinese general said that the Emperor had given him full authority
to settle the matter and that China would take half the territory and
Sil-la might have the other half. This was indeed a generous proposal on
the part of China but the Sil-la commander replied that Sil-la wanted
none of the Păk-je territory but only sought revenge for the wrongs that
Păk-je had heaped upon her. At the feast that night the king of Păk-je
was made to pour the wine for the victors and in this act of abject
humiliation Sil-la had her desire for revenge fully satisfied. When the
Chinese generals went back to China to announce these events they took
with them the unthroned King of Păk-je together with his four sons,
eighty-eight of the highest officials and 12,807 of the people.

It was in 660 that Păk-je fell. She survived for 678 years and during
that time thirty kings had sat upon her throne. A singular discrepancy
occurs here in the records. They affirm that the whole period of Păk-je
rule covered a lapse of 678 years; but they also say that Păk-je was
founded in the third year of Emperor Ch’eng-ti of China. That would have
been in 29 B.C. making the whole dynasty 689 years. The vast burden of
proof favors the belief that Păk-je was founded in 16 B.C. and that her
whole lease of life was 678 years.

As Sil-la had declined to share in the dismemberment of Păk-je, China
proceeded to divide it into provinces for administrative purposes. There
were five of these, Ung-jin, Tong-myŭng, Keum-ryŭn, Tŭk-an. The central
government was at Sa-ja the former capital of Păk-je. The separate
provinces were put under the control of prefects selected from among the
people. The country was of course in a very unsettled state;
disaffection showed itself on every side and disturbances were frequent.
A remnant of the Păk-je army took its stand among the mountains,
fortified its position and bid defiance to the new government. These
malcontents found strong sympathisers at the capital and in the country
towns far and wide. The Chinese governor, Yu In-wŭn, found the task of
government no easy one. But still Sil-la stood ready to aid and soon a
Sil-la army crossed the border and attacked the fortress of I-rye where
the rebels were intrenched. Taking this by assault they advanced toward
the mountain fortress already mentioned, crossed the “Chicken Ford,”
crumpled up the line of rebel intrenchments and lifted a heavy load from
the governor’s shoulders.

Ko-gu-ryŭ soon heard the ominous news and she took it as a presage of
evil for herself. She immediately threw a powerful army across the
Sil-la border and stormed the Ch’il-jung Fortress. The records naively
remark that they filled the commander as full of arrows as a hedgehog is
of quills.

Now that Păk-je had been overcome China took up with alacrity the plan
of subduing Ko-gu-ryŭ. The great final struggle began, that was destined
to close the career of the proudest, hardiest and bravest kingdom that
the peninsula of Korea ever saw. The Păk-je king who had been carried to
China died there in 661. In that same year Generals Kye-p’il, So
Chŏng-bang and Ha Ryŭk, who had already received their orders to march
on Ko-gu-ryŭ, rendezvoused with their forces at Ha-nam and the warriors
of the Whe-bol together with many volunteers from other tribes joined
the imperial standards. The plan was to proceed by land and sea. The
Emperor desired to accompany the expedition, but the death of the
empress made it impossible.

Meanwhile matters in Păk-je were becoming complicated again. A man named
Pok Sin revolted against the government, proclaimed Pu-yŭ P‘ung, the son
of a former king, monarch of the realm and planned a reëstablishment of
the kingdom. This was pleasing to many of the people. So popular was the
movement that the Emperor feared it would be successful. He therefore
sent a summons to Sil-la to send troops and put it down. Operations
began at once. Gen. Yu In-gwe besieged Ung-jin the stronghold of the
pretender and chased him out, but a remnant of his forces intrenched
themselves and made a good fight. They were however routed by the
combined Sil-la and Chinese forces. But in spite of this defeat the
cause was so popular that the country was honeycombed with bands of its
sympathisers who gained many lesser victories over the government troops
and their Sil-la allies. The Sil-la general, Kim Yu-sin, was very
active, passing rapidly from one part of the country to another, now
driving back to the mountains some band of Păk-je rebels and now holding
in check some marauding band from Ko-gu-ryŭ. He was always found where
he was most needed and was never at a loss for expedients. It is said
that at this time rice was so plentiful in Sil-la that it took thirty
bags of it to buy a single bolt of grass cloth.

That same autumn the Chinese engaged the Ko-gu-ryŭ forces at the Yalu
River and gained a decided victory. Then the fortress at Ma-eup San fell
into their hands. This cleared the road to P‘yŭng-yang, and the Chinese
boldly advanced and laid siege to that ancient stronghold. At the same
time the Emperor ordered Sil-la to send troops to coöperate with the
imperial army. She obeyed, but with great trepidation, for the fame of
Ko-gu-ryŭ’s arms made this seem a matter of life and death. She was
obliged to comply, however, or lose all the vantage ground she had
gained in the Emperor’s favor. There were still some Ko-gu-ryŭ forces in
the north and they were attempting to check the advance of a large body
of Chinese reinforcements. It was late in the autumn and the Yalu was
frozen. Taking advantage of this the Chinese crossed in the night and
falling suddenly upon the unsuspecting army of Ko-gu-ryŭ inflicted a
crushing defeat. It is said that 30,000 Ko-gu-ryŭ soldiers were killed
in this engagement. The speedy downfall of Ko-gu-ryŭ seemed now
inevitable, but a sudden timidity seized the Emperor, who feared perhaps
to let his army winter on Korean soil. So he sent orders for an
immediate retreat back to Chinese territory. The generals before
P‘yŭng-yang were deeply chagrined and indeed found it impossible on
account of lack of provisions to obey the command at once. Soon the
Sil-la army arrived before P‘yŭng-yang with full supply of provisions.
These the Chinese took and the greater part of them reluctantly broke
camp and marched back to China, leaving Sil-la in a frame of mind better
imagined than described.

While Ko-gu-ryŭ was staggering under the terrible reverses inflicted by
the Chinese, events of interest were taking place in the south. The
kingdom of T‘am-na on the island of Quelpart had always been a
dependency of Păk-je, but now found it necessary to transfer her
allegiance to Sil-la. The king of T‘am-na at that time was To-dong
Eum-yul.

The mischief-maker, Pok-sin, was again in the field. Now that he was
relieved of pressure he came back to the charge and took Ung-jin from
the Chinese. At the earnest request of the governor the Emperor sent
Gen. Son In-sa with a small army to aid in putting down this dangerous
malcontent. Pok-sin was obliged to retire to Chin-hyŭn where he
fortified himself strongly. Success seems to have turned his head for he
began to carry himself so proudly that his followers arose and put him
to death and then sent a messenger to Ko-gu-ryŭ and to Japan asking aid
against the Chinese. The latter responded by sending a considerable
force to the shores of Păk-je to coöperate with this hardy band of men
who were honestly fighting for the independence of their country.

In 663 the Emperor conferred upon the king of Sil-la the title of
Tă-do-dok of Kye-rim.

It appears that when the Chinese retired from before P‘yŭng-yang and
left the Sil-la forces in such a delicate position, some of the Chinese
were allowed to remain there on the plea that if all were removed it
would invite an outbreak of the Păk-je revolutionists. Now as the year
663 opened the Emperor reinforced them by a powerful army under Gen. Son
In-sa. Sil-la also sent the flower of her army under command of
twenty-eight generals to join the Chinese before P‘yŭng-yang. But the
plan of operations was changed. It was decided to move southward and
complete the subjugation of the troublesome Păk-je patriots and their
Japanese allies. The combined Chinese and Sil-la armies marched toward
Chu-ryu fortress where the revolutionists were supposed to be
intrenched. On their way they met the Japanese disembarking, on the
banks of the Pak River. They were put to flight and their boats were
burned. The march was continued and the fortress was duly invested. It
fell straightway and the pretender to the Sil-la throne was captured.
This was followed by the surrender of all the revolutionists and their
Japanese friends. The last fortress to fall was that of Im-jon, now
Tă-heung, after a desperate struggle.

The war was now at an end. The dead were buried, a census was taken of
the people in the Păk-je capital, aid was given to the poor, and the
people were encouraged to return at their peaceful avocations.
Expressions of satisfaction at what seemed to be the return of peace
were heard on all sides.

Gen. Yu In-gwe, who had been left in charge of the Chinese troops before
P‘yŭng-yang when the Emperor ordered the retreat, now sent word to the
Chinese capital that as his soldiers had been in the peninsula two years
without seeing home he feared they might mutiny. He received orders to
return to China with his men but he decided to wait till the grain that
his men had sown should ripen. The Emperor then appointed Pu-yŭ Yung the
brother of the last king of Păk-je to the position of governor of all
the territory formerly embraced in Păk-je. He received the title of
Tă-do-dok of Ung-jin, and was urged by the Emperor to govern well. This
was in 664.

Sil-la took advantage of the timely cessation of hostilities to send to
the Chinese camp in Păk-je and have some of her men take lessons in
music from the musicians there. They also took copies of the dishes,
clothes and customs of the Chinese. All these were imitated by the king
and his court. Buddhism received a sudden check in Sil-la at this time
for the king took the surest way to crush it out, namely, by forbidding
any one to give the monks either money or rice.

In 665 Gen. Yu In-wŭn received orders from China to return to that
country but before doing so he performed a significant act. He made the
king of Sil-la and the new Tă-do-dok of Ung-jin take an oath in the
blood of a white horse that they would fight no more. This was done at
the fortress of Ch‘wi-ri San and the slaughtered animal was buried there
under the oath altar. A written copy of the oath was placed in the
ancestral temple of the kings of Sil-la. After Gen. Yu’s return to China
he was followed by Gen. Yu In-gwe who took with him envoys from Sil-la,
Păk-je, T‘am-na and Japan. To render the compact of peace more binding
still the Emperor sacrificed to heaven in the presence of these envoys.
It is said, however, that the new ruler in Păk-je stood in such fear of
Sil-la that he fled back to China soon after this.

[Illustration: _SILLA BOUNDARY STONE._]

The last act in the tragedy of Ko-gu-ryŭ opens with the death of her
iron chancellor, Hap So-mun. It was his genius that had kept the armies
in the field; it was his faith in her ultimate victory that had kept the
general courage up. When he was laid in his grave the only thing that
Ko-gu-ryŭ had to fall back upon was the energy of despair. It was her
misfortune that Hap So-mun left two sons each of whom possessed a full
share of his father’s ferocity and impatience of restraint. Nam-săng,
the elder, assumed his father’s position as Prime Minister, but while he
was away in the country attending to some business, his brother,
Nam-gŭn, seized his place. Nam-săng fled to the Yalu River and putting
himself at the head of the Mal-gal and Kŭ-ran tribes went over with them
to the Emperor’s side. Thus by Nam-gŭn’s treachery to his brother,
Ko-gu-ryŭ was deprived of her one great ally, and gained an implacable
enemy in Nam-săng. The Emperor made the latter Governor-general of
Liao-tung and he began welding the wild tribes into an instrument for
revenge. Then the Chinese forces appeared and together they went to the
feast of death; and even as they were coming news reached them that the
Ko-gu-ryŭ general, Yŭn Chŭn-t‘o, had surrendered to Sil-la and turned
over to her twelve of Ko-gu-ryŭ’s border forts. It was not till the next
year that the Chinese crossed the Liao and fell upon the Ko-gu-ryŭ
outposts. The Chinese general had told his men that the strategic point
was the fortress Sin-sŭng and that its capture meant the speedy
capitulation of all the rest. Sin-sŭng was therefore besieged and the
struggle began. The commandant was loyal and wished to defend it to the
death but his men thought otherwise, and they bound him and surrendered.
Then sixteen other forts speedily followed the example.

Gen. Ko-gan hastened forward and engaged the Ko-gu-ryŭ forces at
Keum-san and won a decided victory, while at the same time Gen. Sŭl-In
gwi was reducing the fortresses of Nam-so, Mok-jŭ and Ch‘ang-am, after
which he was joined by the Mal-gal forces under the renegade Nam-săng.
Another Chinese general, Wŭn Man-gyŭng, now sent a boastful letter to
the Ko-gu-ryŭ capital saying “Look out now for the defenses of that
precious Am-nok River of yours.” The answer came grimly back “We will do
so.” And they did it so well that not a Chinese soldier set foot on the
hither side during that year. The Emperor was enraged at this seeming
incompetence and banished the boastful general to Yong-nam. A message
had already been sent to Sil-la ordering her to throw her army into
Ko-gu-ryŭ and for the Chinese generals Yu In-wŭn and Kim In-t‘ă to meet
them before P‘yŭng-yang. These two generals were in Păk-je at the time.

In 668 everything beyond the Yalu had fallen into the hands of the
Chinese; even Pu-yŭ Fortress of ancient fame had been taken by Gen. Sŭl
In-gwi. The Emperor sent a messenger asking “Can you take Ko-gu-ryŭ?”
The answer went back “Yes, we must take her. Prophecy says that after
700 years Ko-gu-ryŭ shall fall and that _eighty_ shall cause her
overthrow. The 700 years have passed and now Gen. Yi Jök is eighty years
old. He shall be the one to fulfill the prophecy.”

Terrible omens had been seen in the Ko-gu-ryŭ capital. Earthquakes had
been felt; foxes had been seen running through the streets; the people
were in a state of panic. The end of Ko-gu-ryŭ was manifestly near. So
tradition says.

Nam-gŭn had sent 50,000 troops to succor Pu-yŭ Fortress but in the
battle which ensued 30,000 of these were killed and the remainder were
scattered. Conformably to China’s demands, Sil-la in the sixth moon
threw her army into Ko-gu-ryŭ. The great Sil-la general, Kim Yu-sin was
ill, and so Gen. Kim In-mun was in command with twenty-eight generals
under him. While this army was making its way northward the Chinese
under Gen. Yi Jök in the north took Tă-hăng Fortress and focussed all
the troops in his command upon the defenses of the Yalu. These defenses
were broken through, the river was crossed and the Chinese advanced 210
_li_ toward the capital without opposition. One by one the Ko-gu-ryŭ
forts surrendered and at last Gen. Kye-p‘il Ha-ryŭk arrived before the
historic city of P‘yŭng-yang. Gen. Yi Jök arrived next and finally Gen.
Kim In-mun appeared at the head of the Sil-la army.

After an uninteresting siege of a month the king sent out Gen. Chön
Nam-san and ninety other nobles with a flag of truce and offered to
surrender. But the chancellor Nam-gŭn knew what fate was in store for
him, so he made a bold dash at the besieging army. The attempt failed
and the miserable man put the sword to his own throat and expired. The
aged general, Yi Jök, took the king and his two sons, Pong-nam, and
Tong-nam, a number of the officials, many of Nam-gŭn’s relatives and a
large company of the people of P‘yŭng-yang and carried them back to
China, where he was received with evidences of the utmost favor by the
Emperor. The whole number of captives in the triumphal return of Gen. Yi
Jök is said to have been 20,000.

Ko-gu-ryŭ’s lease of life had been 705 years, from 37 B.C. to 668 A.D.,
during which time she had been governed by twenty-eighty kings.



                             Chapter XIII.

Sil-la’s captives.... Ko-gu-ryŭ dismembered.... extent of Sil-la.... she
    deceives China.... her encroachments.... rebellion.... the word
    Il-bon (Nippon) adopted.... Sil-la opposed China.... but is
    humbled.... again opposes.... Sil-la a military power.... her
    policy.... the Emperor nominates a rival king.... Sil-la pardoned by
    China.... again makes trouble.... the Emperor establishes two
    kingdoms in the north.... Sil-la’s northern capital....
    cremation.... no mention of Arabs.... China’s interest in Korea
    wanes.... redistribution of land.... diacritical points....
    philological interest.... Pal-hă founded.... Chinese customs
    introduced.... Pal-hă’s rapid growth.... omens.... Sil-la’s northern
    limit.... casting of a bell.... names of provinces changed....
    Sil-la’s weakness.... disorder.... examinations.... Buddhism
    interdicted.... no evidence of Korean origin of Japanese
    Buddhism.... Japanese history before the 10th century.... civil
    wars.... Ch‘oé Ch‘i-wŭn.... tradition.... Queen Man’s profligacy.


Immediately upon the fall of Ko-gu-ryŭ the Sil-la forces retired to
their own country carrying 7000 captives with them. The king gave his
generals and the soldiers rich presents of silks and money.

China divided all Ko-gu-ryŭ into nine provinces in which there were
forty-two large towns and over a hundred lesser ones of prefectural
rank. In P‘yŭng-yang Gen. Sŭl In-gwi was stationed with a garrison of
20,000 men. The various provinces were governed partly by Chinese
governors and partly by native prefects.

The king of Sil-la was now the only king in the peninsula and the
presumption was that in view of his loyalty to the Chinese his kingdom
would extend to the Yalu River if not beyond, but it probably was not
extended at the time further than the middle of Whang-hă Province of
to-day. The records say that in 669 the three kingdoms were all
consolidated but it did not occur immediately. It is affirmed that the
Chinese took 38,000 families from Ko-gu-ryŭ and colonized Kang-whe in
China and that some were also sent to San-nam in western China. That
Sil-la was expecting a large extension of territory is not explicitly
stated but it is implied in the statement that when a Sil-la envoy went
to the Chinese court the Emperor accused the king of wanting to possess
himself of the whole peninsula, and threw the envoy into prison. At the
same time he ordered Sil-la to send bow-makers to China to make bows
that would shoot 1,000 paces. In due time these arrived but when the
bows were made it was found that they would shoot but thirty paces. They
gave as a reason for this that it was necessary to obtain the wood from
Sil-la to make good bows. This was done and still the bows would shoot
but sixty paces. The bow-makers declared that they did not know the
reason unless it was because the wood had been hurt by being brought
across the water. This was the beginning of an estrangement between the
Emperor and the king of Sil-la which resulted in a state of actual war
between the two.

Sil-la was determined to obtain possession of a larger portion of
Ko-gu-ryŭ than had as yet fallen to her lot; so she sent small bodies of
troops here and there to take possession of any districts that they
could lay their hands on. It is probable that this meant only such
districts as were under native prefects and not those under direct
Chinese rule. It is probable that Sil-la had acquired considerable
territory in the north for we are told that the Mal-gal ravaged her
northern border and she sent troops to drive them back.

If China hoped to rule any portion of Korea without trouble she must
have been speedily disillusionised for no sooner had the new form of
government been put in operation than a Sil-la gentleman, Köm Mo-jam,
raised an insurrection in one of the larger magistracies, put the
Chinese prefect to death and proclaimed An Seung king. He was a member
of a collateral branch of the royal family. Sil-la seems to have taken
it for granted that the whole territory was under her supervision for
now she sent an envoy and gave consent to the founding of this small
state in the north which she deemed would act as a barrier to the
incursions of the northern barbarians. The Chinese evidently did not
look upon it in this light and a strong force was sent against the
nascent state; and to such effect that the newly appointed king fled to
Sil-la for safety. The wheel of fortune was turning again and Chinese
sympathies were now rather with Păk-je than with Sil-la.

It was at this time, 671, that the term Il-bün (Nippon) was first used
in Korea in connection with the kingdom of Japan.

The relations between Sil-la and Păk-je were badly strained. In the
following year the Chinese threw a powerful army into Păk-je with the
evident intention of opposing Sil-la. So the latter furbished up her
arms and went into the fray. In the great battle which ensued at the
fortress of Sŭk-sŭng 5,000 of the Chinese were killed. Sil-la was rather
frightened at her own success and when she was called upon to explain
her hostile attitude toward China she averred that it was all a mistake
and she did not intend to give up her allegience to China. This smoothed
the matter over for the time being, but when, a little later, the
Emperor sent seventy boat loads of rice for the garrison at P‘yŭng-yang,
Sil-la seized the rice and drowned the crew’s of the boats, thus storing
up wrath against herself. The next year she attacked the fortress of
Ko-sŭng in Păk-je and 30,000 Chinese advanced to the support of the
Păk-je forces. A collision took place between them and the Sil-la army
in which the Chinese were very severely handled. This made the Emperor
seriously consider the question of subduing Sil-la once for all. He
ordered that the Mal-gal people be summoned to a joint invasion of the
insolent Sil-la and the result was that seven Sil-la generals were
driven back in turn and 2,000 troops made prisoners. In this predicament
there was nothing for the king to do but play the humble suppliant
again. The letter to the Emperor praying for pardon was written by the
celebrated scholar Im Gang-su. But it was not successful, for we find
that in the following year the Chinese troops in the north joined with
the Mal-gal and Kŭ-ran tribes in making reprisals on Sil-la territory.
This time however Sil-la was on the alert and drove the enemy back with
great loss. She also sent a hundred war boats up the western coast to
look after her interests in the north. At the same time she offered
amnesty and official positions to Păk-je nobles who should come over to
her side.

We can scarcely escape the conviction that Sil-la had now become a
military power of no mean dimensions. Many citizens of Ko-gu-ryŭ had
come over to her and some of the Păk-je element that was disaffected
toward the Chinese. All, in fact, who wanted to keep Korea for the
Koreans and could put aside small prejudices and jealousies, gathered
under the Sil-la banners as being the last chance of saving the
peninsula from the octopus grasp of China. Sil-la was willing to be good
friends with China—on her own terms; namely that China should let her
have her own way in the peninsula, and that it should not be overrun by
officious generals who considered themselves superior to the king of the
land and so brought him into contempt among the people.

At this time there was at the Chinese court a Sil-la envoy of high rank
named Kim In-mun. The Emperor offered him the throne of Sil-la, but
loyalty to his king made him refuse the honor. In spite of this he was
proclaimed King of Sil-la and was sent with three generals to enforce
the claim. That Sil-la was not without power at this time is shown by
the fact that she proclaimed An-seung King of Păk-je, an act that would
have been impossible had she not possessed a strong foothold in that
country.

The war began again in earnest. The Chinese general, Yi Gön-hăng, in two
fierce encounters, broke the line of Sil-la defenses and brought the
time-serving king to his knees again. One can but wonder at the patience
of the Emperor in listening to the humble petition of this King Mun-mu
who had made these promises time and again but only to break them as
before. He was, however, forgiven and confirmed again in his rule. The
unfortunate Kim In-mun whom the Emperor had proclaimed King of Sil-la
was now in a very delicate position and he wisely hastened back to China
where he was compensated for his disappointment by being made a high
official.

Sil-la’s actions were most inconsistent, for having just saved herself
from condign punishment by abject submission she nevertheless kept on
absorbing Păk-je territory and reaching after Ko-gu-ryŭ territory as
well. In view of this the Emperor ordered the Chinese troops in the
north to unite with the Mal-gal and Kŭ-ran forces and hold themselves in
readiness to move at an hour’s notice. They began operations by
attacking the Chön-sŭng Fortress but there the Sil-la forces were
overwhelmingly successful. It is said that 6,000 heads fell and that
Sil-la captured 30,000 (?) horses. This is hard to reconcile with the
statement of the records that in the following year a Sil-la envoy was
received at the Chinese court and presented the compliments of the king.
It seems sure that Sil-la had now so grown in the sinews of war that it
was not easy for China to handle her at such long range. It may be too
that the cloud of Empress Wu’s usurpation had begun to darken the
horizon of Chinese politics and that events at home absorbed all the
attention of the court, while the army on the border was working
practically on its own authority.

A new kind of attempt to solve the border question was made when in 677
the Emperor sent the son of the captive king of Ko-gu-ryŭ to found a
little kingdom on the Yalu River. This might be called the Latter
Ko-gu-ryŭ even as the Păk-je of that day was called the Latter Păk-je.
At the same time a son of the last Păk-je king was sent to found a
little kingdom at Tă-bang in the north. He lived, however, in fear of
the surrounding tribes and was glad to retire into the little Ko-gu-ryŭ
kingdom that lay lower down the stream. The records call this the “last”
end of Păk-je.

In 678 Sil-la made a northern capital at a place called Puk-wŭn-ju the
capital of Kang-wŭn Province. There a fine palace was erected. The king
enquired of his spiritual adviser whether he had better change his
residence to the new capital but not receiving sufficient encouragement
he desisted. This monarch died in 681 but before he expired he said “Do
not waste the public money in building me a costly mausoleum. Cremate my
body after the manner of the West.” This gives us an interesting clue to
Sil-la’s knowledge of the outside world. If, as some surmise, Arab
traders had commercial intercourse with the people of Sil-la it must
have been about this time or a little earlier for this was the period of
the greatest expansion of Arabian commerce. It is possible that the idea
of cremation may have been received from them although from first to
last there is not the slightest intimation that Western traders ever
visited the coasts of Sil-la. It is difficult to believe that, had there
been any considerable dealings with the Arabs, it should not have been
mentioned in the records.

The king’s directions were carried out and his son, Chong-myŭng, burned
his body on a great stone by the Eastern Sea and gave the stone the name
“Great King Stone.” That the Emperor granted investiture to this new
king shows that all the troubles had been smoothed over. But from this
time on Chinese interest in the Korean peninsula seems to have died out
altogether. The little kingdom of Latter Ko-gu-ryŭ, which the Emperor
had established on the border, no sooner got on a sound basis than it
revolted and the Emperor had to stamp it out and banish its king to a
distant Chinese province. This, according to the records, was the “last”
end of Ko-gu-ryŭ. It occurred in 682 A.D.

Sil-la now held all the land south of the Ta-dong River. North of that
the country was nominally under Chinese control but more likely was
without special government. In 685 Sil-la took in hand the
redistribution of the land and the formation of provinces and
prefectures for the purpose of consolidating her power throughout the
peninsula. She divided the territory into nine provinces, making three
of the original Păk-je and three of that portion of the original
Ko-gu-ryŭ that had fallen into her hands. The three provinces
corresponding to the original Sil-la were (1) Sŭ-bŭl-ju (the first step
in the transformation of the word Sŭ ya-bŭl to Seoul), (2) Sam-yang-ju,
now Yang-san, (3) Ch‘ŭng-ju now Chin-ju. Those comprising the original
Păk-je were (1) Ung-ch‘ŭn-ju in the north, (2) Wan-san-ju in the
south-west, (3) Mu-jin-ju in the south, now Kwang-ju. Of that portion of
Ko-gu-ryŭ which Sil-la had acquired she made the three provinces (1)
Han-san-ju, now Seoul, (2) Mok-yak-ju, now Ch‘un-ch‘ŭn, (3) Ha-să-ju,
now Kang-neung. These nine names represent rather the provincial
capitals than the provinces themselves. Besides these important centers
there were 450 prefectures. Changes followed each other in quick
succession. Former Ko-gu-ryŭ officials were given places of trust and
honor; the former mode of salarying officials, by giving them tracts of
land from whose produce they obtained their emoluments, was changed, and
each received an allowance of rice according to his grade; the
administration of the state was put on a solid basis.

One of the most far-reaching and important events of this reign was the
invention of the _yi-du_, or set of terminations used in the margin of
Chinese texts to aid the reader in Koreanizing the syntax of the Chinese
sentence. We must bear in mind that in those days reading was as rare an
accomplishment in Sil-la as it was in England in the days of Chaucer.
All writing was done by the _a-jun_, who was the exact counterpart of
the “clerk” of the Middle Ages. The difficulty of construing the Chinese
sentence and using the right suffixes was so great that Sŭl-ch‘ong, the
son of the king’s favorite monk, Wŭn-hyo, attempted a solution of the
difficulty. Making a list of the endings in common use in the vernacular
of Sil-la he found Chinese characters to correspond with the sounds of
these endings. The correspondence was of two kinds; either the _name_ of
the Chinese character was the same as the Sil-la ending or the Sil-la
_meaning_ of the character was the same as the ending. To illustrate
this let us take the case of the ending _sal-ji_, as in _ha-sal-ji_,
which has since been shortened to _ha-ji_. Now, in a Chinese text
nothing but the root idea of the word _ha_ will be given and the reader
must supply the _sal-ji_ which is the ending. If then some arbitrary
signs could be made to represent these endings and could be put in the
margin it would simplify the reading of Chinese in no small degree. It
was done in this way: There is a Chinese character which the Koreans
call _păk_, Chinese _pa_, meaning “white.” One of the Sil-la definitions
of this character _sal-wi-ta_. It was the first syllable of this word
that was used to represent the first syllable of the ending _sal-ji_.
Notice that it was not the name of the character that was used but the
Sil-la equivalent. For the last syllable of the ending _sal-ji_,
however, the Chinese character _ji_ is used without reference to its
Sil-la equivalent. We find then in the _yi-du_ as handed down from
father to son by the _a-jun’s_ of Korea a means for discovering the
connection between the Korean vernacular of to-day with that of the
Sil-la people. It was indeed a clumsy method, but the genius of
Sŭl-ch‘ong lay in his discovery of the need of such a system and of the
possibility of making one. It was a literary event of the greatest
significance. It was the first outcry against the absurd primitiveness
of the Chinese ideography, a plea for common sense. It was the first of
three great protests which Korea has made against the use of the Chinese
character. The other two will be examined as they come up. This set of
endings which Sŭl-ch‘ong invented became stereotyped and through all the
changes which the vernacular has passed the _yi-du_ remains to-day what
it was twelve hundred years ago. Its quaint sounds are to the Korean
precisely what the stereotyped clerkly terms of England are to us, as
illustrated in such legal terms as _to wit_, _escheat_ and the like.
There is an important corollary to this fact. The invention of the
_yi-du_ indicates that the study of Chinese was progressing in the
peninsula and this system was invented to supply a popular demand. It
was in the interests of general education and as such marks an era in
the literary life of the Korean people. The name of Sŭl-ch‘ong is one of
the most honored in the list of Korean literary men.

The eighth century opened with the beginning of a new and important
reign for Sil-la. Sŭng-dŭk came to the throne in 702 and was destined to
hold the reins of power for thirty-five years. From the first, his
relations with China were pleasant. He received envoys from Japan and
returned the compliment, and his representatives were everywhere well
received. The twelfth year of his reign beheld the founding of the
kingdom of Pal-hă in the north. This was an event of great significance
to Sil-la. The Song-mal family of the Mal-gal group of tribes, under the
leadership of Kŭl-gŭl Chung-sŭng, moved southward into the peninsula and
settled near the original Tă-băk Mountain, now Myo-hyang San. There they
gathered together many of the Ko-gu-ryŭ people and founded a kingdom
which they called Chin. It is said this kingdom was 5,000 _li_ in
circumference and that it contained 200,000 houses. The remnants of the
Pu-yŭ and Ok-jŭ tribes joined them and a formidable kingdom arose under
the skillful management of Kŭl-gŭl Chung-sŭng. He sent his son to China
as a hostage and received imperial recognition and the title of King of
Pal-hă. From that time the word Mal-gal disappears from Korean history
and Pal-hă takes its place.

During the next few years Sil-la made steady advance in civilization of
the Chinese type. She imported from China pictures of Confucius and paid
increased attention to that cult. The water clock was introduced, the
title Hu was given to the Queen, the custom of approaching the throne by
means of the _sang-so_ or “memorial” was introduced.

Meanwhile the kingdom of Pal-hă was rapidly spreading abroad its arms
and grasping at everything in sight. China began to grow uneasy on this
account and we find that in 734 a Sil-la general, Kim Yun-jung went to
China and joined a Chinese expedition against the Pal-hă forces. The
latter had not only absorbed much territory in the north but had dared
to throw troops across the Yellow Sea and had gained a foothold on the
Shantung promontory. This attempt to chastise her failed because the
season was so far advanced that the approach of winter interfered with
the progress of the campaign.

The story of the next century and a half is the story of Sil-la’s
decline and fall. The following is the list of omens which tradition
cites as being prophetic of that event. A white rainbow pierced the sun;
the sea turned to blood; hail fell of the size of hens’ eggs; a
monastery was shaken sixteen times by an earthquake; a cow brought forth
five calves at a time; two suns arose together; three stars fell and
fought together in the palace; a tract of land subsided fifty feet and
the hollow filled with blue black water; a tiger came into the palace; a
black fog covered the land; famines and plagues were common; a hurricane
blew over two of the palace gates; a huge boulder rose on end and stood
by itself; two pagodas at a monastery fought with each other; snow fell
in September; at Han-yang (Seoul) a boulder moved a hundred paces all by
itself; stones fought with each other; a shower of worms fell; apricot
trees bloomed twice in a year; a whirlwind started from the grave of Kim
Yu-sin and stopped at the grave of Hyŭk Kŭ-se. These omens were
scattered through a series of years but to the Korean they all point
toward the coming catastrophe.

It was in 735 that the Emperor formally invested the king of Sil-la with
the right to rule as far north as the banks of the Ta-dong River which
runs by the wall of P‘yŭng-yang. It was a right he had long exercised
but which had never before been acquiesced in by China. The custom of
cremating the royal remains, which had been begun by King Mun-mu, was
continued by his successors and in each case the ashes were thrown into
the sea.

The first mention of the casting of a bell in Korea was in the year 754
when a bell one and one third the height of a man was cast. The records
say it weighed 497,581 pounds, which illustrates the luxuriance of the
oriental imagination.

In 757 the names of the nine provinces were changed. Sŭ-bŭl became
Sang-ju, Sam-yang became Yang-ju, Ch’ŭng-ju became Kang-ju, Han-san
became Han-ju, Ha-să became Myŭng-ju, Ung-chŭn became Ung-ju, Wan-san
became Chŭn-ju, Mu-jin became Mu-ju, and Su-yak (called Mok-yak in the
other list) was changed to Sak-ju. Following hard upon this came the
change of the name of government offices.

As we saw at the first, Sil-la never had in her the making of a first
class power. Circumstances forced her into the field and helped her win,
and for a short time the enthusiasm of success made her believe that she
was a military power; but it was an illusion. She was one of those
states which would flourish under the fostering wing of some great
patron but as for standing alone and carving out a career for herself,
that was beyond her power. Only a few years had passed since she had
taken possession of well-nigh the whole of the peninsula and now we see
her torn by internal dissentions and so weak that the first man of power
who arose and shook his sword at her doors made her fall to pieces like
a house of cards. Let us rapidly bring under review the events of the
next century from 780 to 880 and see whether the facts bear out the
statement.

First a conspiracy was aimed at the king and was led by a courtier named
Kim Chi-jong. Another man, Yang Sang, learned of it and promptly seized
him and put him to death. A very meritorious act one would say; but he
did it in order to put his foot upon the same ladder, for he immediately
turned about and killed the king and queen and seated himself upon the
throne. His reign of fifteen years contains only two important events,
the repeopling of P‘yŭng-yang with citizens of Han-yang (Seoul), and the
institution of written examinations after the Chinese plan. In 799
Chun-ong came to the throne and was followed a year later by his adopted
son Ch‘ŭng-myŭng. These two reigns meant nothing to Sil-la except the
reception of a Japanese envoy bearing gifts and an attempt at the
repression of Buddhism. The building of monasteries and the making of
gold and silver Buddhas was interdicted. It is well to remember that in
all these long centuries no mention is made of a Korean envoy to Japan,
though Japanese envoys came not infrequently to Sil-la. There is no
mention in the records of any request on the part of the Japanese for
Buddhist books or teachers and there seems to be no evidence from the
Korean standpoint to believe that Japan received her Buddhism from
Korea. Geographically it would seem probable that she might have done so
but as a fact there is little to prove it. It would, geographically
speaking, be probable also that Japan would get her pronunciation of the
Chinese character by way of Korea but as a matter of fact the two
methods of the pronunciation of Chinese ideographs are at the very
antipodes. The probability is that Japan received her knowledge both of
Buddhism and of the Chinese character direct from China and not mainly
by way of Korea.

The condition of Sil-la during this period of decline may be judged from
the events which occurred between the years 836 and 839 inclusive. King
Su-jong was on the throne and had been ruling some eleven years, when,
in 835 he died and his cousin Kyun-jăng succeeded him. Before the year
was out Kim Myŭng a powerful official put him to death and put Che Yung
on the throne. The son of the murdered king, Yu-jeung, fled to Ch‘ŭng-hă
Fortress, whither many loyal soldiers flocked around him and enabled him
to take the field against the usurper. Kim Myu finding that affairs did
not go to suit him killed the puppet whom he had put on the throne and
elevated himself to that position. After Yu-jeung, the rightful heir,
had received large reinforcements from various sources, he attacked the
forces of this parvenu at Mu-ju and gained a victory. The young prince
followed up this success by a sharp attack on the self-made king who
fled for his life but was pursued and captured. Yu-jeung then ascended
the throne. This illustrates the weakness of the kingdom, in that any
adventurer, with only daring and nerve, could seize the seat of power
and hold it even so long as Kim Myŭng did. The outlying provinces
practically governed themselves. There was no power of direction, no
power to bring swift punishment upon disloyal adventurers, and the whole
attitude of the kingdom invited insubordination. In this reign there
were two other rebellions which had to be put down.

The year 896 shows a bright spot in a dark picture. The celebrated
scholar Ch‘oé Ch‘i-wŭn appeared upon the scene. He was born in Sa-ryang.
At the age of twelve he went to China to study; at eighteen he obtained
a high literary degree at the court of China. He travelled widely and at
last returned to his native land where his erudition and statesmanship
found instant recognition. He was elevated to a high position and a
splendid career lay before him; but he was far ahead of his time; one of
those men who seem to have appeared a century or two before the world
was ready for them. The low state of affairs at the court of Sil-la is
proved by the intense hatred and jealousy which he unwittingly aroused.
He soon found it impossible to remain in office; so he quietly withdrew
to a mountain retreat and spent his time in literary pursuits. His
writings are to be found in the work entitled Ko-un-jip. He is enshrined
in the memory of Koreans as the very acme of literary attainment, the
brightest flower of Sil-la civilization and without a superior in the
annals of all the kingdoms of the peninsula.

Tradition asserts that signs began to appear and portents of the fall of
Sil-la. King Chung-gang made a journey through the southern part of the
country and returned by boat. A dense fog arose which hid the land.
Sacrifice was offered to the genius of the sea, and the fog lifted and a
strange and beautiful apparition of a man appeared who accompanied the
expedition back to the capital and sang a song whose burden was that
many wise men would die and that the capital would be changed.
Chung-gang died the next year and was succeeded by his brother Chin-sung
who lived but a year and then made way for his sister who became the
ruler of the land. Her name was Man. Under her rule the court morals
fell to about as low a point as was possible. When her criminal intimacy
with a certain courtier, Eui-hong, was terminated by the death of the
latter she took three or four other lovers at once, raising them to high
offices in the state and caring as little for the real welfare of the
country as she did for her own fair fame. Things reached such a pass
that the people lost patience with her and insulting placards were hung
in the streets of the capital calling attention to the depth of infamy
to which the court had sunk.

It was in 892 that the great bandit Yang-gil arose in the north. His
right hand man was Kung-ye, and as he plays an important part in the
subsequent history of Sil-la we must stop long enough to give his
antecedents. The story of his rise is the story of the inception of the
Kingdom of Ko-ryŭ. It may be proper to close the ancient history of
Korea at this point and begin the medieval section with the events which
led up to the founding of Koryŭ.

                             END OF PART I.

------------------------------------------------------------------------



                                PART II.

                        MEDIEVAL KOREAN HISTORY.

                         From 890 to 1392 A.D.

                                PART II.
                           MEDIEVAL HISTORY.

                               Chapter I.

Kung-ye.... antecedents.... revolts.... Ch‘oé Ch‘i-wŭn.... retires....
    Wang-gön.... origin.... Kung-ye successful.... advances Wang-gön
    himself King.... Wang-gön again promoted.... Sil-la court
    corrupt.... Kung-ye proclaims himself a Buddha.... condition of the
    peninsula.... Wang-gön accused.... refuses the throne.... forced to
    take it.... Kung-ye killed.... prophecy.... Wang-gön does
    justice..... Ko-ryŭ organized..... Buddhist festival.....
    Song-do.... Ko-ryŭ’s defenses.... Kyŭn-whŭn becomes Wang-gön’s
    enemy.... wild tribes submit.... China upholds Kyŭn-whŭn.... his
    gift to Wang-gön.... loots the capital of Sil-la.... Ko-ryŭ troops
    repulsed.... war.... Wang-gön visits Sil-la.... improvements....
    Kyŭn-whŭn’s last stand.... imprisoned by his sons.... comes to
    Song-do.... Sil-la expires.... her last king comes to Song-do....
    Wang-gön’s generosity.


Kung-ye was the son of King Hön-gang by a concubine. He was born on the
least auspicious day of the year, the fifth of the fifth moon. He had
several teeth when he was born which made his arrival the less welcome.
The King ordered the child to be destroyed; so it was thrown out of the
window. But the nurse rescued it and carried it to a place of safety
where she nursed it and provided for its bringing up. As she was
carrying the child to this place of safety she accidentally put out one
of its eyes. When he reached man’s estate he became a monk under the
name of Sŭn-jong. He was by nature ill fitted for the monastic life and
soon found himself in the camp of the bandit Ki-whŭn at Chuk-ju. Soon he
began to consider himself ill-treated by his new master and deserted
him, finding his way later to the camp of the bandit Yang-gil at Puk-wŭn
now Wŭn-ju. A considerable number of men accompanied him. Here his
talents were better appreciated and he was put in command of a goodly
force with which he soon overcame the districts of Ch‘un-ch‘ŭn, Nă-sŭng,
Ul-o and O-jin. From this time Kung-ye steadily gained in power until he
quite eclipsed his master. Marching into the western part of Sil-la he
took ten districts and went into permanent camp.

The following year another robber, Kyŭn-whŭn, made head against Sil-la
in the southern part of what is now Kyŭng-sang Province. He was a
Sang-ju man. Having seized the district of Mu-ju he proclaimed himself
King of Southern Sil-la. His name was originally Yi but when fifteen
years of age he had changed it to Kyŭn. He had been connected with the
Sil-la army and had risen step by step and made himself extremely useful
by his great activity in the field. When, however, the state of Sil-la
became so corrupt as to be a by-word among all good men, he threw off
his allegiance to her, gathered about him a band of desperate criminals,
outlaws and other disaffected persons and began the conquest of the
south and west. In a month he had a following of 5,000 men. He found he
had gone too far in proclaiming himself King and so modified his title
to that of “Master of Men and Horses.” It is said of him that once,
while still a small child, his father being busy in the fields and his
mother at work behind the house, a tiger came along and the child sucked
milk from its udder. This accounted for his wild and fierce nature.

At this time the great scholar Ch‘oé Ch‘i-wŭn, whom we have mentioned,
was living at of Pu-sŭng. Recognizing the abyss of depravity into which
the state was falling he formulated ten rules for the regulation of the
government and sent them to Queen Man. She read and praised them but
took no means to put them in force. Ch‘oé could no longer serve a Queen
who made light of the counsels of her most worthy subjects and, throwing
up his position, retired to Kwang-ju in Nam-san and became a hermit.
After that he removed to Ping-san in Kang-ju, then to Ch‘ŭng-yang
Monastery in Hyŭp-ju, then to Sang-gye Monastery at Ch‘i-ri San but
finally made his permanent home at Ka-ya San where he lived with a few
other choice spirits. It was here that he wrote his autobiography in
thirteen volumes.

In 896 Kung-ye began operating in the north on a larger scale. He took
ten districts near Ch‘ŭl-wŭn and put them in charge of his young
lieutenant Wang-gön who was destined to become the founder of a dynasty.
We must now retrace our steps in order to tell of the origin of this
celebrated man.

Wang-yŭng, a large-minded and ambitious man, lived in the town of
Song-ak. To him a son was born in the third year of King Hön-gang of
Sil-la, A.D. 878. The night the boy was born a luminous cloud stood
above the house and made it as bright as day, so the story runs. The
child had a very high forehead and a square chin, and he developed
rapidly. His birth had long since been prophesied by a monk named To-sŭn
who told Wang-yŭng, as he was building his house, that within its walls
a great man would be born. As the monk turned to go Wang-yŭng called him
back and received from him a letter which he was ordered to give to the
yet unborn child when he should be old enough to read. The contents are
unknown but when the boy reached his seventeenth year the same monk
reappeared and became his tutor, instructing him especially in the art
of war. He showed him also how to obtain aid from the heavenly powers,
how to sacrifice to the spirits of mountain and stream so as to
propitiate them. Such is the tradition that surrounds the origin of the
youth who now in the troubled days of Sil-la found a wide field for the
display of his martial skill.

Kung-ye first ravaged the country from Puk-wŭn to A-sil-la, with 600
followers. He there assumed the title of “Great General.” Then he
reduced all the country about Nang-ch’ŭn, Han-san, Kwan-nă and
Ch‘ŭl-wŭn. By this time his force had enormously increased and his fame
had spread far and wide. All the wild tribes beyond the Ta-dong River
did obeisance to him. But these successes soon began to turn his head.
He styled himself “Prince” and began to appoint prefects to various
places. He advanced Wang-gön to a high position and made him governor of
Song-do. This he did at the instigation of Wang-yŭng who sent him the
following enigmatical advice: “If you want to become King of Cho-sŭn,
Suk-sin and Pyön-han you must build a wall about Song-do and make my son
governor.” It was immediately done, and in this way Wang-gön was
provided with a place for his capital.

In 897 the profligate Queen Man of Sil-la handed the government over to
her adopted son Yo and retired. This change gave opportunities on every
side for the rebels to ply their trade. Kung-ye forthwith seized thirty
more districts north of the Han River and Kyŭn-whŭn established his
headquarters at Wan-san, now Chŭn-ju and called his kingdom New Păk-je.
Wang-gön, in the name of Kung-ye, seized almost the whole of the
territory included in the present provinces of Kyŭng-geui and
Ch‘ung-ch‘ŭng. Finally in 901 Kung-ye proclaimed himself king and
emphasized it by slashing with a sword the picture of the king of Sil-la
which hung in a monastery. Two years later Wang-gön moved southward into
what is now Chŭl-la Province and soon came in contact with the forces of
Kyŭn-whŭn. In these contests the young Wang-gön was uniformly
successful.

In 905 Kung-ye established his capital at Ch‘ŭl-wŭn in the present
Kang-wŭn province and named his kingdom Ma-jin and the year was called
_Mut_. Then he distributed the offices among his followers. By this time
all the north and east had joined the standards of Kung-ye and Wang-gön
even to within 120 miles of the Sil-la capital. The king and court of
Sil-la were in despair. There was no army with which to take the field
and all they could do was to defend the position they had as best they
could and hope that Kyung-ye and Kyŭn-whŭn might destroy each other. In
909 Kung-ye called Sil-la “The Kingdom to be Destroyed” and set Wang-gön
as military governor of all the south-west. Here he pursued an active
policy, now fitting out ships with which to subjugate the neighboring
islands and now leading the attack on Kyŭn-whŭn who always suffered in
the event. His army was a model of military precision and order.
Volunteers flocked to his standard. He was recognised as the great
leader of the day. When, at last, Na-ju fell into the hands of the young
Wang-gön, Kyŭn-whŭn decided on a desperate venture and suddenly
appearing before that town laid siege to it. After ten days of
unsuccessful assault he retired but Wang-gön followed and forced an
engagement at Mok-p‘o, now Yŭng-san-p‘o, and gave him such a whipping
that he was fain to escape alone and unattended.

Meanwhile Kung-ye’s character was developing. Cruelty and capriciousness
became more and more his dominant qualities. Wang-gön never acted more
wisely than in keeping as far as possible from the court of his master.
His rising fame would have instantly roused the jealousy of Kung-ye.

Sil-la had apparently adopted the principle “Let us eat and be merry for
to-morrow we die.” Debauchery ran rife at the court and sapped what
little strength was left. Among the courtiers was one of the better
stamp and when he found that the king preferred the counsel of his
favorite concubine to his own, he took occasion to use a sharper
argument in the form of a dagger, which at a blow brought her down from
her dizzy eminence.

In 911 Kung-ye changed the name of his kingdom to Tă-bong. It is
probable that this was because of a strong Buddhistic tendency that had
at this time quite absorbed him. He proclaimed himself a Buddha, called
himself Mi-ryŭk-pul, made both his sons Buddhists, dressed as a high
priest and went nowhere without censers. He pretended to teach the
tenets of Buddhism. He printed a book, and put a monk to death because
he did not accept it as canonical. The more Kung-ye dabbled in Buddhism
the more did all military matters devolve upon Wang-gön, who from a
distance beheld with amazement and concern the dotage of his master. At
his own request he was always sent to a post far removed from the court.
At last Kung-ye became so infatuated that he seemed little better than a
madman. He heated an iron to a white heat and thrust it into his wife’s
womb because she continually tried to dissuade him from his Buddhistic
notions. He charged her with being an adultress. He followed this up by
killing both his sons and many other of the people near his person. He
was hated as thoroughly as he was feared.

The year 918 was one of the epochal years of Korean history. The state
of the peninsula was as follows. In the south-east, the reduced kingdom
of Sil-la, prostrated by her own excesses, without an army, and yet in
her very supineness running to excess of riot, putting off the evil day
and trying to drown regrets in further debauchery. In the central
eastern portion, the little kingdom of Kung-ye who had now become a
tyrant and a madman. He had put his whole army under the hand of a
young, skillful, energetic and popular man who had gained the esteem of
all classes. In the south-west was another sporadic state under
Kyŭn-whŭn who was a fierce, unscrupulous bandit, at swords points with
the rising Wang-gön.

Suddenly Kung-ye awoke to the reality of his position. He knew he was
hated by all and that Wang-gön was loved by all, and he knew too that
the army was wholly estranged from himself and that everything depended
upon what course the young general should pursue. Fear, suspicion and
jealousy mastered him and he suddenly ordered the young general up to
the capital. Wang-gön boldly complied, knowing doubtless by how slender
a thread hung his fortunes. When he entered his master’s presence the
latter exclaimed “You conspired against me yesterday.” The young man
calmly asked how. Kung-ye pretended to know it through the power of his
sacred office as Buddha. He said “Wait, I will again consult the inner
consciousness.” Bowing his head he pretended to be communing with his
inner self. At this moment one of the clerks purposely dropped his pen,
letting it roll near to the prostrate form of Wang-gön. As the clerk
stooped to pick it up, he whispered in Wang-gön’s ear “Confess that you
have conspired.” The young man grasped the situation at once. When the
mock Buddha raised his head and repeated the accusation Wang-gön
confessed that it was true. The King was delighted at this, for he
deceived himself into believing that he actually had acquired the
faculty of reading men’s minds. This pleased him so greatly that he
readily forgave the offence and merely warned the young man not to
repeat it. After this he gave Wang-gön rich gifts and had more
confidence in him than ever.

But the officials all besieged the young general with entreaties to
crush the cruel and capricious monarch and assume the reins of
government himself. This he refused to do, for through it all, he was
faithful to his master. But they said “He has killed his wife and his
sons and we will all fall a prey to his fickle temper unless you come to
our aid. He is worse than the Emperor Chu.” Wang-gön, however, urged
that it was the worst of crimes to usurp a throne. “But” said they “is
it not much worse for us all to perish? If one does not improve the
opportunity that heaven provides it is a sin.” He was unmoved by this
casuistry and stood his ground firmly. At last even his wife joined in
urging him to lay aside his foolish scruples and she told the officials
to take him by force and carry him to the palace, whether he would or
not. They did so, and bearing him in their arms they burst through the
palace gate and called upon the wretch Kung-ye to make room for their
chosen king. The terrified creature fled naked but was caught at
Pu-yang, now P‘yŭng-gang, and beheaded.

Tradition says that this was all in fulfillment of a prophecy which was
given in the form of an enigma. A Chinese merchant bought a mirror of a
Sil-la man and in the mirror could be seen these words: “Between three
waters—God sends his son to Chin and Ma—First seize a hen and then a
duck—in the year Ki-ja two dragons will arise, one in a green forest and
one east of black metal.” The merchant presented it to Kung-ye who
prized it highly and sought everywhere for the solution of the riddle.
At last the scholar Song Han-hong solved it for him as follows. “The
Chin and Ma mean Chin-han and Ma-han. The hen is Kye-rim (Sil-la). The
duck is the Am-nok (duck-blue) River. The green forest is pine tree or
Song-do (Pine Tree Capital) and black metal is Ch‘ŭl-wŭn (Ch‘ŭl is
metal). So a king in Song-do must arise (Wang-gön) and a king in
Ch‘ŭl-wŭn must fall (Kung-ye).”

Wang-gön began by bringing to summary justice the creatures of Kung-ye
who seconded him in his cruelty; some of them were killed and some were
imprisoned. Everywhere the people gave themselves up to festivities and
rejoicings.

But the ambitious general, Whan Son-gil, took advantage of the unsettled
state of affairs to raise an insurrection. Entering the palace with a
band of desperadoes he suddenly entered the presence of Wang-gön who was
without a guard. The King rose from his seat, and looking the traitor in
the face said “I am not King by my own desire or request. You all made
me King. It was heaven’s ordinance and you cannot kill me. Approach and
try.” The traitor thought that the King had a strong guard secreted near
by and turning fled from the palace. He was caught and beheaded.

Wang-gön sent messages to all the bandit chiefs and invited them to join
the new movement, and soon from all sides they came in and swore
allegiance to the young king. Kyŭn-whŭn, however, held aloof and sought
for means to put down the new power. Wang-gön set to work to establish
his kingdom on a firm basis. He changed the official system and
established a new set of official grades. He rewarded those who had been
true to him and remitted three years’ revenues. He altered the revenue
laws, requiring the people to pay much less than heretofore, manumitted
over a thousand slaves and gave them goods out of the royal storehouses
with which to make a start in life. As P‘yŭng-yang was the ancient
capital of the country he sent one of the highest officials there as
governor. And he finished the year with a Buddhist festival, being
himself a Buddhist of a mild type. This great annual festival is
described as follows:—There was an enormous lantern, hung about with
hundreds of others, under a tent made of a net-work of silk cords. Music
was an important element. There were also representations of dragons,
birds, elephants, horses, carts and boats. Dancing was prominent and
there were in all a hundred forms of entertainment. Each official wore
the long flowing sleeves and each carried the ivory memo tablet. The
king sat upon a high platform and watched the entertainment.

The next year he transferred his court to Song-do which became the
permanent capital. There he built his palace and also the large
merchants’ houses and shops in the center of the city. This latter act
was in accordance with the ancient custom of granting a monopoly of
certain kinds of trade and using the merchants as a source of revenue
when a sudden need for money arose. He divided the city into five wards
and established seven military stations. He also established a secondary
capital at Ch‘ŭl-wŭn, the present Ch‘un-ch‘ŭn, and called it Tong-ju.
The pagodas and Buddhas in both the capitals were regilded and put in
good order. The people looked with some suspicion upon these Buddhistic
tendencies but he told them that the old customs must not be changed too
rapidly, for the kingdom had need of the help of the spirits in order to
become thoroughly established, and that when that was accomplished they
could abandon the religion as soon as they pleased. Here was his grand
mistake. He riveted upon the state a baneful influence which was
destined to drag it into the mire and eventually bring it to ruin.

In 920 Sil-la first recognised Koryŭ as a kingdom and sent an envoy with
presents to the court at Song-do.

[Illustration: _THE SOUTH GATE OF NA-JU._]

Wang-gön looked out for the interests of the people in the distant parts
of the country as well as for those near the capital. In order to break
the force of the attacks of the wild people beyond the Tu-man River he
built a wall across the northern border of Ham-gyŭng Province. It is
said to have been 900 _li_ long. But there was a still stronger enemy on
the south. Kyŭn-whŭn had by this time come to see that he had no hope of
overcoming the young kingdom of Koryŭ and so he bent his energies to the
securing of his position against the danger of interference, especially
in his plans against Sil-la. For this reason he sent a messenger to
Song-do with presents and tried to make friends with his old time enemy.
His next move was to attack Sil-la. Wang-gön took up the cudgels in
support of the king of Sil-la and by so doing secured the lasting enmity
of the bandit who from this time determined upon war without quarter
against his northern enemy. Wang-gön said to the Sil-la envoys, “Sil-la
has three treasures; the nine storey pagoda, the Buddha six times the
height of a man, and the jade belt. As long as these three remain intact
Sil-la will stand. The first two are in Sil-la. Where is the jade belt?”
The envoy answered that he did not know, whereupon Wang-gön blamed him
sharply and sent him home. When Sil-la finally fell, the jade belt
passed into the hands of Wang-gön.

In 921 the Mal-gal tribe, Heuk-su, made a treaty with Wang-gön. This
bears evidence to the rapidly growing power of the young king. The
Heuk-su Mal-gal were the most feared of all the semi-savage tribes of
the north. The following year the Kŭ-ran, usually called Kitan in
Chinese histories, followed the example of the Heuk-su people by sending
an envoy with presents. It was not till 923 that Wang-gön thought fit to
send an envoy to China to offer his compliments.

When the last king of Sil-la, but one, ascended the throne in 924
important events were following thick and fast upon each other. Sil-la
was now so weak that the records say the king had nothing left but his
genealogy. Kyŭn-whŭn sent a force to begin operations against Koryŭ, but
without success, and in the following year Wang-gön retaliated with such
good success that Kyŭn-whŭn was fain to send his son to Song-do as a
hostage. He thus bound himself to keep the peace. Having done this he
sent to China desiring to secure backing against Koryŭ. The Emperor so
far complied as to confer upon him the title of King of Păk-je, thus
following the time-honored policy of pitting one power against another.

The year 926 saw the first envoy come from the kingdom of T‘am-na on the
island of Quelpart. He arrived at the capital of Koryŭ, where he was
well received. The fame of Wang-gön was spreading far and wide among the
northern tribes. The Kŭ-ran, or Kitan tribe, having overcome the Păl-ha
tribe, made overtures to Wang-gön relative to annexation. These advances
were cordially responded to but we are not informed that the union was
actually effected.

Kyŭn-whŭn, who was at this time on the island Chŭl-yong-do, sent a
present of horses to Wang-gön but a few days later he found a book of
prophecy which said that in the year when he should send a gift of
horses to Song-do his power would come to an end. He therefore sent a
swift messenger begging Wang-gön to return the gift. The King laughed
long and loud when he saw this message and good-naturedly sent back the
horses.

The last King of Sil-la, Kyŭng-sun, ascended the throne in 927. It
happened on this wise; Kyŭn-whŭn was keeping up a double fight, one
against Wang-gön and the other, an offensive one, against Sil-la. He was
badly defeated in an engagement with Koryŭ forces but had good success
in his other venture. He burned and pillaged right up to the gates of
Sil-la’s capital, and, while a Sil-la envoy was posting to Song-do to
ask for aid, entered the city with a picked band of men. Succor in the
shape of 10,000 Koryŭ troops was on its way but came too late. At the
hour when Kyŭn-whŭn entered the city the king, his son, the queen and
many of the courtiers were feasting at Po-sŭk summer-house. When the
unwelcome news arrived, there was no time for preparation. The king and
queen fled south without attendants. The palace women were seized and
the palace occupied. The king was soon run to earth and was compelled to
commit suicide. Kyŭn-whŭn ravished the queen and delivered over the
palace women to the soldiery. The palace was looted and the entire band,
sated with excess and debauchery, and loaded down with the treasures of
the palace, started back on the homeward road. But not until Kyŭn-whŭn
had appointed a relative of the murdered king to succeed him.

When Wang-gön heard of these atrocities, he hastened forward his troops
and overtook the army of Kyŭn-whŭn in O-dong forest where a sharp
engagement ensued. For some reason, whether it be because the soldiers
of Kyŭn-whŭn were more familiar with the locality or because the Koryŭ
soldiers were exhausted by their long forced march, the assault was
unsuccessful and the Koryŭ forces withdrew. This was doubly unfortunate
for it not only did not punish the ruffians for their atrocities at the
Sil-la capital but it inspired them with confidence in their own power.
Shortly after this Kyŭn-whŭn sent a letter to Wang-gön saying “I became
Sil-la’s enemy because she sought aid from you. You have no cause for
warring against me. It is like a dog chasing a rabbit; both are tired
out to no purpose. It is like a king-fisher trying to catch a clam; when
he thrusts his bill into the shell the clam closes it and he finds
himself caught”. To this epistle Wang-gön replied “Your actions at the
Sil-la capital are so outrageous that I cannot endure the thought of any
compromise. Your present course will lead you to speedy ruin”.

Elated over his successful repulse of Wang-gön’s army, Kyŭn-whŭn took
the field the following year, with a strong force, and was prepared to
assume the offensive. He assaulted and took two Koryŭ fortresses and
even, at one time, surrounded Wang-gön in Ch’ŭng-ju and caused him no
little anxiety. In the battle which followed Kyŭn-whŭn lost three
hundred men and was pushed back, thus freeing the king from an
embarrassing position; but before the campaign was over Kyŭn-whŭn scored
another victory by capturing the district of Ok-ch’ŭn. In his next
campaign he was still successful, and Eui Fortress fell into his hands
and he killed the general in charge. Here his successes ended, for
Wang-gön awoke to the necessity of using strong measures against him.
The following year Koryŭ forces inflicted a crushing defeat upon the
southern leader, at An-dong. The fight had lasted all day and neither
side had gained any advantage, but that night a picked band of Koryŭ men
ascended Hog’s Head Mountain and made a rush down upon the unsuspecting
camp of the enemy, causing a panic and a stampede in which eight
thousand men were killed. Kyŭn-whŭn himself sought safety in flight.
This seemed conclusive and all the countryside sent in their allegiance
to the victors. A hundred and ten districts in eastern Korea came over
to Wang-gön in a body. Dagelet Island, or Ul-leung as the Koreans call
it, sent presents to Koryŭ.

The next year after these stirring events, namely 931, Wang-gön made a
visit to Sil-la taking with him an escort of only fifty soldiers. The
king of Sil-la came out to meet him and they feasted there at the
meeting-place together. The king of Sil-la lamented the smallness and
weakness of his kingdom and deplored the ravages of Kyŭn-whŭn. The
evils, he said, were beyond estimation; and he broke down and wept. The
courtiers did the same and even Wang-gön could scarce restrain his
tears. After this they had a friendly talk and the king of Koryŭ
remained as a guest for some twenty days. As he left the capital of
Sil-la the people vied with each other in doing him honor. Poor old
Sil-la had gone out of fashion and the minds of all men were turned
Koryŭ-ward.

Wang-gön had a strong predilection for P‘yŭng-yang, the ancient capital
of the country. He had already established a school there with
professorships of literature, medicine and incantation. He now in 932
conceived the project of moving his capital northward to that place. To
this end he erected barracks there for his troops and was making other
preparations for the change, when he was dissuaded from it by some evil
omens. A great wind blew down some of the houses in P‘yŭng-yang and, so
the story goes, a hen became a cock. These portents made it impossible
to carry out the plan. It was about this time that he built a
guest-house outside the walls of Song-do to be used as a reception hall
for envoys and messengers from the wild tribes of the north. Suspicion
as to the object of their coming may have made it seem undesirable to
allow them to enter the city proper, or it may have been simply to
impress them with the importance of the place.

Kyŭn-whŭn’s right hand man came and swore allegience even though, at the
time, his two sons and his daughter were hostages in the hands of his
former master. When Kyŭn-whŭn heard of it he burned the first son alive
and would have treated the second son and the daughter in like manner
had they not effected their escape to a retreat where they lay in hiding
till his death. This desertion seems to have roused the old man’s ire,
and he longed for the din of battle once more. He could still command a
considerable force; so he entered upon another campaign and as usual was
at first successful. He seized three districts in the east country and
set fire to a large number of towns. It was not until the next year that
Wang-gön sent an expedition against him. This was under the command of
Gen. Yu Gön-p’il, whom the king had banished but had pardoned and
recalled because of his lively efforts while in exile to raise a company
of soldiers. He never seemed to know when he was beaten. He routed the
forces of Kyŭn-whŭn and returned in triumph to Song-do, where he was
hailed as the savior of the people. We may judge from this that
Kyŭn-whŭn was still considered formidable. In another fight Gen. Yu
captured seven of Kyŭn-whŭn’s captains and one of his sons as well.

As things seemed quiet now, the king made a royal progress through the
north and west, helping the poor, inspecting fortresses, supplanting
unpopular prefects; but when he got back he found his old enemy still
active, and at Un-ju he had his last great fight with him. In this
struggle three thousand of the enemy were killed and thirty-two
fortresses were taken. The year 935 A.D. is another mile-stone in Korean
history. It marks the end of a dynasty which lacked but eight years of
completing a millennium. But we must relate the events of the year in
order. Kyŭn-whŭn had many concubines and more than ten sons. Of the
latter the fourth named Keum-gang, was the one he loved the best, a boy
of robust body and great intelligence. The old man passed by his other
sons and named this one as his successor. This of course made trouble at
once. The first son, Sin-geum, led a conspiracy and the old gentleman
was seized and imprisoned in Keum-san monastery, the young Keum-gang was
put to death and Sin-geum ascended the insecure throne of his father,
now doubly insecure, since it had lost the masterly genius which of late
years had been its only support. But old Kyŭn-whŭn had not played his
last card. After three months imprisonment he succeeded in getting his
guards drunk (jolly monks those) and escaped to Ka-ju from which point
he had the colossal impudence to send a letter to Wang-gön surrendering
and asking for asylum in Koryŭ against his own son. It was granted and
soon a ship of war arrived with a high official on board to escort the
grey old wolf of the south to the Koryŭ capital, where he was received
as a guest, given a comfortable house and plenty of servants and the
revenues of Yang-ju prefecture. From that point we may believe that he
waited patiently to see the overthrow of his sons.

But these are small events compared with what followed. The king of
Sil-la determined to abdicate and hand over the remnant of his kingdom
to Wang-gön. When he broached the matter to his officials no man raised
his voice. They could not assent and they knew there was no use in
demurring. The crown prince urged his father to submit the question to
the people and to abide by their decision, but the king was determined
and so sent a letter to Song-do offering to lay his scepter at the feet
of Wang-gön. The crown prince was in despair, refused to see his father,
retired to a mountain retreat and ate coarse food as a token of his
grief. He died there of chagrin and sorrow.

Wang-gön answered by sending one of the highest officials to escort the
ex-king to Song-do. The royal procession was ten miles long, as it
slowly wound its way out of the deserted city amidst the clamorous grief
of the people. Wang-gön met him in person at the gate of Song-do. He did
not want the ex-king to bow to him but the courtiers had decided that as
the country could have but one king this must be done. So the new
arrival did obeisance. Wang-gön gave him his daughter to wife and made
him prime minister, set aside the revenues of an entire district to his
use and conferred high rank upon the Sil-la courtiers.

And so ended the ancient kingdom of Sil-la which had existed for 992
years, from 57 B.C. to 935 A.D. Her line of kings included fifty-six
names, which gives an average of about eighteen years to each reign.
From that day the capital of Sil-la was called simply by the name
Kyöng-ju. We believe that history shows few instances of greater
generosity, forbearance, delicacy and tact than are shadowed forth in
the life of this same Wang-gön. Does history show a nobler act than that
of providing a comfortable home where his old enemy Kyŭn-whŭn might
spend his last days in comfort and ease? Does it show more delicacy than
was shown by Wang-gön when he took every means to cover the chagrin of
the retiring king of Sil-la by treating him as a royal guest?



                              Chapter II.

Kyŭn-whŭn’s sons defeated.... Buddhist teachers from China.... The
    Emperor recognizes Koryŭ.... Wang-gön refuses to treat with the
    Kitans.... makes ten rules.... king marries his sister.... plot
    detected.... practical Shogunate.... Buddhism flourishes....
    P‘yŭng-yang.... Chinamen take office in Koryŭ.... slavery....
    examinations.... Chinese favored.... official garments.... incapable
    king.... retrogression.... reform.... Confucianism.... Kitan
    growing.... bureau of history reorganized.... equilibrium between
    Confucianism and Buddhism.... Uk is banished.... quarrel with
    Kitan.... concession.... dispute.... China refuses aid.... the
    provinces.... the “Emperor” of Kitan gives the king investiture....
    first coinage.... reforms.... conspiracy crushed.


Before leaving the kingdom of Sil-la to be swallowed up in antiquity we
must notice a few corollaries. We will notice that Sil-la was the first
power to gain the control of the whole peninsula. It was the language of
Sil-la that became at least the official language of the entire country.
The _yi-t‘u_, or system of diacritical marks, tended to stereotype the
agglutinative endings, so that we find to-day the general
characteristics running through the grammar of Korean are those which
characterized the language of ancient Sil-la. This fact, clearly
grasped, goes a long way toward opening a way for the solution of the
question of the origin of the language.

As the year 936 opens we see king Wang-gön with his two former rivals,
the peaceful one and the warlike one, gathered under his wing, and the
only cloud upon his horizon the attitude of Kyŭn-whŭn’s sons in the
south. This was soon settled. The king in company with Kyŭn-whŭn, at the
head of an army of 87,000 men, marched southward and engaged the
pitiable force that was all the malcontents could now muster. When they
saw this tremendous army approaching and knew that Kyŭn-whŭn was there
in person, surrender was immediate. Wang-gön’s first demand was “where
is Sin-geum?” He was told that he was in a fortress in the mountains
with a small force and was prepared to fight to a finish. He was there
attacked and 3,200 men were taken and 5,700 killed, which shows how
desperate the battle was. Sin-geum and his two brothers were captured.
The two other sons of Kyŭn-whŭn were executed, because they had driven
their father away, but Sin-geum in some way showed that he had not been
a principal actor in that disgraceful scene and so escaped what we may
well believe was merited punishment. There on the field the old man
Kyŭn-whŭn died. It is said that his death was caused by chagrin that
Sin-geum was not killed with his brothers.

It was in 938 that Wang-gön went outside the walls of the capital to
meet a celebrated monk named Hong-bŭm, who had come originally from
Ch’un-ch’uk monastery in the land of Sŭ-yŭk.

All this time interesting reforms were in progress. The names of all the
prefectures throughout the country were changed. This has always been
customary in Korea with a change of dynasty. The next year, 939, the new
king of Koryŭ was formally recognized by the Emperor who sent and
invested him with the insignia of royalty. The crown prince of T‘am-na,
on Quelpart, came and did obeisance at the court of Koryŭ. A
redistribution of the farming lands throughout the country was effected,
by which, the records say, the worthy received more while others
received less. It would be interesting to know in what way the test of
worthiness was applied.

In 942 the Kitan power in the north tried to make friendly advances and
sent a present of thirty camels. But Wang-gön remembered the way in
which Kitan had feigned friendship for Pal-hă and then treacherously
seized her; and for this reason he showed his opinion of Kitan now by
banishing the thirty men and tying the thirty camels to Man-bu bridge
and starving them to death.

King Wang-gön was now sixty-five years old. His life had been an active
one; first as a warrior and then as the administrator of the kingdom
which he had founded. Feeling that his end was approaching, he set
himself to the task of formulating rules for his successor. As a result
he placed in the hands of his son and heir ten rules which read as
follows:

    (1) Buddhism is the state religion.

        (2) Build no more monasteries.

    (3) If the first son is bad let the second or some other become
        king.

    (4) Do not make friends with Kitan.

    (5) Do honor to P‘yŭng-yang, the ancient capital.

    (6) Establish an annual Buddhist festival.

    (7) Listen to good men and banish bad ones.

    (8) As the south is disaffected towards us do not marry from among
        the people of that section.

    (9) Look after the interests of the army.

    (10) Be always ready for emergencies.

After urging his son to lock all these precepts in his heart the aged
king turned to the wall and died. These ten laws are typical of the man.
They inculcated reverence for the best religion that had come under his
notice, but in the same breath forbade the disproportionate growth of
priest-craft, for he had seen what a seductive influence lay hidden
within the arcana of this most mystical of all heathen cults. He advised
temperance in religion. He forbade the throning of a man simply because
he was the king’s firstborn. By so doing he really proclaimed that the
king was for the people and not the people for the king. He hated
treachery and forbade making alliances with the forsworn. He believed in
doing honor to the best of the old traditions and ordered that the
ancient city of P‘yŭng-yang be remembered. He believed in loving his
friends and hating his enemies and forbade descendants taking a wife
from among the people of the south who had so desperately supported the
claims of Kyŭn-whŭn, the one-time bandit. He was a military man and
believed in having a strong army and in treating it in such a way as to
insure its perfect loyalty. It was in the last injunction, however, that
he struck the key-note of his character. Be always ready for
emergencies. Reading his character in the light of his actions we can
well imagine one more precept that would have been characteristic of
him; namely, that it is better to make a friend of an honest enemy than
to kill him. And so in the year 942 the great general, reformer, king
and administrator was laid to his fathers and his son Mu reigned in his
stead. The latter’s posthumous title is Hye-jong.

The reign of this second king of Koryŭ starts with the statement that
the king gave his own sister to his brother for a wife. It was one of
the peculiar institutions of the dynasty that whenever possible the king
married his own sister. In this instance he gave his sister to his
brother, but the king had probably already married another of his
sisters. This custom, which has prevailed in other countries besides
Korea, notably in ancient Egypt, rests upon the assumption that by
marrying one’s own sister more of royalty is preserved in the family and
the line is kept purer, the royal blood not being mixed with any of
baser quality. We are told that, in order to make it seem less
offensive, the sister, upon marrying her brother, took her mother’s
family name. This shows that the custom was looked down upon, else this
device would not have been resorted to. We find also that the kings of
Koryŭ were accustomed to have more than one real wife, contrary to the
custom of the present dynasty. We read that this king, who had none of
the elements of his father’s greatness, took as his sixteenth wife the
daughter of one Wang-gyu and by her had a son. Through her influence
Wang-gyu had risen to the position of prime minister and it was his
ambition to see his daughter’s son ascend the throne. It had been the
king’s plan to give the throne to his brother Yo and the prime minister
began by plotting against the life of this possible successor. The king
learned of this and frustrated it by immediately abdicating in favor of
his brother. Wang-gyu seems to have possessed considerable power
independently of the king for we learn that he not only was not punished
but that he continued to plot against Yo even after he had assumed the
reins of power. An assassin whom he had hired to kill the king was
himself killed by the king while attempting to carry out the deed. When
the king fell ill he was advised to move secretly to another palace for
safety. He did so and that very night the myrmidons of Wang-gyu broke
into the palace that he had left, but found that their bird had flown.
In spite of all this the king did not proceed against his minister but
went about with an armed escort. This signal failure to punish a traitor
is said to have been the reason why, during the whole dynasty, the
officials overruled the king and made a puppet of him. In fact many
times during the dynasty we find the condition of affairs somewhat like
those in Japan where the emperor himself had little practical power but
the government was carried on by a shogun. But at last this Wang-gyu met
his deserts for he was banished to Kap-whan and there executed, and with
him 300 men who had been in his pay.

It is interesting to notice how soon after the death of Wang-gön his
ill-considered advice about Buddhism was to bear its legitimate fruit.
The third king of Koryŭ was thoroughly in the hands of the sacerdotal
power. He was a devout worshipper of Buddha and spent large sums of
money upon the priesthood. He favored the monks in every way and thus
added one more blow to the wedge which ultimately split the land and
brought the dynasty to a close.

Following the directions of Wang-gön in regard to the city of
P‘yŭng-yang, he decided to make this town a secondary capital. In the
prosecution of this work many people were compelled to give their time
and labor, and great suffering was the natural result. Many of the
people of Song-do were compelled to move to the northern capital. This
was very distasteful to them, and, joined with the king’s blind
adherence to Buddhism, made it easy for the people to rejoice when in
970 he died and his younger brother So became king. His posthumous title
is Kwang-jong. He in turn married his own sister, and the records
intimate that another reason for marrying in the family was that it kept
out undesirable connections who would naturally expect to receive
positions under the government.

When in 953 the emperor sent an envoy to the court of Koryŭ approving of
the coronation of the new king, he was accompanied by a great scholar,
Sang Geui, who found such favor in the eyes of the king that he remained
and took office under the government. It is said that this caused a
serious set-back to the fortunes of Buddhism. Well would it have been
could he have seen that insidious power crushed and driven from the
country. But it had gained too strong a foothold to be overcome by the
teaching or example of a single man or coterie of men. It is not
unlikely that it was at the suggestion of this man that the king changed
the law concerning slavery. Heretofore slavery had been the punishment
for comparatively venial offences and the country was overrun with
slaves. The king manumitted many of these and by so doing gained the
enmity of many who thus lost valuable property. It also resulted in
outbreaks among slaves, incipient riots, because this humane tendency in
the king emboldened them to claim more than he had intended. It showed
that sometimes the indiscriminate franchisement of slaves may be a
dangerous thing.

The most radical reform instituted at the advice of this Sang Geui was
the establishment of a national competitive examination similar to those
held in China. In Korea it is called the _kwaga_. The examination was a
six-fold one; (1) heptameter verse, (2) hexameter verse, (3) commentary,
(4) historic citation, (5) medicine, (6) divination.

Communication with China seems to have become more frequent and close,
for we find that in 960 an envoy went to China carrying as gifts 50,000
pounds of copper and 4,000 pieces of rock crystal used in making
spectacles. This was likewise a period of Chinese immigration,
encouraged without doubt by the flattering reception given to Sang Geui.
The king gave the visitors a hearty welcome, provided them with houses,
gave them office and even secured them wives. So far did he go in the
way of providing houses that he incurred the resentment of some of his
highest officials, one of whom, So P‘il, asked the king to take his fine
residence from him as a gift. In surprise the king asked him why he
wanted to give it up. The answer was, “It will be seized anyway when I
die and I would rather give it up now and spend the rest of my days
preparing a little home somewhere for my children.” This threw the king
into a rage; but the shot told, for he stopped the form of injustice
from that very day.

The following year, 961, a sweeping change was made in the style and
color of official garments. This was also under the direction of Sang
Geui. For the highest rank purple was used, and for the second rank red,
for the third rank deep red, and for the fourth rank blue.

How far this king had degenerated from the standard set by the founder
of the kingdom, less than fifty years before, is apparent from the fact
that he was the pliant instrument of anyone who had access to his ear.
He believed anybody and everybody. Enemies accused each other before him
and he accepted every statement as true. The result was that the prisons
were simply bursting with inmates and the executioner’s axe was busy
night and day. Hundreds of men were executed whose only crime was that
they had been accused before the king. Added to this was a prodigal
waste of treasure in the building of palaces, the assumption throughout
of Chinese clothes and the entertainment of countless “friends” who came
from across the border, on the principle, no doubt, that where the
carcass is there will the eagles be gathered together. This state of
things continued up to 969, going from bad to worse. That year the king
took to himself two Buddhist monks as mentors. He suddenly awoke to the
fact that many murders lay at his door and he began to have twinges of
conscience. He thought to make it right by a wholesale favoring of
Buddhism. He put himself entirely into the hands of the monks and let
them manage all the affairs of state to suit themselves. But this, while
it may have eased his conscience, brought no betterment to the state. He
was imposed upon in the grossest manner and never once guessed it. He
lost the respect of all men of sense and reason. His useless reign
dragged on till 976 when the country was relieved of the mighty incubus
by his death. The prisons were overrun with innocent men, priestcraft
had wound its octopus tentacles about every branch of the government.
Energy and patriotism had been eradicated; for, the moment a man
possessing these traits appeared, jealousy caused him to be accused to
the credulous king and he was thrown into prison.

But now his son, Chu, came to the throne. His posthumous title is
Kyong-jong. His first act was to open the prison doors and liberate all
who were not condemned felons. This act of mere justice was greeted by
applause from the people. It was the signal for a general reform in the
methods of administration. The monks were sent back to their
monasteries. The competitive examinations were renewed and an impetus
was given to the study of the classics. The king in person examined the
papers of the candidates. But death put an end to his promising career
after six short years and in 982 his younger brother, Ch’i, posthumous
title Song-jong, ascended the throne. Fortunately he was of the same
mind as his deceased brother and the good work went on unchecked. He
first did away with the senseless festivals described under the reign of
Wang-gön, at which all manner of animals were represented. He changed
the names of official grades to correspond with those of the Tang
dynasty in China. Intercourse with China was revived and frequent envoys
passed back and forth. It was in the second year of his reign, namely
983, that the time-honored custom was instituted of the king plowing a
piece of land in person each year. This too was borrowed from China.
Confucianism received a great impetus during these days; an envoy to
China brought back a picture of the emperor’s shrine, of the patron
genius of China, of Confucius’ shrine, and a history of the seventy-two
disciples of the great sage. Financial affairs engaged his attention
too, for we find that in this year 984 the legal rate of interest on
money was set at ten per cent _per mensem_. The defenses of the country
were not neglected. A fortress was begun on the banks of the Yalu River
but the people of the Yŭ-jin tribe caused the work to be suspended.

The Kitan tribe were still in the ascendant and so ominous was the
growth of their power that the envoy from China who came to perform the
ceremony of investiture of the new king, intimated that China would be
glad to join the forces of Koryŭ in an invasion of the Kitan territory.
We are not told what reply was given but nothing seems to have come of
it. Buddhistic encroachments were checked and a stop was put to the
seizure of houses for the purpose of erecting monasteries. Mourning
customs were changed; the three years’ limit was shortened to one
hundred days, the one year limit to thirty days, the nine months’ limit
to twenty days, the six months’ limit to fifteen days and the three
months’ limit to seven days. Special instructions were given to the
governors of the provinces to foster agriculture, and prizes were
offered for superior excellence in agricultural methods as proved by
their results. The governors were allowed to take their families with
them to the provincial capitals. This marks a long step in advance, for
it would seem that heretofore the families of provincial governors had
been held at the national capital as a guarantee of good behavior on the
part of the governors while in the country.

The king caused the erection of great store-houses in the various parts
of the country for the storage of rice to be used in time of famine. The
students in the Confucian school were encouraged by gifts of clothes and
food, and several were sent to China to prosecute their studies. In 987
the soldiers’ implements of war were beaten into agricultural
implements, especially in the country districts. A second trial was made
of liberating slaves but without satisfactory results. It made those
that were not freed so arrogant that the attempt was given up. A further
invasion was made into the territory of priest-craft by the
discontinuance of certain important festivals, but the fact that the law
against the killing of any animal in the first, fifth or ninth moons was
still in active force shows that Buddhism was still a powerful factor in
the national life. Kyöng-ju, the ancient capital of Sil-la, was made the
eastern capital of the kingdom, a merely honorary distinction.

The annals state that this reign beheld the inauguration of the humane
custom of remitting the revenues, in part or in whole, in times of
famine, also the custom of the king sending medicine to courtiers who
might be ill.

The growing power of Kitan in the north was a cause of uneasiness for we
find that in 989 the whole north-east border was thoroughly garrisoned.
The time was approaching when this half-savage tribe would add another
proof that conquest is usually from the cooler to the warmer climate.

During the commotion incident upon the founding of the dynasty and the
extinction of the kingdom of Sil-la, the bureau of history had been
largely neglected. Now it was reorganized and the annals of the kingdom
were put in proper shape.

The king was apparently trying to steer a middle course between Buddhism
and Confucianism, for the pen of the annalist records that no animals
were to be killed on the king’s birthday, and in the next stroke that
wives were to be rewarded for unusual virtue, and again that the king
went out of the city to meet an envoy bringing the great Buddhistic
work, Tă-jang-gyŭng, from China, and still again that the first
ancestral temple was erected. Well would it have been could this
equilibrium have been maintained.

One of the sons of Wang-gön was still living. His name was Uk. He was
the author of a court scandal which illustrates the lax morals of the
time. He formed a liaison with the widow of his younger brother. The
king learned of it and visited his anger upon the offender by banishing
him. The woman bore a son and then went forth and hanged herself on a
willow tree. The nurse brought up the child and taught it the word
father. One day the child was brought into the presence of the king,
when it rushed forward, caught the king by the garments and cried
father. The king was deeply moved and sent the child to its father in
banishment. When Uk died the boy was brought back to the capital and
given office. He eventually became king.

In 993 the cloud in the north began to assume a threatening aspect. A
feeble attempt was made to stem the march of the now powerful Kitan
tribe, but without avail. The Kitan general, So Son-ryŭng, made this a
_casus belli_, and, mustering a strong force, pushed down into Koryŭ
territory. The king put Gen. Păk Yang-yu at the head of the Koryŭ forces
and himself went with the army as far as P‘yŭng-yang. At that point news
came that the enemy was going around the flank and had already taken one
important fortress there. The king hurried back to Song-do. Gen. So
Son-ryŭng sent a curt message saying “Ko-gu-ryŭ once belonged to Kitan.
We have come to claim only our own. It remains therefore only for you to
surrender and become our vassals.” In answer the king sent Yi Mong-jun
to negotiate a peace on the best possible terms. Arriving at the camp of
Gen. So he boldly demanded why the northern tribe had presumed to break
across the boundary. Gen. So replied that the land was the property of
his master and the sooner the king acknowledged it and accepted Kitan as
his suzerain the better for all parties. The envoy returned to the
capital and a great council of war was held. Some advised to surrender,
but some said “Offer them all the territory north of the Tă-dong River
as a compromise measure.” The king chose the latter alternative and
began by having the people there throw into the river all grain that
they could not carry away, so that it might not fall into the hands of
the enemy. The Kitan general was highly pleased with this concession but
his pride had a fall when, a few days later, he was defeated by the
Koryŭ forces under Gen. Yu Bang. Thereupon he modified his demands to
the mere recognition of the suzerainty of Kitan; but this the king was
unwilling, under the circumstances, to agree to. Gen. So was not
satisfied with the grade of the general sent to negotiate the treaty and
demanded that the prime minister of Koryŭ be sent to do it. A high
official was therefore sent but he refused to bow before the Kitan
general. The latter said, “You are from Sil-la and we are from
Ko-gu-ryŭ. You are trespassing on our territory. We are your neighbors.
Why do you persist in sending envoys to the court of China? That is the
reason we are now at war with you. Restore our land, become our vassals
and all will go well.” The envoy refused to agree to this. He said “We
are Ko-gu-ryŭ people. How else could our land be Koryŭ? The capital of
Ko-gu-ryŭ was at P‘yŭng-yang and you formed a small part of that
kingdom; so why do you claim that we have usurped the power? Our
territory extended far beyond the Yalu River, but the Yŭ-jin people
stole it from us. You had better first go and recover that part of
Ko-gu-ryŭ which the Yŭ-jin stole and then we will gladly bow to you as
suzerain.” What there was in this argument that convinced the hardy
warrior of the north we cannot say, but it served its purpose, for he
first spread a great feast and afterwards broke camp and marched back to
his own country without obtaining the coveted surrender. The king, in
order to maintain the semblance of good faith, adopted the Kitan
calendar. The next step, however, showed the true bent of his mind, for
he sent a swift messenger to the court of China with an urgent request
for aid against the arrogant people of the north. But the Sung emperor
apparently thought he had his own hands full in watching his own borders
and declined to send the aid requested. This put an end to the
friendship between Koryŭ and the Chinese court, and all communication
was broken off. The king of Kitan sent a commissioner to Koryŭ to look
after his interests there and when he returned to the north he took a
large number of women as a gift from the Koryŭ king to his master.

It was now, near the end of the tenth century, that Koryŭ was first
regularly divided into provinces. There were ten of them. Their names
and positions were as follows. Kwan-nă, the present Kyŭng-geui;
Chung-wŭn, now Chung-ju; Ha-nam, now Kong-ju; Yong-nam, now Sang-ju;
Kang-nam, now Chŭn-ju; San-nam, now Chin-ju; Hă-yang, now Na-ju;
Sak-pang, now Ch‘un-ch‘ŭn, Kang-neung and An-byŭn; P‘ă-su, now
P‘yŭng-yang; and Kă-sŭng, another name for Song-do. These were rather
the provincial centers than the provinces themselves.

In pursuance of the policy adopted in reference to the kingdom of Kitan,
ten boys were sent northward to that country to learn its language and
marry among its people. The final act of suzerainty was played when in
996 the “emperor” of Kitan invested the king of Koryŭ with the royal
insignia. The end of the reign was approaching, but before it was
reached one of the most important events of that century transpired. It
occupies little space on the page of history. Many a court intrigue or
senseless pageant bulks larger in the annals, but it was one of the most
far-reaching in its effects. It was the first coining of money. It was
in this same year, 996. These coins were of iron but without the hole
which so generally characterizes the “cash” of to-day.

In 998 the king died and his nephew, Song, posthumous title Mok-jong,
ascended the throne. His first act was to revise the system of taxation,
probably by causing a remeasurement of arable land. Officials received
their salaries not in money nor in rice, but to each one was assigned a
certain tract of land and his salary was the produce from that
particular tract. In the third year of his reign, 1000 A.D., he received
investiture from the Kitan emperor. His fifth year was signalized by a
five days’ eruption of a volcano on the island of Quelpart. This reign
was destined to end in disaster. The widow of the late king formed a
criminal intimacy with one Kim Ji-yang, whom she raised to a high
official position. The whole kingdom was scandalized. She had the walls
of her palace decorated with sentiments expressive of the epicurean
dictum “Eat, drink and be merry”; and curiously enough expressed the
belief that after enjoying all this world had to give they would all
become Buddhas in the next. This is probably a fair sample of the
Buddhistic teaching of the times, at least this was its legitimate
fruit. She and her lover soon began to plot against the young king. The
latter was ill at the time but knew well what was going on. He sent for
Sun, the illegitimate son of Uk, of whom we spoke in the last chapter,
with the intention of nominating him as his successor. At the same time
he sent post-haste to the country and summoned Gen. Kang Cho, a faithful
and upright man. On his way up to the capital the general was falsely
told that it was not the king who had summoned him but the queen
dowager’s lover. Enraged at being thus played upon, the stern old
general marched into the capital and seized the lecherous traitor and
gave him his quietus. He then turned upon the king and put him to death
as well. He had not looked carefully into the case, but he deemed that
the whole court needed a thorough cleaning out. He completed the work by
driving out the queen dowager who deserved the block more than any
other; and then he seated the above-mentioned Sun on the throne. His
posthumous title is Hyön-jong. This was in 1010 A.D.



                              Chapter III.

Reforms.... eclipses.... Kitan declares war.... Koryŭ on guard.... Kitan
    troops cross the Yalu.... diplomacy.... Gen. Kang Cho taken....
    before the emperor.... P‘yŭng-yang besieged.... the king submits....
    siege of P‘yŭng-yang raised.... king moves south.... Kitan
    deceived.... Song-do taken.... a rebel governor.... Koryŭ’s
    victories.... Kitan forces retreat across the Yalu.... king returns
    to Song-do.... Gen. Ha Kong-jin executed.... reconstruction....
    military and civil factions.... king overthrows the military
    faction.... Kitan invasion.... overwhelming defeat.... envoys....
    Buddhism versus Confucianism.... Koryŭ on the increase.... the
    “Great Wall” of Koryŭ.... Buddhism flourishes.... primogeniture....
    the disputed bridge.... Japanese envoys.... Buddhism rampant.... new
    laws.... progress of Buddhism.


The first act of king Hyön-jong after announcing to Kitan his accession
to the throne was to raze to the ground the palace of the queen dowager
who had dragged the fair fame of Koryŭ in the mire. His next move was to
build a double wall about his capital. Evidently coming events were
casting ominous shadows before, and he saw the storm brewing.

We should say at this point that during all these reigns the annals make
careful note of every eclipse. This is brought prominently to our notice
by the statement in the annals that in the sixteenth year of this reign
there should have been an eclipse but that it did not take place. This
throws some light upon the science of astronomy as practiced in those
dark days. The common people looked upon an eclipse as an omen of evil,
but this would indicate that among the educated people, then as to-day,
they were understood to be mere natural phenomena. In 1010 the storm,
which had already given sharp premonitions of its coming, broke in all
its fury. It must have come sooner or later in any event, but the
immediate pretext for it was as follows: Two Koryŭ generals, Ha Kong-jin
and Yu Chŭng, who had been placed in charge of the forces in the north,
when Gen. Kang-cho was recalled to the capital, took matters into their
own hands and looked for no orders from headquarters. The desperate
state of things at the capital partly warranted them in this, but they
carried it too far. Of their own accord they attacked the eastern Yŭ-jin
tribe and though they did not succeed in the attempt they impressed
those people so strongly that an embassy came bringing the submission of
that tribe. The two generals who seem to have partially lost their
balance with the increase of their importance, wantonly killed every
member of this embassy. As soon as the young king heard of this he
promptly stripped them of their honors and banished them. This, however,
did not mend matters with the outraged Yŭ-jin people, and they hastened
to inform the Kitan emperor of the whole matter. Thereupon the
proclamation went out from the Kitan capital, “Gen. Kang-cho has killed
the king of Koryŭ. We will go and inquire into it.”

As a preliminary, a messenger was sent to Song-do to demand why the king
had been put to death. The officials were thrown into a panic and
hastened to send and envoy to Kitan to explain matters. He was held a
prisoner by the emperor. The king sent again and again, ten envoys in
all, but an ominous silence was the only answer. It appeared that
something serious was about to happen, but just what it was could not be
surmised. In order to be ready for any emergency, the king sent Generals
Kang Cho and Yi Hyŭn-un to T‘ong-ju (now Sŭn-ch‘ŭn) in the north to
guard against a sudden surprise.

Early in December the spell was broken and the watchers by the Yalu
hurried in with the news that a cloud of Kitan warriors was already
crossing the stream. The invading army 400,000 strong, so say the
records, pushed forward and surrounded the Koryŭ forces at Heung-wha
camp. When it was found, however, that they would stand their ground and
fight, the invaders sent presents of silk and other valuables and
advised them to surrender, and said “We liked the king whom Kang Cho
killed, and we are determined to overthrow the murderer. You assist us
in this. If not we will destroy you root and branch.” The reply was “We
prefer to die rather than surrender.” Thereupon the enemy sent more
costly presents still but the answer was the same. When it became plain
that there was to be bloodshed before Koryŭ would come to terms, the
Kitan emperor divided his immense army into two divisions, sending
200,000 men to the vicinity of Eui-ju and 200,000 to T‘ong-ju. Gen. Kang
Cho cunningly disposed his little army between two creeks where he was
protected on either flank. It is said that he had a species of battle
chariot with swords attached to the axles of the wheels so that when
they charged among the ranks of the enemy the latter were mown down. On
this account the little Koryŭ army was at first successful. Then Gen.
Kang Cho was seized by that common infatuation of fancied security and
in the midst of the fighting he sat down in his pride and began playing
a game of go-bang. A messenger hurried up with the news that the line of
battle had been broken on the west and that the enemy were pouring in.
Gen. Kang Cho laughed and said “Do not come to me with such an
insignificant piece of news. Wait till they come in numbers worthy of my
sword; then come and tell me.” Soon a messenger came saying that the
Kitan forces were approaching in full column. Thereupon Gen. Kang arose
and prepared for battle. While doing so the annals say that the spirit
of the murdered king appeared before him and chided him for scorning the
power of Kitan. He took off his helmet, and, bowing before the
apparition, said “I have committed an offence worthy of death.” The
Kitan soldiery rushed in and seized him. They bound him in a cart and
took him away.

Nothing now lay between the invading army and universal rapine. The army
penetrated far into the territory of Koryŭ, cut off 30,000 heads and
ravaged right and left.

When Gen. Kang Cho and Gen. Yi Hyŭn-un were brought before the Kitan
emperor the bonds of the former were cut and he was bidden to stand
forth. “Will you become my subject?” “I am a Koryŭ man. How can I be
your subject?” They cut his flesh with knives but he remained firm. When
the same question was put to Gen. Yi Hyŭn-un he replied: “As I now look
upon the sun and moon, how can I remember any lesser light?” Such were
the words of his apostacy. Kang Cho cried out upon him as a traitor, and
then bowed his head to the axe.

The Kitan army was now in full march on P‘yŭng-yang, but the broken
remnants of the Koryŭ army united at “Long Neck Pass” and successfully
opposed the progress of the invaders. A little diplomacy was now made
use of by the Kitan general. He sent a letter to Heung-wha camp,
purporting to be from Kang Cho, ordering them to surrender, but the
commander, Yang Kyu, replied “I listen only to the king.”

Kwak-ju (now Kwak-san) and Suk-ju (now Suk ch‘ŭn) fell in quick
succession and soon the victorious army of Kitan was thundering at the
gates of P‘yŭng-yang. The general in command was Wŭn Chong-sŭk and his
two lieutenants were Chi Ch‘oa-mun and Ch‘oé Ch‘ang. The commander was
willing to surrender without a fight and went so far as to write out the
surrender, but the other two prevented this by seizing the paper,
tearing it up and putting the Kitan messenger to death. The camp of
these generals was without the city, but the panic of the people inside
increased to such an extent that all the forces entered the city to
insure quiet.

The Kitan general-in-chief now received from the king an offer of
surrender. It caused the greatest satisfaction in the Kitan camp and
orders were given that the soldiers should cease ravaging the
surrounding country. Ma Po-u was sent as Kitan commissioner in Song-do
and was accompanied by an escort of a thousand men under the command of
Gen. Eul Neum.

We can see how little connection there was between the capital and the
army in the field by the fact that this submission on the part of the
king did not lead to the surrender of P‘yŭng-yang nor to a cessation of
hostilities by the generals who commanded the forces there. When a
second messenger was sent into the city to ask why the former one did
not return he too was put to death.

Gen. Eul Neum was ordered to reduce P‘yŭng-yang and he approached to
attack it but was driven back with a loss of 3,000 men. This attempt
failing, the conquerors decided to lay siege to the town. When the
inmates saw this they knew that the end was near. A plan was made
whereby a part of the troops should make a sally from the West Gate and
another part from the East Gate and together they hoped to dislodge the
enemy. But one of the generals, instead of following out the plan,
improved the opportunity to make good his escape. The other party was
therefore in a trap and had to surrender. But still two generals held
the city.

Meanwhile a band of 1,000 soldiers under Gen. Yang Kyu attacked Kwak-ju
by night, and put the Kitan garrison to the sword, and took seven
thousand people away to Tong-bu for safety.

When the Kitan forces found they were likely to have difficulty in
bringing P‘yŭng-yang to terms they gave it up and marched away eastward.
Thereupon the general Chi Ch‘oa-mun hastened to Song-do and announced
that he had fled from P‘yŭng-yang. The “residency” of Ma Po-u seems to
have been a short-lived one and terminated when it was found that the
submission of the king amounted to little when the armies would not
surrender. Courtiers urged an immediate surrender but Gen. Kang
Kam-ch‘an said “If we could put them off a while and gain time they
would be gradually worn out. The king should move south out of harm’s
way for a time.” So that very night the king and queen and a large
number of officials together with 5,000 troops moved southward to
Chŭk-sŭng. The king’s southward flight was by no means an easy one. The
very first night out from the capital the house where he slept was
attacked by a band of traitors and malcontents. The king escaped to the
mountains where he was attended by the faithful Gen. Chi. From this
retreat he recalled the two generals who had been banished for attacking
Yŭ-jin without orders, and restored them to their positions. Escorted by
Generals Chi, Ch‘o and Chu, the king slowly retreated toward Wang-ju.
All his numerous escort had left him excepting his two wives, two palace
women and two intimate friends. Gen. Chi kept a sharp lookout for the
bands of robbers who were roaming about the country. Once when hard
pressed by these irresponsible gentry, Gen. Chi spirited the king away
under cover of night and concealed him in To-bong monastery in Yang-ju a
little to the northeast of the present Seoul, and the robbers were
thrown completely off the scent.

Gen. Ha Kong-jin told the king that the Kitan forces had invaded Koryŭ
for the purpose of punishing Gen. Kang Bho, and as this had been
accomplished all difficulty between Koryŭ and Kitan could be easily
settled by a letter from the king to his northern suzerain. The letter
was written and sent by the hand of a trusty man. It said that the king
had left Song-do for an expedition into the country to quell certain
disturbances there. When the messenger was asked how far the king had
gone he answered that he had gone several thousand _li_. This seemed
plausible to the Kitan court and soon its army was working its way
slowly back to the boundary, the first stop being made at Ch‘ang-wha.

This retreat was more with a view to obtaining a wintering place than
with a desire to favor Koryŭ, for no sooner had the next season, 1011,
come than the Kitan army marched straight down through the peninsula and
entered the capital and burned the palaces and most of the common
houses. The king was in Kwang-ju but, learning of this disaster, he
hurried still further south with his two wives to Ch‘ŭn-an in the
present Ch‘ung-ch‘ŭng Province. From there he continued south to Chŭn-ju
where he was treated very cavalierly by the governor who met him in
common clothes and without the ceremony befitting a royal visitor. In
fact this governor had determined to put the king out of the way. To
this end he hired three men to go by night and assassinate him. But the
door was guarded by Gen. Chi who bolted it firmly and then mounted the
roof and cried loudly to all who were loyal to the king to rally round
him. The next day the governor was summoned before the king. Some of the
generals were clamorous for his death but Gen. Chi who was as wise as he
was faithful vetoed this, for the king was not in a position to face the
opposition that the execution of the governor would arouse in the
province. It will be remembered that Wang-gön had left command that as
the south was disaffected none of his descendants should marry among its
people. This shows that the king when he went south found it unwise to
exercise all the prerogatives of royalty. So the governor was left
intact and the king moved further south to Na-ju.

Meanwhile the Kitan forces were not having it all their own way in the
north. Gen. Kim Suk-heung of Kwi-ju attacked a powerful force of the
enemy and secured a signal victory. It is said that he put 10,000 men to
death. Then Gen. Yang Kyu made a dash at the enemy at Mu-ro-da near
Eui-ju and killed 2,000 and recovered 3,000 prisoners. Also at Yi-su
there was a battle in which 2,500 Kitan men were killed and 1,000
captives rescued. At Yo-ri-ch‘ŭn also 1,000 more were killed. These
three desperate engagements occurred on the same day.

Gen. Ha Kong-jin was at this time a hostage in the Kitan capital, and he
managed to send a letter to the King informing him that the forces of
Kitan were slowly retreating. This made it possible for the king to
start on his way back to the capital. The first stage was to Chŭn-ju.

The retreating forces of Kitan were again engaged at A-jin but as heavy
reinforcements arrived at the moment, the Koryŭ generals, Yang Kyu and
Kim Suk-heng, lost the day and fell upon the field of battle. This
victory, however, did not stop the retreat of the invading army. There
had been very heavy rains, and many horses had perished and many
soldiers were practically without arms. Gen. Chon Song, who assumed
command after the death of the two generals at K-jŭn, hung on the flanks
of the retreating enemy and when half of them had crossed the Yalu he
fell upon the remainder and many of them were cut down and many more
were drowned in mid-stream. When it became known that all the Kitan
forces were across the border it took but a few days to re-man the
fortresses which had been deserted.

The king now hastened northward stopping for a time at Kong-ju where the
governor gave him his three daughters to wife. By the first he begat two
sons both of whom became kings of Koryŭ, and by the second he begat
another who also became king. He was soon on the road again, and ere
long he reentered the gates of his capital which had undergone much
hardship during his absence. His first act was to give presents to all
the generals and to order that all the bones of the soldiers who had
fallen be interred. He followed this up by dispatching an envoy to the
Kitan thanking them for recalling their troops. He banished the governor
of Chŭn-ju who had attempted his life. He repaired the wall of the
capital and rebuilt the palace.

Gen. Ha was still in the hands of the Kitan but he was extremely anxious
to return to Koryŭ. He therefore feigned to be quite satisfied there and
gradually gained the entire confidence of his captors. When he deemed
that it was safe he proposed that he be sent back to Koryŭ to spy out
the condition of the land and report on the number of soldiers. The
emperor consented but changed his mind when he heard that the king had
returned to Song-do. Instead of sending Gen. Ha back to Koryŭ he sent
him to Yun-gyŭng to live and gave him a woman of high position as his
wife. Even then the general did not give up hope of escaping and was
soon busy on a new plan. He purchased fleet horses and had them placed
at stated intervals along the road toward Koryŭ with trusty grooms in
charge of each. Someone, however, told the emperor of this and, calling
the exile, he questioned him about it. Gen. Ha confessed that his life
in exile was intolerable. When the emperor had offered him every
inducement to transfer his allegience and all to no avail, he commanded
the executioner to put an end to the interview. When news reached
Song-do that Gen. Ha had preferred death to disloyalty, the king
hastened to give office to the patriot’s son.

[Illustration: _A BUDDHIST MONUMENT (EIGHT HUNDRED YEARS OLD)._]

The work of reconstruction was now commenced, in 1012. Kyöng-ju was no
longer called the eastern capital but was changed back to a mere
prefecture. The twelve

The twelve provinces were reconstructed into five and there were
seventy-five prefectures in all. This plan however was abandoned two
years later. Now that Koryŭ had regained control of her own territory,
the Yŭ-jin tribe thought best to cultivate her good will and so sent
frequent envoys with gifts of horses and other valuables. But when the
Emperor of Kitan, angry because the King refused on the plea of ill
health to go to Kitan and do obeisance, sent an army and seized six of
the northern districts this side the Yalu, the Yŭ-jin turned about and
ravaged the northeast boundary. The next year the Yŭ-jin joined Kitan
and crossed the Yalu but were speedily driven back by Gen. Kim Sang-wi.

In 1014 the King came to the conclusion that he had made a mistake in
casting off the friendship of China and sent an envoy to make
explanations; but the Emperor Chin-jong (Sang dynasty) was angry because
he had been so long neglected and would have nothing to do with the
repentant Koryŭ.

In the autumn the Kitan army was again forced back across the border.
The Koryŭ army had now grown to such proportions that the question of
revenue became a very serious one and the officials found it necessary
to suggest a change. They had been accustomed to “squeeze” a good
proportion of the soldiers’ pay and now that there was danger of further
change which would be only in the officials’ favor, the soldiers raised
a disturbance, forced the palace gates, killed two of the leading
officials and compelled the King to banish others. They saw to it that
the military officials took precedence of civil officials. From that
time on there was great friction between the military and civil
factions, each trying to drive the other to the wall.

The next year, 1015, the Kitan people bridged the Yalu, built a wall at
each end and successfully defended it from capture; but when they
attempted to harry the adjoining country they were speedily driven back.
The military faction had now obtained complete control at the capital.
Swarms of incompetent men were foisted into office and things were going
from bad to worse. The King was much dissatisfied at this condition of
affairs and at some-one’s advice decided to sever the knot which he
could not untie. He summoned all the leaders of the military faction to
a great feast, and, when he had gotten them all intoxicated, had them
cut down by men who had lain concealed in an adjoining chamber. In this
way nineteen men were put out of the way and the military faction was
driven to the wall.

Year by year the northern people tried to make headway against Koryŭ.
The Sung dynasty was again and again appealed to but without success.
Koryŭ was advised to make peace with Kitan on the best terms possible.
The Kitan generals, Yu Pyul, Hăng Byŭn and Ya-yul Se-chang made raid
after raid into Koryŭ territory with varying success. In 1016 Kitan
scored a decisive victory at Kwak-ju where the Koryŭ forces were cut to
pieces. Winter however sent them back to their northern haunts. The next
year they came again and in the following year, 1018, Gen. So Son-ryŭng
came with 100,000 men. The Koryŭ army was by this time in good order
again and showed an aggregate of 200,000 men. They were led by General
Kang Kam-ch‘an. When the battle was fought the latter used a new form of
strategem. He caused a heavy dam to be constructed across a wooded
valley and when a considerable body of water had accumulated behind it
he drew the enemy into the valley below and then had the dam torn up;
the escaping water rushed down the valley and swept away hundreds of the
enemy and threw the rest into such a panic that they fell an easy prey
to the superior numbers of the Koryŭ army. This was followed by two more
victories for the Koryŭ arms.

The next year, again, the infatuated north-men flung themselves against
the Koryŭ rock. Under Gen. So Son-ryŭng they advanced upon Song-do. The
Koryŭ generals went out thirty miles and brought into the capital the
people in the suburbs. Gen. So tried a ruse to throw the Koryŭ generals
off their guard. He sent a letter saying that he had decided not to
continue the march but to retire to Kitan; but he secretly threw out a
strong force toward Song-do. They found every point disputed and were
obliged to withdraw to Yŭng-byŭn. Like most soldiers the Koryŭ forces
fought best when on the offensive and the moment the enemy took this
backward step Gen. Kang Kam-ch‘an was upon them, flank and rear. The
invaders were driven out of Yŭng-byŭn but made a stand at Kwi-ju. At
first the fight was an even one but when a south wind sprang up which
lent force to the Koryŭ arrows and drove dust into the eyes of the enemy
the latter turned and fled, with the exulting Koryŭ troops in full
pursuit. Across the Sŭk-ch‘ŭn brook they floundered and across the
fields which they left carpeted with Kitan dead. All their plunder, arms
and camp equipage fell into Koryŭ hands and Gen. So Son-ryŭng with a few
thousand weary followers finally succeeded in getting across the Yalu.
This was the greatest disaster that Kitan suffered at any time from her
southern neighbor. Gen. So received a cool welcome from his master,
while Gen. Kang, returning in triumph to Song-do with Kitan heads and
limitless plunder, was met by the King in person and given a flattering
ovation. His Majesty with his own hands presented him with eight golden
flowers. The name of the meeting place was changed to Heung-eui-yŭk,
“Place of Lofty Righteousness.” When Gen. Kang retired the following
year he received six honorary titles and the revenue from three hundred
houses. He was a man of small stature and ill-favored and did not dress
in a manner befitting his position, but he was called the “Pillar of
Koryŭ.” Many towns in the north had been laid waste during the war and
so the people were moved and given houses and land. The records say that
an envoy came with greetings from the kingdom of Ch‘ŭl-ri. One also came
from Tă-sik in western China and another from the kingdom of Pul-lă.
Several of the Mal-gal tribes also sent envoys; the kingdom of T‘am-na
was again heard from and the Kol-bu tribe in the north sent envoys. In
1020 Koryŭ sent an envoy to make friends again with her old time enemy
Kitan and was successful. The ambition of the then Emperor of Kitan had
apparently sought some new channel. Buddhism, too, came in for its share
of attention. We read that the King sent to Kyöng-ju, the ancient
capital of Sil-la, to procure a bone of Buddha which was preserved there
as a relic. Every important matter was referred in prayer to the
Buddhistic deities. As yet Confucianism had succeeded in keeping pace
with Buddhism. In 1024 the King decreed that the candidates in the
national examinations should come according to population; three men
from a thousand-house town, two from a five hundred-house town and one
each from smaller places. Several examinations were held in succession
and only those who excelled in them all received promotion. The great
struggle between Buddhism and Confucianism, which now began, arrayed the
great class of monks on the side of the former and the whole official
class on the side of the latter. The former worked upon the
superstitions of the King and had continual access to him while the
latter could appeal to him only on the side of general common sense and
reason. Moreover Buddhism had this in its favor that as a rule each man
worked for the system rather than for himself, always presenting a solid
front to the opposition. The other party was itself a conglomerate of
interests, each man working mainly for himself and joining with others
only when his own interests demanded. This marked division of parties
was strikingly illustrated when, in 1026, in the face of vehement
expostulations on the part of the officials, the King spent a large
amount of treasure in the repairing of monasteries. The kingdom of Kitan
received a heavy blow when in 1029 one of her generals, Tă Yŭn-im,
revolted and formed the sporadic kingdom of Heung-yo. Having
accomplished this he sent to the King of Koryŭ saying “We have founded a
new kingdom and you must send troops to aid us.” The Koryŭ officials
advised that advantage be taken of this schism in Kitan to recover the
territory beyond the Yalu which originally belonged to Ko-gu-ryŭ and to
which Koryŭ therefore had some remote title. Neither plan was adopted.
It seemed good to keep friendly with Kitan until such time as her power
for taking revenge should be past, so envoys were sent as usual, but
were intercepted and held by the new King of Heung-yo. This policy
turned out to be a wise one, for soon the news came that Kitan had
destroyed the parvenu.

Now that the fortunes of Koryŭ were manifestly in the ascendant, many
people in the north sent and swore allegiance to her, thus following the
example of a certain Kitan envoy who at this time transferred his
citizenship voluntarily from Kitan to Koryŭ.

The King died and his son Heum, posthumous title Tŭk-jong, came to the
throne in 1032. He married his own sister. All friendly relations with
Kitan were broken off, because the bridge across the Yalu was not
destroyed. It did not seem a friendly act to leave this standing menace
to the peace of Koryŭ. In view of this the King ordered a wall to be
built across the entire peninsula from the Yalu River to the Japan Sea.
It was nearly a thousand _li_ long. This would seem almost incredible
were it not that the facts are given in such detail. The wall was
twenty-five _cha_ high and the same in breadth and stretched from
Ko-gung-nă Fortress, near Eui-ju on the Yalu, to Yöng-heung near the
Japan Sea. The Kitan people tried to hinder this work but without avail.
This period marks the acme of Koryŭ’s power and wealth. She had reached
her zenith within a century and a quarter of her birth and now for three
centuries she was destined to decline.

The younger brother, Hyöng, of this King Tŭk-jong, succeeded him in
1035, after a short reign of three years. He continued the work of
making impregnable the defenses of the north. He built a wall from
Song-ryŭng Pass in the west to the borders of the Yŭ-jin tribe in the
north-east. He also built a Fortress Chă-jŭn, now Ch‘ang-sŭng. His reign
beheld the riveting of Buddhistic chains upon the kingdom. Those who
could read the signs of the times surmised this when, in 1036, the King
decreed that, if a man had four sons, one of them must become a monk.
Because of the Buddhistic canon against the spilling of blood the death
penalty was commuted to banishment. Another Buddhistic anniversary was
instituted. The King also inaugurated the custom of having boys go about
the streets bearing Buddhistic books upon their backs from which the
monks read aloud as they passed along. This was for the purpose of
securing blessings for the people.

In order to counteract the tendency toward luxury, the King forbade the
use of silk and gold and went so far as to burn up the whole stock of
silk held by the merchants. He made a new law of primogeniture. The
first son is to succeed. If he dies, the son of the first son succeeds.
If there is no grandson the second son succeeds. If there is no son by
the wife the son by a concubine succeeds. If there is none then a
daughter succeeds. The Yŭ-jin tribe came with rich gifts and promised
faithfully to refrain from raiding the frontier again. In 1047 the King
was succeeded by his younger brother, Whi, posthumous title Mun-jong,
who was destined to sit upon the throne for thirty-seven years. After
announcing to his suzerain his accession, he followed the custom of his
house and married his sister.

This monarch at first showed a blending of Buddhistic and Confucian
influences, for the annals state that in his second year he fed ten
thousand monks in the palace and gave them lodging there, and that
shortly after this he built a Temple to Heaven before the palace. The
Yŭ-jin tribe broke their promise and made a descent upon the border
fortresses but were driven back; and not only so, but the Koryŭ forces
followed them to their haunts and burned their villages to the ground.

In 1053 the system of taxation was overhauled and a new schedule of
weights was made. The King sent a letter to Kitan complaining that the
bridge across the Yalu still stood, that a wall had been built to secure
it and that a horse relay system had been established, with this bridge
as one of its termini. It seemed, in the words of the letter, that
“Kitan was the silk-worm and Koryŭ was the mulberry leaf.” The King was
anxious to attempt an embassy to China and for that purpose suggested
that a boat be built on the island of Quelpart but the officials
dissuaded him from the attempt.

The year 1056 was signalised by the arrival of an envoy from Japan. It
is probable that the strong Buddhistic tendency which had developed in
Japan had tempted the Japanese to send and secure further instruction in
that cult and to secure relics and paraphernalia. The envoy may have
asked that Buddhist teachers be sent, but the records say nothing to
this effect.

Buddhism was making steady advances. A large quantity of metal intended
for the manufacture of arms was taken by order of the King and made into
nails for use in building monasteries. He took away houses from many
wealthy people, among them some of his own relatives, and gave them to
the monks. The law requiring that of four sons one must become a monk
was now revised so as to read that one of every three should don the
cowl. Nearly every house furnished its monk. The King said “From the
very first our Kings have encouraged Buddhism and each generation has
paid attention to the building of monasteries. By so doing many
blessings have been received. Now that I have become King I find that
many evils are oppressing the state because of the neglect of the
important precept. I will now mend this breach in our conduct and
restore to the country her former prosperity.” So he built monasteries
in various places. The officials all used their influence against this
but the monks carried the day. A Buddhist book called Tal-jang-gyŭng was
sent by Kitan as a gift to Koryŭ.

This period was not without some hopeful signs. A law was passed that no
man should be punished before being tried before three judges. The
government built a fleet of a hundred and six sailing vessels to carry
the government rice from one port to another. The boats made six trips a
year.

But the advances, or rather retrogressions, in a Buddhistic line were
still more marked. In 1065 the King’s son Ku cut his hair and became a
monk. A law was promulgated that no beast should be killed in the land
for three years. A monastery was being built in Song-do containing 2,800
_kan_, each _kan_ being eight feet square. It took twelve years to
complete it. When it became ready for occupancy there was a magnificent
festival at which all monks within a radius of many miles were present.
The feasting lasted five days. There was an awning of silk, covering a
passage-way from the palace to this monastery. Mountains and trees were
represented by lanterns massed together. The King dressed in the robes
of a high priest. In this monastery was a pagoda on which 140 pounds of
gold and 427 pounds of silver were lavished.



                              Chapter IV.

Revenue.... mathematics.... the bridge removed.... friends with China
    again.... Confucianism wanes.... Buddhist book from Japan....
    frontier defence.... prophecy.... Han-yang made a secondary
    capital.... new laws.... cash counterfeited.... Yŭ-jin taken....
    botany.... beginnings of the Kin power.... between Kitan and Kin....
    kingdom of Wŭn.... China allies herself with Kitan.... Kin seeks the
    good will of Koryŭ.... dancing-girls and Buddhism.... Kin demands
    Koryŭ alliance.... refused.... defense of the north.... an ambitious
    official.... Kitan falls.... Sung dynasty falls.... harbor
    improvement.... Buddhist trickery.... rebellion quelled....
    historical work, Sam-guk-sa.... an abject king.... Kin
    immigrants.... a good governor for Quelpart.... military faction
    dominant.... criminals, houses destroyed.... king banished.... a
    plot foiled.... the emperor suspicious.... military and monastic
    factions.... attempted revolution.... monastic revolt.


It is evident that population and revenue are proportionate. Not often
is the question of population touched upon in the Korean annals but some
light is thrown upon it by the statement that at this time the revenue
from the north, from the most distant places only, was 49,000 bags of
rice. From this we must infer that the north was fairly well populated.

An interesting point in connection with the mathematical knowledge of
the time is brought out in the statement that the system of land tax was
changed and was collected at a certain rate per each square of
thirty-three paces; but if the field was large the tax was a certain
amount for each tract forty-seven paces square. The square of
thirty-three is 1089 and the square of forty-seven is 2209, which is the
nearest possible to twice the square of thirty-three. It would seem then
that they had some notion of the properties of geometrical figures.

It was about this time that Kitan changed its name to Yo. She at once
sent an envoy announcing the fact. These were the golden days of Koryŭ’s
relations. The Yŭ-jin tribe of To-ryŭng-ko-do-wha came and swore
allegiance as also did the Chang-man and Tu-hul tribes. A few years
later a Japanese ruler named Sal-ma sent gifts to the Koryŭ court as
also did the people of Tsushima.

During the latter years of this reign the Kitan people were induced to
break down the bridge across the Yalu but it was done only by sending an
abject letter in which the Koryŭ king said “As all the world is yours
and all the people in the world belong to you, you have no need of a
bridge to bind us to you.”

In 1077 an envoy came from the Emperor of China (Sung dynasty) asking
aid against the Kitan. The king might well have turned and answered that
as the Emperor had remained deaf to Koryŭ’s entreaties for help so now
Koryŭ would decline to respond. But he did nothing of the kind; this
opportunity to reëstablish friendly relations with China was hailed with
delight by all classes. The king, though ill, was carried on his bed
outside the city walls to meet this welcome messenger. The latter was
treated royally and was loaded with so many gifts that he could not take
them back with him. He had no intention, however, of leaving them
entirely, for he sold them and took the money instead. This sort of
thrift was something new to the Koreans and they showed their disgust by
ridiculing him; and when he left they spat upon the ground in token of
their contempt. We are not told that Koryŭ gave the aid requested. And
yet the friendly relations were continued, as is seen from the fact that
in 1079 the emperor sent physicians and medicines to Koryŭ. We have here
the first definite mention of gold mining in the statement that the
people of Hong-wŭn dug a hundred ounces of gold and a hundred and fifty
ounces of silver, which they sent to the king. He graciously gave it
back to them.

In 1084 the king died and his adopted son Hun, posthumous title
Sun-jong, came to the throne; but he died almost immediately and was
succeeded the same year by his younger brother Un, posthumous title
Sŭn-jong. When the messenger announcing this arrived at the gates of the
Kitan capital he was refused entrance, for they said there must be some
underlying cause for the sudden death of king Sun-jong.

Under the new king, Buddhism continued its rapid advance. In the first
year of his reign he instituted a Buddhist examination to take the place
of the ordinary examination which was at bottom Confucian; and so
Buddhism scored a decided victory over her rival. It was a blow from
which Confucianism recovered only by the extinction of the dynasty.
These examinations the king attended in person, a Buddhist book being
carried before him. He sent the prince to China to learn more about the
tenets of the popular faith and when he returned the king went out to
welcome him home. The young man brought back 1,000 volumes of Buddhistic
books. Later the king secured 4,000 volumes more from the same source.
The records distinctly state that he sent also to Japan to secure still
other Buddhistic books. This is a strong indication that Japan did not
obtain her Buddhism largely from Korea. It proves at least that she had
a more direct channel for the procuring of Buddhist literature than by
way of Korea, otherwise Koryŭ would hardly have applied to her for
books. The king married his own sister. The bridge across the Yalu had
been destroyed but it would seem that it had been again built, for now
in 1088 the records say it was finally destroyed.

King Sŭn-jong could not do enough for Buddhism. A vast amount of
government rice was turned from its legitimate uses and found its way
into the store-rooms of monasteries. The king constructed a
thirteen-storey pagoda in the palace. His mother made frequent visits to
one of the monasteries.

The only act of this king which was not with special reference to
Buddhism was the stationing at Eui-ju of a large number of war chariots
to be used in defense of the frontier.

In 1095 the king was succeeded by his son Uk, posthumous title Hön-jong,
who was only eleven years old. His uncle Ong become regent but proved
unfaithful and in the following year drove the boy from the throne and
proclaimed himself king. His title was Suk-jong. The most important
events of his reign were in connection with the founding of a second
capital as Han-yang, the present Seoul. The monk Tosun who, it will be
remembered, had taught the young Wang-gön the science of war, had also
left a prophecy to the effect that after 160 years it would be well for
the kingdom if the site of the capital be changed. The preliminary
arrangements were made early in this reign but it was not until the year
1104 that a palace was actually constructed there, nor was the royal
residence changed either at this time or at any later period, for any
considerable length of time. A few important laws were promulgated; that
if relatives intermarried they could not receive official position; that
the nomination of an heir to the throne should be made only after
consultation with the court of the northern suzerain; that candidates
who failed to pass the government examinations should be solaced by
receiving military rank.

It is said that in 1100 copper cash had begun to circulate for the first
time with freedom among the people. Buddhism also made material advances
during this reign and riveted its fetters more firmly upon the body
politic. On the whole it was a very clean reign, when we remember that a
usurper was on the throne.

In 1106 Suk-jong’s son U, posthumous title Ye-jong, came to the throne.
At the very first he was confronted by a new problem. The people had yet
to learn that the coinage of money is a purely government monopoly. The
readiness with which cash circulated tempted some to attempt to
counterfeit it. The king consequently promulgated a law inflicting a
heavy penalty upon this offense and at the same time made a law against
the adulteration of food.

Having, in his third year, married a near relative he took as a teacher
a monk named Un-jin, another indication of the steady progress of that
cult. The talk about the change of site for the capital resulted in the
building of a palace at P‘yŭng-yang and several royal progresses to each
of the proposed sites.

The tribe of Yŭ-jin had repeatedly promised to remain peaceful and had
as often broken their word; so now when they began to grow restless
again, the king decided to make an end of the matter. He sent a strong
force into their territory, killed 4,800 men and took several thousand
prisoners. The territory was divided into four administrative districts.

In 1115 the king developed a fad. He became an enthusiastic botanist. He
ransacked the kingdom for rare and beautiful plants and sent them to
China in exchange for many kinds that were not indigenous.

We have now arrived at the threshold of events which were destined to
result in the founding of a great dynasty. In order to explain we must
go back a few years. Early in this dynasty a Koryŭ monk from
P‘yŭng-yang, named Keum-jun, had fled, for some reason not stated, to
the town of A-ji-go among the Yŭ-jin tribe. He had there married a
Yŭ-jin woman and gotten a son whom he named Ko-eul. He in turn begot
Whal-ra, and to him were born many sons, the eldest of whom was
Hyo-ri-bal and the second Yong-ga. The latter was unusually bright and
popular and eventually became chief; but on his death the son of his
brother Hyo-ri-bal, named O-a-sok, took his place. O-a-sok died and his
younger brother, A-gol-t‘a, became chief. Yŭ-jin was at this time a
small weak tribe under the sway of the Ki-tan court, but now the
masterly genius of A-gol-t‘a had come to her help, matters were destined
to assume a different complexion.

It was now in 1114 that the little tribe of Yŭ-jin broke off its
allegiance to Kitan and prepared to carve out a career for herself under
her great leader. Soon an envoy came in haste from the capital of Kitan
commanding the king to stand ready to drive back the Yŭ-jin tribe if
they attempted to escape into his territory, for the emperor of Kitan
was about to chastise his recalcitrant vassal.

The next year A-gol-t‘a with sublime presumption proclaimed himself
emperor and named his kingdom Kin. At the same time he changed his own
name to Min.

The Kitan emperor sent again demanding a contingent of Koryŭ troops.
After anxious consultation it was decided to keep the soldiers near home
and guard the interests of Koryŭ. In the war between Kitan and Kin the
former were severely handled and again appealed to Koryŭ for help, but
now with no hope of success.

The next year, 1116, a Koryŭ envoy Yun Eun-sun was sent to the Kitan
court but he did not return, so a second one was dispatched to learn the
cause. The fact is, the first envoy had fallen into the hands of a new
power named Wŭn which had been set up in eastern Kitan by a man named Ko
Yöng-ch‘ang. War was still raging between Kitan and Kin and the whole
country was in a state of turmoil and confusion. The second envoy from
Koryŭ fell into the hands of the Wŭn people but got out of the
difficulty by promptly stating that he was accredited to them by the
king of Koryŭ; and he forthwith laid out his present. This made the
upstart “emperor” of Wŭn wild with delight and, loading the envoy with
rich presents, he sent him back home. Instead of going back to the king,
however, the envoy returned secretly to his own home, and it was only by
accident that the king learned of his return. When he did learn of it he
sent for the man and inflicted summary punishment. Of course the Wŭn
people liberated the other envoy and sent him home. Him also the king
punished for having saved his life by seemingly offering allegiance to
Wŭn.

The emperor of China sent an envoy to Koryŭ with gifts of musical
instruments and took advantage of the occasion to ask the Koryŭ king
about the Kitan people. The king answered, “Of all the savage tribes
they are the worst.” When this reply reached the Chinese court some of
the courtiers said that the king of Koryŭ was trying to keep China from
knowing Kitan, since there was treasure there which Koryŭ wanted to
secure for herself. The emperor therefore sent and made an alliance with
Kitan, which, as the sequel shows, cost him dear.

Kitan was being hard pressed by Kin, and Gen. Ya Ryul-lyŭng wanted to
escape and find asylum somewhere, so the king sent him a verbal
invitation to come to Koryŭ. He replied that he could not do so without
a written invitation. The Koryŭ statesmen feared that this covered some
kind of trickery and the written invitation was not sent.

Koryŭ desired to put out a feeler to see how she stood with the Kin
power so she sent a message saying “The district of P‘o-ju is rightfully
Koryŭ territory and we should be pleased to have it turned over to us.”
The answer was given without an hour’s delay “Certainly, take it and do
with it as you wish.” Evidently the great Kin leader did not intend to
let a single district stand between him and the good-will of a power
which might cause him serious trouble while he was prosecuting his
designs upon China.

The year ended with a great feast at the capital of Koryŭ at which
dancing girls from all parts of the country congregated. The records say
that they came “in clouds” which indicates the social status of the
country. Buddhism had her representative in every home, but no severe
asceticism would seem to have characterized the people, if this report
is true.

The year 1117 beheld repeated triumphs of the Kin leader over the Kitan
forces, the flight of the Kitan general Ya Ryul-lyŭng by boat, the
burning of the Kitan fleet and the cession to Koryŭ of two more
districts, thus placing her border again at the Yalu River. But this
concession was of design for it was followed by a letter from the Kin
court which read as follows: “The elder brother, the Emperor of the
Great Kin, to the younger brother, the king of Koryŭ; we were a small,
weak tribe and were badly treated by the Kitan power but now we are
about to destroy it. The King of Koryŭ must now make with us a firm
treaty which shall be binding to the ten thousandth generation.”

This met with an almost universal negative among the wise-heads of
Koryŭ, but one voice was heard saying “They may be in a position to do
us great harm and we should comply with this demand.” The latter opinion
did not prevail. Three years later another envoy came from the king of
Kin with gifts but the accompanying letter was couched in low language
which was construed into an insult and was answered in the same tone.
The king then hastened to repair the fortresses in the north and to
increase the height of the wall stretching across the country; but the
Kin emperor sent and forbade it. When he received as answer the question
“What affair is it of yours?” he kept his temper and did not press the
demand for he was anxious just then to be on good terms with his
southern neighbor.

We must not imagine that these years were barren of events of importance
within the bounds of Koryŭ herself. Splendid monasteries were built,
notably the beautiful An-wha monastery; embassies and gifts were
received from China; the king made trips to P‘yŭng-yang and Han-yang. In
spite of the height to which Buddhism had climbed, we read in the annals
that the king frequented the society of dancing girls to such an extent
that he drew down upon himself the censure of one of his highest
officials, whom he consequently banished.

In 1123 the king’s son Hă, posthumous title In-jong, came to the throne.
An official, Yi Ja-gyŭm, who had risen to the highest position under the
former king seemed to think himself in a sense on an equality with the
young king now on the throne, and wanted to have him bow to him, but the
other officials interfered and prevented it. In order to make his
position the more secure, and to strengthen his influence over the king,
Yi Ja-gyŭm bestowed upon him his four daughters to wife. Naturally he
incurred the bitter enmity of the other officials, who sought means for
destroying him, but without success. As a last resort they sent a band
of soldiers to the palace to kill him. But he escaped to his private
house, taking the king with him. From that place he governed the land as
he wished. Finding the king an incumbrance he tried to do away with him
by the use of poisoned bread, but someone warned the king, and instead
of eating the bread he threw it out of the window and the magpies, which
soon discovered it, fell dead on the spot. Thereupon the king sent a
secret message to one of his generals and soon the traitor was
travelling southward into exile and all his connections and followers
were put where they could do no more harm.

It was in the third year of this King, 1124, that the Kin armies finally
overthrew the Kitan power. The false report came to Koryŭ that China had
defeated the Kin forces and that the leader of the defeated power was
coming to find asylum in Koryŭ. The king was advised by some to take
this opportunity of dealing Kin a staggering blow, but the more cautious
advised delay until the report should be authenticated. This was
fortunate, for the report proved false.

It was in 1126 that the northern Sung dynasty came to an end at the
hands of the all-conquering Kin. The records state that Kin leaders
carried the last emperor of the Sung dynasty away and set up one Chang
Pang-ch‘ang as king in his stead, and changed the name of the dynasty to
Ch‘o. When this had been effected the Kin emperor sent Gen. Ya Ryul
Ka-geum to Koryŭ bearing his commands to the king, but what those
commands were the records do not tell.

The influence which priestcraft had exercised in Koryŭ was well
illustrated by a monk Myo-chung of P‘yŭng-yang who told the King that
there was no more “king Spirit” in the soil of Song-do, but if he should
move the capital to P‘yŭng-yang the Kitan, Kin and Sung would all become
subject to him. The king believed every word of this and ordered a
palace to be built there for his occupancy. A year or so later, after
sending the Kin court his abject submission, he essayed to move to the
northern city by boat, but a fresh breeze sprang up and he quickly
changed his mind and hurried back to Song-do. The coastwise trade must
have been of considerable importance, for we read that the water on the
bar at Hong-ju harbor, was too shallow for boats of large burden to
cross, so the king put several thousand men to work to deepen the
channel; but to no effect.

The fight between Confucianism and Buddhism went steadily on. The king
was the puppet of the latter but could not always carry out his plans.
He wanted to take away the support of Confucian schools and turn over
the funds to the monks, but this called out such a storm of
remonstrances that he hastened to recall the order. He had not forgotten
the flattering words of the monk Myo-chung, and now in 1130 he took
occasion to visit the city of P‘yŭng-yang. The tricky monk had made
preparation for his coming. Hollow loaves of bread were prepared with
holes in their sides after the style of a Jack-o’-lantern. Oil was
placed inside and as the king approached the town at dusk these were
floated down the stream, and the oil on the water, shining in the light
of the setting sun, reflected all the hues of the rainbow. The monk told
the king that this was the dragon’s breath. This was to convince the
king of the truth of his former statement. But the king’s attendants
were sceptical and sent messengers who returned with the bread floats,
thus unmasking the trickster. They demanded the head of the monk but the
king did not consent.

Foiled in this the ambitious monk laid new plans. In 1135 they were
ready to be put in execution. Together with a fellow traitor, Cho Kwang,
he massed soldiers at P‘yŭng-yang and set up a kingdom of his own which
he named Ta-wi. He called the army the “Celestial Army,” perhaps to keep
them in good humor. The government forces easily overcame these
insurrectionary forces and Cho Kwang, finding that the end was
approaching, tried to buy pardon by cutting off the head of the monk and
bringing it to the capital. The king forgave him, but no sooner had he
re-entered the gates of P‘yŭng-yang than he raised the standard of
revolt again. The royal forces laid siege to the city, and having broken
down a portion of the wall effected an entrance. Cho Kwang, seeing that
there was no longer any chance of safety, set fire to his house and
perished in the flames.

We find in the records the curious statement that the law against murder
was revised, making that crime a greater one than the killing of a cow.
The following year there was a Buddhistic festival at which 30,000 monks
were present.

In the year 1145 occurred an event of great importance. A century and a
quarter had now passed since the kingdom of Sil-la had fallen and as yet
the annals of Sil-la, Ko-gu-ryŭ and Păk-je had not been worked up into a
proper history. This year it was done and the great work entitled
_Sam-guk-sa_, or History of the Three Kingdoms, was the result. This
work which, though rare, exists to-day, is the thesaurus of ancient
Korean history, and it is the basis upon which all subsequent histories
of ancient Korea are founded. Its compiler, Kim Pu-sik, is one of the
celebrated literary men of Korea and may truly be called the father of
Korean history.

In-jong was succeeded in 1147 by his son Hyön, posthumous title
Eui-jong. Never before had a king given himself over so abjectly to the
priesthood. The people were thoroughly discontented with his course, but
he would listen to no remonstrances. It would have been better had he
been a more consistent Buddhist but his drinking, gambling and
licentiousness gave the lie to his religious pretentions and left the
impression that he was in reality only the tool of the priesthood. It is
said that his visits to a certain monastery were so frequent that an
awning had to be erected from the palace to its gates, and if at any
time the king was not to be found they looked for him in this monastery.
He was an object of ridicule to the whole people. A diviner told him
that if he built a palace at Păk-ju (now Pă-ch‘ŭn) in Whang-hă Province,
in seven years he would overcome both Kitan and Kin. The king was simple
enough to follow his advice. He wasted the public treasure on the
wildest debaucheries, gave high positions to monks and surrounded
himself with a vile set of men who debauched the palace women.

In 1165 numbers of the Kin people crossed the Yalu and settled at In-ju
and Chŭng-ju. The magistrates raised a force of soldiers on their own
account without royal authority and drove out the intruders and burned
their houses. The Kin emperor made the king restore them to their places
but the magistrates again drove them out; so the Emperor sent a body of
troops and seized sixteen of the country officials.

The officials desired to stop the king’s frequent visits to his favorite
monastery. One day as he was passing along his covered passage-way they
made his horse rear violently and at the same time one of them let fall
an arrow before him. The king was terrified, supposing that someone had
shot at him, so he returned to the palace in haste and barred the gates.
He charged a slave of his brother’s with having shot the arrow and after
wringing a false confession from him by torture put him to death.

In 1168 Ch’oe Ch’ŭk-kyŭng became prefect of T’am-na (Quelpart). He was
well liked by the people and when he was removed and another man put in
his place they rose in revolt, drove out the successor and said they
would have no governor but Ch’oe. So the King was obliged to reinstate
him. These people of Quelpart were very unruly. It was only during the
reign of this king’s father that the first prefect had been sent to that
island.

The king sent a commission to Dagelet island off the east coast to find
out whether it was habitable. They brought back an adverse report.

Besides his partiality to Buddhism the king added another burden to
those which the people already carried. He made the eunuchs his
instruments to exact money from the people, and to such as supplied him
with the most money from this illegal practice he gave rank and honors.
The king was continually feasting, but none of the military men enjoyed
his favor or shared his hospitality. Matters came to a crisis when in
1170 one of the military officials was struck by a civil official of a
lower grade in the presence of the king while at a monastery outside the
city. The matter was hushed up for the moment but when the company
separated some of the generals assembled the palace guards and seized
and killed the two leading civil officials. One, Han Roe, escaped and
hid behind the king’s bed. In spite of this the generals entered and
dragged him away to his death. Then they began to slaughter the civil
officials and eunuchs indiscriminately. The records say that the dead
bodies were piled “mountains high.” The military officials had a sign by
which they might be distinguished. The right shoulder was left bare and
they wore a head-dress called the _pok-tu_. Whoever was found lacking
these two signs was cut down. The king was in mortal fear and tried to
propitiate the leading general by the gift of a beautiful sword. He
accepted it but the work of death went on. They took the king back to
the capital and, arriving at the palace, cut down ten leading men at
that point. Then they went to the palace of the crown prince and killed
ten more. Proclamation was made in the main street “Kill any official
wearing the garments of the civil rank”. This was the sign for a general
slaughter and fifty more of the officials were murdered. After this,
twenty eunuchs were beheaded and their heads were set upon pikes.

Though the king was badly frightened he continued his evil course of
life without abatement. The generals wanted to kill him but were
dissuaded. The persecution of the civil officials continued but there
was some discrimination, for two of them who were better than the rest
were spared and protected. A civil official, returning from China,
learned of this _emeute_ and, gathering forces in the country,
approached the capital; but at a certain pass an unfavorable omen was
seen in the shape of a tiger sitting in the road. The omen was true, for
the improvised army was defeated by the insurrectionists. One Chöng
Chung-bu was the leading spirit in this business and he now proceeded to
pull down all the houses of the civil officials, turning a deaf ear to
the expostulations of those who pitied the widows and orphans. From this
time dates the custom of destroying the house of any official or
gentleman who is guilty of any serious crime against the king.

Gen. Chöng came to the conclusion that the king was a hopeless case and
so he banished him to Kö-je in Island, Kyŭng-sang Province, and the
Crown Prince to the island of Chin-do, and made way with a large number
of the king’s relatives and hangers-on. He then put the king’s younger
brother Ho on the throne. His posthumous title is Myŭng-jong. This was
in 1171.

Then all the offices were filled by military officials, Gen. Im
Keuk-ch’ung becoming Prime Minister. Mun Keup-kyŭm was one of the civil
officials who were spared, and he now feigned to be well content with
the condition of things and gave his daughter to the son of one of the
generals in marriage. An envoy was sent to the Kin court saying that as
the king was old and sick his brother had been given the reins of power.

One of the generals, Yi Ko, desired to effect a revolution and,
gathering his friends about him, promised them high honors in case the
attempt should succeed. Thereupon he took with him to a feast a number
of his followers with swords hidden in their sleeves. Gen. Ch’oa Wŭn,
however, suspected something and communicated his suspicions to Gen. Yi
Eui-bang who managed to get Gen. Yi Ko out into the anteroom and there
felled him to the ground with an iron mace and dispatched him. His
followers were also seized and killed.

The emperor suspected that the deposed king had been forcibly ejected
and so sent a letter severely blaming his successor. An envoy was
dispatched to the Kin court to explain matters. He talked well but the
emperor still suspected something and refused to answer the king’s
letter. The envoy thereupon sat down and deliberately began to starve
himself to death. This secured the desired answer and the envoy returned
to Song-do. The emperor sent a commission to enquire into the matter.
The commissioner was feasted at the capital and told that the deposed
king was old and sick and had gone away to a distant part of the country
and could not be produced.

The ill-will between the military and the monks was well illustrated
when the palace caught fire. General Chöng saw many monks running toward
the burning buildings, but rather than have them enter he locked the
gates and let the buildings burn to the ground.

The remnant of the civil officers were ever on the lookout for
opportunities to get the upper hand again and drive out the military
party. To this end Kim Po-dang sent letters to prefects far and wide and
a time for a rising was agreed upon. The banished king was put in the
van of the army thus improvised and they advanced as far as Kyöng-ju.
But the plan miscarried and Kim, its originator, was seized by the
people and sent to Song-do where he was put to death. Before dying he
exclaimed “I was in league with all the civil nobles.” This was probably
not true, but it caused a fresh outbreak of the military party upon the
civil nobles, and scores of them were killed. At last a reaction set in
and the military leaders, feeling that they had gone too far, tried to
make amends by giving their daughters to the sons of the civil officials
in marriage.

At this point occurred one of the most revolting events that blot the
pages of Korean history. Gen. Chöng, hearing that the banished king had
come as far as Kyöng-ju sent Gen. Yi Eui-mun to put him out of the way.
After the leader and two hundred members of the ex-king’s guard had been
treacherously killed the ex-king himself was spirited away to a
neighboring monastery. He was taken out to the brink of a pond behind
this monastery and there Gen. Yi, who was a man of immense stature,
seized him in his arms and crushed his ribs, killing him instantly. The
body was wrapped in blankets, placed in two kettles, which were placed
mouth to mouth, and thrown into the pond. When this monster, Gen. Yi,
returned to Song-do he was loaded with honors. Later a monk, who was a
good swimmer, raised the body and gave it decent burial.

In spite of the overwhelming power exercised by the military party, the
king was devoted to Buddhism. The monks were very anxious to kill Gen.
Yi, who had taken such an active part in deposing the late king; so they
massed in front of the palace and set fire to it by first firing the
adjoining houses. Gen. Yi made a sudden sally with a strong guard and
killed a hundred of the monks. He followed this up by demolishing five
monasteries whose sacred vessels and other utensils he confiscated.



                               Chapter V.

Rebellion quelled.... cannibalism.... anarchy....“faith cure”....
    reformation.... Ta-na well.... the Queen restored.... slaves
    revolt.... the Mongols.... envoy killed.... Kin weakens.... Kitan
    refugees.... civil strife.... Kitan driven back.... Mongol
    allies.... Mongols drive Kitans into Koryŭ.... Mongol savages....
    Kitan remnant surrenders.... Mongol envoy.... jealousy.... Mongol
    demands.... rebels’ heads sent to Song-do.... Mongol demands
    tribute.... brutal envoy.... a new wall.... Japanese pirates....
    Mongol envoy killed.... Mongol allies.... driven back.... prime
    minister duped.... pirates again.... a Korean “Shogun”.... Mongols
    cross the Yalu.... a Mongol letter.... the Mongols reach Song-do....
    leave it untaken.... the “Shogun” flees.... a brave prefect....
    Mongol terms.... King surrenders.... Mongol residency.


Cho Wi-jong was a P‘yŭng-yang man with a towering ambition, and he now
deemed the time ripe to put the wheels in motion. He therefore drew
about him a strong body of troops. All the districts about P‘yŭng-yang
joined him excepting Yŭn-ju, which remained loyal to the king. The
people of that place were afraid of the rebel but the loyal prefect Hyŭn
Tŭk-su forged a letter purporting to be from the royal army _en route_
for P‘yŭng-yang. This gave the people courage to hold out.

Cho and his troops marched toward Song-do and encamped not far to the
west of the town. Gen. Yi Eui-bang, having first seized and killed all
the P‘yŭng-an officials who happened to be in the capital, marched out
against the rebels. At the first attack the seditious force broke and
fled. Gen. Yi chased them as far as the Ta-dong River. He crossed that
river and lay siege to P‘yŭng-yang; but winter was coming on and he was
obliged to retire to Song-do. Cho then made two or three attempts to
overthrow the loyal town of Yŭn-ju, but without success.

Gen. Yi was a ruthless man, who had no love of humanity in him, but
would kill his best friend if it served his purpose. For this reason
Gen. Chöng did not dare to associate with him, but threw up his
commission and went into retirement. His son got a priest to dog the
footsteps of Gen. Yi and wait for a chance to kill him. This he finally
accomplished and Gen. Yi and many of his relatives were killed; and the
queen, who was his daughter, was driven away.

As Cho Wi-jong, the P‘yŭng-yang traitor, was gradually losing power he
desired to get help from the Kin emperor. For this purpose he sent two
envoys, but one of them killed the other on the way and them fled to
Song-do. Cho sent another, but him the Kin emperor seized and sent a
prisoner to the Koryŭ capital. In the spring the royal forces besieged
Cho in P‘yŭng-yang again and famine within the walls became so great
that men ate each other. Many of the towns-people came out by stealth
and as they were well received by the besieging force, well-nigh all the
civilians in the city came over the walls by night. When the city fell,
Cho was killed and his wife and children were sent to Song-do where they
were hung in the center of the city.

The rebel forces were scattered but reunited in various places and
terrorized the whole north, so that envoys to the Kin court had to go a
round-about way to avoid them. The whole country in fact was in a state
of anarchy. In the south whole sections of the country were disaffected
toward the government and bands of men roamed the country. There was a
rising also in Whang-hă Province. In P‘yŭng-yang the people rose and
drove out the governor. The king was forced to begin the correction of
abuses. He sent all about gathering information as to how the people
were governed and as a consequence eight hundred officials were
cashiered. But the attempt at renovation came too late. In the west the
bands of robbers looted right and left and could not be apprehended. The
capital itself swarmed with thieves. The ancestral temple itself was
robbed of its utensils. But all this time the king kept up a round of
carousals and debaucheries at which he himself played the buffoon, and
danced for the delectation of his guests, and that too at a monastery. A
sacred place truly!

In the twelfth year of the reign, 1182, we find an interesting
application of what goes in these days under the name of “faith cure.” A
priest claimed to be able to cure any disease. Being called before the
king he said, “If anyone drinks water in which I have washed my hands he
will be immediately cured.” He further explained “After drinking the
water, pray earnestly to Buddha. Then rise and say ‘I am cured’, and if
you really believe you are cured, you will be so.” Crowds of people
applied to him for treatment. He seduced many of the women who came to
him.

Gen. Yi Eui-mun was now court favorite and he usurped all the leading
offices and acted as pander-in-general to the King by seeking out and
forcibly carrying to the palace young and handsome girls. This seemed
intolerable to such loyal men as Gen. Ch‘oe Chung-heun, and he, in
company with his brother, surrounded the palace, killed Yi Eui-mun and
many others of his ilk, chased away many illegitimate sons of the king,
who had become monks, and would not let them enter the palace again.
This all happened in 1196, and two years later the reformer continued
the good work by deposing the old and indolent king, banishing the crown
prince to Kang-wha and putting the king’s brother Mun on the throne. His
posthumous title is Sin-jong. The banishing of the crown prince and his
wife was effected in a very heartless manner. They were ordered out of
the palace at a moment’s notice and, coming forth entirely unprepared
for the journey, were mounted on horses in a cold rain and hurried away
to Kang-wha. A terrible storm raged the day the King was deposed, as if
in sympathy with the throes through the country was passing.

There was a saying current among the people which shows at once how
superstitious they were and to what an extent the eunuchs were wont to
abuse their power. They said “If the King uses water from the Ta-nă Wall
many eunuchs will arise and will cause the government to be administered
badly;” so the well was filled up. Another instance shows what a
terrible temptation there was for the people to abuse their power. This
same reformer Ch’oe Chung-heun, though himself a man of perfect
uprightness, had a brother who now took advantage of his position to
force the king to take his daughter as queen. To do this the real queen
had to be banished. As it happened, the king was deeply attached to her,
but he was in no position to refuse to do the bidding of the powerful
courtier. After a tearful parting she went into exile. This was as yet
unknown to the reformer, but when he learned of it his indignation was
deep and fierce. Cloaking his feelings, he called his brother to a feast
and there reminded him that they were not of a high enough family to
furnish a queen, and he charged him to give up the attempt. The next
day, the villain changed his mind again. His mother expostulated with
him and he felled her to the floor. Gen. Ch‘oe was told of this and,
surrounding himself with a strong body-guard, he proceeded to the palace
gate. When his niece was brought in her chair and was about to enter to
become queen, the faithful old general disputed the passage and a fight
ensued between his men and his brother’s. The former were successful and
the wretch betook himself to flight, but was pursued, taken and killed
by the general himself. The rightful queen was restored to her station.

The six years of this king’s reign were one long scene of turmoil and
strife. In the first place the slaves revolted. They said “The high men
are not made so by the decree of heaven. Great men are those who do
well. Let us fight for our rights; Gen. Ch‘oe is from as low a grade as
ourselves. Let us become high men too.” They rendezvoused at Heung-guk
monastery and decided as a preliminary measure to demand from their
masters the deeds of themselves (for slaves as well as houses were
deeded property) and to burn them. They were betrayed to Gen. Ch‘oe who
trapped a hundred of them, tied stones about their necks and drowned
them in the river. The south was overrun by marauding parties whom the
king bought off by gifts of food, clothes and land. In Chin-ju the
governor’s servants locked him in his private dungeon, gathered a band
of men and put to death all who would not join their standard. It is
said that 6,400 men were killed because of refusal to join them. The
same scenes were enacted in various places, notably in Quelpart and
Kong-ju.

In the midst of these scenes the king died and was succeeded in 1205 by
his son Tok, posthumous title Heui-jong.

We have now arrived at the threshold of events which were destined to
make Asia one great battle-field and to cause the sovereigns of Europe
to tremble on their thrones.

The Mongols lived north of Yŭ-jin and were in a sense connected with
them. Their first great chief was Ya-sok-hă (Yusuka) who first led the
revolt which separated the Mongol power from the Yŭ-jin. He together
with Keui-ak-on conquered forty of the northern tribes in quick
succession and brought them all under his flag. His son’s name was
Chŭl-mok-jin, the great Genghis Khan. It was now in the second year of
Heui-jong, in 1206, that the great Genghis proclaimed himself emperor
and named his empire Mong.

Meanwhile Ch‘oe Chung-heun was not proof against the seductions of
ambition and power, and we next find him seizing the people’s houses and
building himself a magnificent residence adjoining the palace. People
said of him that he buried a boy or a girl under each corner post.

When the spring of 1212 opened, an envoy was sent to the Kin court but
was intercepted by Mongol videttes who had by this time worked their way
southward to a point that commanded the road between Koryŭ and Kin. The
Kin people recovered the body and sent it back to Koryŭ.

Gen. Ch‘oe had acquired so much power that he was in reality the ruler
of the land, holding much the same position that the Shogun of Japan is
said to have occupied. He may not inappropriately be styled the Shogun
of Koryŭ. For this reason the king desired to get him out of the way. To
this end he put upon his track a number of monks, but as they began by
attacking his servant he quietly slipped into a chest and they could not
find him. His body-guard became aware of his predicament and forced the
palace gates, killing right left; and they would have killed the king
had not the wily old general stepped out of his hiding place and
prevented it. The latter banished the king to Kang-wha and the crown
prince to Chemulpo and set upon the throne one Chong, whose posthumous
title is Kang-jong.

The only event recorded of this reign is the arrival of an envoy from
the Kin court, who wanted to enter the palace by the central or royal
gate. He insisted upon it until he was asked the question “If you enter
by the royal gate, by what gate would your master enter should he come
here?” This silenced him.

Kang-jong was succeeded in 1214 by his son Chin, posthumous title
Kang-jang. This was destined to be the longest and by far the most
eventful reign of the dynasty for it lasted forty-five years and
witnessed the great Mongol invasion.

The Kin power was now trembling under the Mongol onslaught and envoys
came demanding aid from Koryŭ in the shape of rice and horses. The king
ostensibly refused but allowed the envoys to purchase rice and carry it
away with them.

Again a dark cloud hung over Koryŭ’s northern border. It was not the
Mongols as yet, but the remnant of the Kitan forces who were unable to
withstand the Mongols and so had fled south into Koryŭ territory. At
first the Koryŭ forces were able to keep them in check but as they came
in ever increasing numbers they broke down all opposition and were soon
ravaging Whang-hă Province, making P‘yŭng-yang their headquarters. The
lack of Koryŭ soldiers was so evident that men of all classes, even the
monks, became soldiers. It was of no avail. They were cut down like
stubble and Whang-ju fell into Kitan hands. The enemy was soon only
eighty _li_ from the capital. Consternation reigned in the city and the
people all procured swords or other weapons and manned the walls.

To this outward danger was added the terror of civil strife for the
priests took this inopportune moment to attack the old general, Ch‘oe,
who still ruled with a high hand. He turned on them however and cut down
three hundred. He then instituted an inquisition and as a result 800
more were killed.

Such then was the desperate position of Koryŭ; a powerful enemy at her
door, the south rife with rebellion, and in the capital itself
“mountains of dead and rivers of blood.” Victorious Kitan came sweeping
down on Song-do, but for some reason, perhaps because they had heard
that the town was well defended, they made a detour, appearing next on
the banks of the Im-jin River half way between Song-do and the present
capital. There they suffered defeat at the hands of the Koryŭ forces as
they did also later at the site of the present capital. In view of these
defeats the Kitan army retired to Tă-băk San. Now another cause of
anxiety appeared in the shape of the Yŭ-jin allies of the Mongols who
crossed the Yalu and took Eui-ju. But Koryŭ, wide awake to the danger,
threw upon them a well equipped force which destroyed 500 of them,
captured many more and drove the remaining 300 across the river. The
king now built a royal residence at Pă-gak San to the east of Song-do,
for he had been told that by so doing he would be able to hold the north
in check.

Myŭn Ku-ha of east Yŭ-jin, being defeated by the Mongols, came in his
flight towards the Yalu, but the Koryŭ general, Chŭng Kong-su, caught
him and sent him safely to the Mongol headquarters. This pleased the
Mongols hugely and they said “We must make a treaty of friendship.” We
must remember that the Mongols were at war with Kitan and had driven her
army across into Koryŭ, but at first did not pursue them. Now, however,
an army of 10,000 men under Generals T‘ap Chin and Ch‘al Cha, were sent
to complete the destruction of the Kitan power. They were joined by
Yŭ-jin allies to the number of 20,000 men under Gen. Wan-an Cha-yŭn. As
these allies were advancing against the doomed army of Kitan, the
remnant of which, 50,000 strong, was massed at Kang-dong, a great
snowstorm came on and provisions ran low. Koryŭ was asked to supply the
deficiency which she did to the extent of 1,000 bags of rice. This still
more helped her into the good graces of the Mongols. But the records
state that the Mongols were so little beyond the condition of the savage
that there could be little real friendship between them and the people
of Koryŭ. The latter showed it too plainly and the Mongols of course
resented it.

In this army that was marching to the annihilation of Kitan there was a
contingent of Koryŭ forces under Gen. Kim Ch‘ui-ryo who is described as
being a giant in size with a beard that reached his knees. He was a
favorite with the Mongol generals and was treated handsomely by them.

The siege of Kang-dong was prosecuted vigorously and soon the greatest
distress prevailed within the walls. The leader finally gave up hope and
hanged himself, and the 50,000 men came out and surrendered. Gen. T‘ap
reviewed them, took off the heads of a hundred of the leaders and
released the remainder. The Mongol leader wished to make a visit to
Song-do to see the king but he could not leave his army, so he sent an
envoy instead. He gave the Koryŭ generals rich presents and released 700
Koryŭ captives that had been previously taken. Many Kitan captives were
put into the hands of the Koryŭ generals as a result of the decisive
termination of the war against Kitan and many of the heretofore
inaccessible parts of the north were opened up, and they were called the
“Kitan District.”

Ere long the Mongol envoy approached Song-do and the king sent out a
messenger to meet him, but this did not satisfy him, for he exclaimed
“Why did not the king come out to meet me?” It took some persuasion to
induce him not to turn back. When he had audience with the king he wore
the heavy fur clothing of his native country with a fur head-dress, and
carried a sword and a bow. Approaching the king he seized his hand and
showed him the letter from the Mongol emperor, Genghis Khan. The king
turned pale and was exceedingly embarrassed at this familiarity, and the
officials asked each other how the presence of this barbarian could be
endured. They induced him to retire and assume Koryŭ garments, after
which he reappeared and the king presented him with gifts of gold,
silver, silk and linen.

Gen. Cho Ch‘ung accompanied the retiring Mongol and Yŭ-jin allies as far
as the Yalu where they bade him an affectionate adieu and declared that
he was a man of whom Koryŭ should be proud. The Mongol general, Hap
Chin, left forty men at Eui-ju to learn the Koryŭ language and told them
to stay there till he returned. Gen. Cho then returned to P‘yŭng-yang
where he was lionized and fêted. The old man Ch‘oe Chung-heun feared
that Gen. Cho would attempt to throw him down from his high position and
thought it would be better to have him near by, where he could watch
him; so he forged a letter purporting to be from the king, ordering him
to come down to the capital. He obeyed.

It seemed at this time that the relations of Koryŭ and the Mongols would
remain friendly, but if Koryŭ thought this she was destined to be rudely
awakened. The Mongol and Yŭ-jin allies sent to Myŭng-sŭng and said
“Koryŭ must send an envoy and do obeisance each year.” This was said in
so offensive a way that it seemed to be an attempt to provoke war. We
are not told what answer was given but it sufficed for the time to
secure peace.

The great Ch‘oe Chung-heun who had carried things with such a high hand
now fell ill and died. This caused more commotion than the death of
several kings. He was buried with royal honors. He left many sons, of
whom U and Hyang were first and second. Hyang was a bold and powerful
man, and before the father died he warned U against him. U succeeded to
his father’s position which, as we have seen, corresponded closely with
that of the Shogun of Japan.

A serious rebellion broke out in the north under two leaders, Han Sun
and Ta Chi, the cause being the illegal exactions of the prefects. When
the king found that it could not be put down by peaceful means he sent
Gen. Kim Ch‘ui-ro to put it down by force. The east Yŭ-jin leader, Myŭn
Ku-ha, at first sided with the rebels but later changed his mind,
invited Han Sun and Ta Chi to a feast, got them intoxicated,
assassinated them, put their heads in a box and sent it to the king,
thereby earning the good will of the latter. The king then reformed the
abuses in the rebellious section and peace was at last secured.

The Mongols were not to be content with an empty friendship, and in 1221
they sent a demand for revenue, consisting of 10,000 pounds of cotton,
3,000 rolls of fine silk, 2,000 pieces of gauze, 100,000 sheets of paper
of the largest size. The envoy who brought this extraordinary letter was
provided commodious quarters and excellent food but he expressed his
dissatisfaction at everything by shooting arrows into the house posts,
and by acting in a very boorish manner generally. The only man who could
do anything with him was Kim Heui-jo who charged him with killing a man
in Eui-ji, and threatened to have him imprisoned. Thus meeting bluster
with bluster he made the brutal northerner listen to reason. When the
envoy was about to go to an audience with his weapons in hand, this same
Kim made him lay them aside. Other Mongol and Yo-jin messengers came and
Kim managed them all so well that no trouble arose.

It was becoming apparent that the Mongols were likely at any time to
make a descent upon Koryŭ; so, in the following year, 1222, a wall was
built near the Yalu river, extending from Eui-ju to Wha-ju. It is said
that this was completed in the marvelously short space of forty days, a
feat which shows not only how great a power Koryŭ could exert when
necessary but how important she deemed it that this wall should be
built.

1223 A.D. marks the beginning of that long series of depredations which
Japanese freebooters inflicted upon Koryŭ between 1200 and 1400. In this
year they landed on the coast of Kyŭng-sang Province and ravaged the
district of Keum-ju. With the opening of the next year, a Mongol envoy
came modifying the demand for tribute to sea otter skins only. The Kin
dynasty was now tottering to its fall but was destined to cling to life
for another ten years. This year saw it nearly fall before the Mongol
power. Koryŭ therefore discarded the Kin calendar. The friendship
between the Mongols and Koryŭ was destined to be rudely broken in the
year 1225, and through no fault of the latter except the inability to
keep order in her own territory. The Mongol envoy, returning to the
north, was set upon by a Koryŭ highwayman and was robbed of the gifts
which he was carrying home. Thus all friendly relations were ruptured
and another step was taken toward the final catastrophe. This year also
witnessed another Japanese raid in the south.

[Illustration: _FERRY ACROSS THE HAN._]

The Yŭ-jin who had now assumed the Mongol clothes, and were in reality
an integral part of the Mongol power, made a descent upon Koryŭ in 1226
in the vicinity of Eui-ju. The prefect deemed it too pressing a matter
to wait till word could be received from Song-do, so he sent a thousand
men immediately against the raiders and drove them back. The king
forgave the irregularity but refused to reward him.

Ch‘oé U who, as we know, was the prime minister, was duped by a diviner
into believing that he was to become king some day, and he foolishly
divulged the secret to a certain Kim, and soon it became common
property. As punishment for this, as well as to get himself out of
trouble, Ch‘oe U had both Kim and the diviner drowned.

The depredations of the Japanese were without the cognizance of the
Japanese government and were against its wish. This appears from the
fact that when in 1227 an envoy, Pak In, was sent to Japan to
remonstrate against them, the government of that country acquiesced and
arrested and killed a number of the corsairs.

Both this year and the next Yŭ-jin bands ravaged the northern part of
Koryŭ, but at the same time asked that a treaty be concluded. The ink
was hardly dry on this before it was broken by the very ones who
advocated it.

Ch‘oe U followed in his father’s steps and having established himself in
the viceroyship began to abuse the people, stealing houses and lands
from them wherewith to build himself a princely mansion, two hundred
paces long. In the court of it he had mock battles and the soldiers
played at ball. The expense of this was borne by the people, whose faces
were already being ground to furnish the regular revenue. His younger
brother, Hyang, who long since been had banished, attempted to raise an
insurrection in favor of the exiled king; but Ch‘oe U sent a strong
force and chased his brother until he was run to earth in a cave among
the mountains where he was killed.

It was now the year 1231, the year which saw the outbreak which had been
threatening ever since Genghis Khan came to the chieftainship of the
Mongol armies. As the spring opened a powerful Mongol army moved
southward across the Yalu under the leadership of Sal Ye-t‘ap and took
the fortress of Ham-sin near Eui-ju. They followed this up by storming
Ch‘ŭl-ju which ended only after the prefect had set fire to his house
and destroyed his whole family and he and his associates had cut their
own throats.

The king did not intend to submit without a struggle. He sent Generals
Pak Sö and Kim Kyöng-sol at the head of a large army to operate against
the invaders. They rendezvoused with all their forces at Ku-ju, the four
gates of which were strongly barricaded. The Mongols commenced the
attack at the south gate. The Koryŭ soldiers made five brilliant sallies
and forced the enemy to retire. The honors of this victory fell to Gen.
Kim who pursued the enemy some distance and then returned to the town in
triumph. The Mongols, who seem to have been independent of any base of
supplies and made the country through which they passed supply them, now
left this town untaken and the Koryŭ army undefeated in their rear, and
marched boldly southward, taking Kwak-ju and Sŭn-ju. From this point the
Mongol general Sal Ye-t‘ap sent a letter to the king saying “Let us make
peace. We have now taken your country as far as Han-sin and if you do
not come to terms with us we will draw reinforcements from Yŭ-jin and
crush you.” The messenger who conveyed this very candid letter got only
as far as P‘yŭng-ju where he was seized by the people and imprisoned.
While waiting for an answer, the invaders tried another attack on Ku-ju
but with no better success. Not only so, but they were badly defeated at
Au-puk fortress.

The king now reinforced the army in the north and at the same time
feasted 30,000 monks at the capital in order to influence the celestial
powers to bring about a cessation of war. But at the same time the
Mongol forces were reinforced by Yŭ-jin troops and with high spirits
crossed the Ta-dong river and swept down to P‘yŭng-ju to wreak their
vengeance on that place where even yet the Mongol messenger with the
letter for the king was languishing in durance vile. By a night attack
they took the place, burned it to the ground, killed the prefect and
even destroyed every dog and other domestic animal in the place. Then
they advanced toward Song-do and soon appeared beneath its walls. There
the Mongol generals P‘o-do, Chŭk-kŭ and Tang-go went into camp. They
supplied their army by foraging all through the surrounding country, in
which operation thousands of people were killed, their houses destroyed
and their goods confiscated, especially all kinds of food. The people in
the capital were in the greatest distress. Ch‘oe U, the viceroy,
stationed all the best troops about his own house and left the inferior
troops to guard the palace.

The Mongol general Sal Ye-t‘ap was now in the north. The king had
already sent one messenger to ask for terms of peace and had received
the following answer; “I am emperor. If you wish to fight it out then
come on and fight. If not then surrender, and be quick about it, too.”
The king now sent another messenger on a similar errand. He returned
with two Mongol commissioners and three more soon followed. They were
immediately admitted to an audience and a conference followed, after
which the king sent rich presents to Gen. Sal Ye-t‘ap who seems now to
have joined the main army before Song-do, and also to the other
generals. What the result of the conference was is, for some reason, not
stated in the records, but that it was not entirely satisfactory to the
Mongols, or if satisfactory not sufficiently so to make them forego the
pleasure of plundering, is seen from their next move, for they left
Song-do and went southward to the center of the peninsula, the rich
province of Ch‘ung-ch‘ŭng.

The cowardly prime minister showed his colors by sending a man to find a
retreat for him on the island of Kang-wha, but the messenger fell into
the hands of Mongol foragers.

Gen. Sal Ye-t‘ap had gone north and joined another division of the
Mongol army and again he attacked Ku-ju. He made engines of war called
_ta-p‘o-ch‘a_, a sort of catapult, with which to reduce this town, but
the magistrate, Pak Sö also made similar instruments which hurled huge
stones, and the besiegers were compelled to retire to a distance and
take refuge behind various kinds of defenses. The Mongols made three
attempts to deceive the prefect by forged letters purporting to be from
the king and saying “I have surrendered and therefore you must submit,”
but Pak Sö was not to be caught by so simple a trick. The besiegers then
tried huge scaling ladders, but these were cut down by the defenders as
fast as they were put in place. An aged Mongol general, who made a
circuit of the town and marked the splendid state of defense into which
the place had been put, declared that he had never seen a place so well
defended.

So the little town stood and the great Mongol general was forced to seek
other fields for the display of his prowess. He sent a letter to the
king finding fault because of the death of the first Mongol messenger
and modestly suggesting that peace could be secured if he would
surrender and give 20,000 horse-loads of clothing, 10,000 pieces of
purple silk, 20,000 sea-otter skins, 20,000 horses, 1,000 boys, 1,000
girls and 1,000,000 soldiers, with food, to help conquer Japan. In
addition to this the king must go to the Mongol court and do obeisance.
These were the terms upon which Koryŭ could secure peace.

With the beginning of the next year, 1232, the king sent two generals
bearing a letter of surrender. With it he sent seventy pounds of gold,
thirteen pounds of silver, 1,000 coats and a hundred and seventy horses.
He moreover stated that the killing of the Mongol messenger was not the
work of the Koryŭ government but of a band of insurgents and robbers.
The officials had to give their garments in order to make up the number
that was sent. Each prefect along the route was charged with the duty of
seeing that the Mongols were in no way molested.

But Pak Sö the prefect of Ku-Ju was an obstinate man and would not give
up his fortress even when he knew the king had surrendered. It was only
after a great deal of argument and expostulation that he at last
capitulated. The Koryŭ people wanted to kill him for his obstinacy but
the Mongols said “He is your greatest man and you should prize him
highly.”

So ended the first act of the tragedy, but it was not to be the last. A
Mongol residency was established at Song-do and Mongol governors were
stationed at important centers throughout the country. The Mongol
resident insisted upon entering the palace by the middle gate which the
king alone used, but it was shut and barred and he was not able to carry
his point. When the tribute above mentioned reached Gen. Sal Ye-t‘ap he
expressed the greatest dissatisfaction with it because it fell so far
short of what was demanded and he imprisoned the messenger who brought
it. The king sent an envoy to the Mongol capital saluting the emperor as
suzerain for the first time.



                              Chapter VI.

The king moves to Kang-wha.... a slave rebellion.... Mongol anger....
    second invasion.... Mongol charges.... popular insurrections....
    palace building.... the north occupied by Mongols.... Mongols not
    good seamen.... suffering and distress.... nature of Mongol
    occupation.... diplomacy.... temporary peace.... Gayuk Khan....
    Mangu Khan.... efforts to get the king out of Kang-wha.... great
    invasion of 1253.... an urgent letter.... king decides not to
    remove.... great fortress falls.... impossible demands.... siege of
    Ch‘un-ch‘ŭn.... Ya Gol-dă meets the king.... the king promises to
    return to the capital.... a ferocious governor-general.... exchequer
    depleted.... Cha Ra-dă before Kang-wha.... a beautiful reply.... a
    new viceroy.... succession of disasters.... viceroy overthrown....
    Mongol ravages.... the north defenseless.


That neither the Koryŭ king nor any of the officials believed that the
end of the trouble had come is evident. No sooner had the tumult of war
subsided than the question arose in the Koryŭ councils as to the moving
of the court. Some objections were made, but Choe U silenced them by
killing off a few of the objectors. As for the king, he could not make
up his mind to go; but the viceroy showed no hesitation. Seizing the
government carts he loaded his household effects upon them and moved to
the island of Kang-wha. He also urged the people to do likewise, and put
up placards threatening with death anyone who should speak against
removing. Meanwhile the people throughout the country were rising in
revolt against the Mongol governors and were driving them out. This was
sure to call down upon the troubled land another invasion, and the king
at last made up his mind to follow the example of his viceroy and move
to Kang-wha. A palace had been prepared for him there and on the
appointed day a start was made from the capital. It happened to be in
the midst of the rainy season when the roads are well-nigh impassable.
The whole cavalcade soon found itself mired, and torrents of rain added
materially to the discomfort. Even ladies of noble rank were seen wading
with bared limbs in the mud and carrying bundles on their heads. The
wailing and crying of this forlorn multitude was audible for a long
distance. Gen. Kim Chung-gwi was left to guard the capital. When the
king at last arrived on the island he found that the palace was not
ready for occupancy and he was obliged to live in a common house while
the officials shifted for themselves. Messengers were immediately sent
in all directions ordering the people to leave the mainland and seek
refuge on the islands.

The common people in Song-do were in utter confusion. Anarchy stared
them in the face. A slave by the name of Yi T‘ong gathered about him a
band of slaves and raised an insurrection. The general who had been
placed in charge was driven out, the monks were summoned to help in the
sack of the town and all the government buildings were soon looted. It
is hardly complimentary to Buddhism that her monks were invited by this
seditious rabble to help in these lawless acts but it is probably a true
picture of the times. When this came to the ears of the king he sent
Gen. Yi Cha-sung to put down the insurrection. The slaves barricaded the
road but the general dispersed them and at night gained admittance to
the city by feigning to be a deserter. Once within, he caught the slave
leader Yi T‘ong and the rest soon dispersed.

When the news of this exodus from the capital and the driving out of the
Mongol governors reached the Mongol capital is caused a sensation. The
emperor, in a white heat, sent a messenger post-haste to Song-do and
behind him came a powerful army. The demand was “Why have you changed
the capital? Why have our people been driven out?” The king replied that
the capital was changed because all the people were running away, but he
affirmed that although he had removed to Kang-wha his friendly feelings
toward the Mongols had not changed. To this the Mongols made the only
answer that was to be expected from them. They fell upon the northern
towns and put them to indiscriminate slaughter. Men, women and children
fell beneath their swords. Gen. Sal Ye-t‘ap himself came to attack
Cho-im fortress. In that place there was a notable archer. He shot with
unerring skill and every arrow found its victim. Aided by this man the
garrison offered such a stubborn resistance that the Mongols at last
fell back in disorder. It is said that Gen. Sal Ye-t‘ap himself was one
of the victims of this man’s superb marksmanship. The king offered him
official position but he would not accept it.

The spring of 1233 found the emperor’s anger somewhat abated and instead
of sending another army he sent another envoy with four formulated
charges. (1) No Koryŭ envoy had come to do obeisance. (2) Highwaymen had
killed a Mongol envoy. (3) The king had run away from his capital. (4)
The king had given false figures in the census of Koryŭ. We are not told
whether these were answered but we may infer that they were, and in the
humblest tone.

It would be singular indeed if, in such lawless times, there were not
many insurrections in the country. A considerable insurrection was
gotten up in Kyŭng-sang Province but was put down with a heavy hand, for
the records say that after the battle between the rebels and the loyal
troops the road for six miles was lined with dead. In P‘yŭng-yang
likewise there was a rising led by one Pil Hyŭn-bo. The King sent Gen.
Chöng I alone to settle the difficulty. He had already been a
P‘yŭng-yang prefect and had put down one insurrection. He was feared
throughout the whole section. As he approached the northern city his
servant besought him not to enter it, but he replied that such were the
king’s orders. So he went to his death, for the insurrectionists,
failing to win him over to their side, gave him his quietus. The viceroy
then sent 3,000 picked troops to the rebellious city. They took the
rebel leader, cut him in two and sent the fragments of his body to the
king. The second in command named Hong Pok-wŭn, fled to the Mongols, by
whom he was warmly welcomed. He became their guide in many subsequent
expeditions. These renegades were a source of constant trouble between
Koryŭ and the Mongols; so much so that the King took pains to show favor
to the parents and relatives of those who had fled to the Mongol flag.
This same year a second wall was built about Kang-wha. The king sent
asking the Mongols to recall the rest of their troops, and it was done.

With the opening of the following year, 1234, great numbers of people
were summoned to help in the building of a palace on Kang-wha. At this
time the utmost favor was shown to Buddhism. Sacrifices were offered on
all the mountains and beside the streams with the hope of enlisting the
sympathy of the gods. The viceroy also looked out for himself, for we
are told, probably with some exaggeration, that he built himself a house
twenty _li_ in circumference. It was in this same year that the Kin
dynasty became extinct.

With the opening of the next year the real occupation of the land by the
Mongols commenced. The north was systematically occupied, scores of
prefects being seized. The king of Kang-wha meanwhile was trying to
secure a cessation of these hostilities by turning sun-worshipper, for
every morning from seven to twelve the officials spent their time
worshipping that very useful, but hardly divine, luminary. The year
following increased the hopelessness of Koryŭ’s position a hundred fold,
for the Mongols established seventeen permanent camps in P‘yŭng-an and
Whang-hă Provinces. They came as far south as Han-yang, the present
Seoul. They then proceeded southward to the very extremity of the
peninsula, and camps were established through all that portion of the
land. The only reverse the Mongols met in this triumphal march was at
the hands of Son Mun-ju the prefect of Chuk-ju, now Chuk-san, who had
learned the tactics of the Mongols while serving in the north. Every day
he foretold successfully at what point the enemy would make the next
attack. People said he was inspired.

It would seem that the Mongols, however, did not remain long in the
south, for we read that when the standard of revolt was raised the
following year at Na-ju, the Koryŭ forces, sent by the king, speedily
overcame them. This would hardly have been likely had the Mongols been
in force in that vicinity.

We must remember that the Mongols were continental people and knew
nothing of the sea. Even the narrow strip of water between Kang-wha and
the mainland daunted them. And so it was that the king from his island
retreat defied the tremendous Mongol power.

By 1238, when the Mongols again flooded the country with their soldiery,
the people had mostly found refuge among the mountains and on the
thousands of islands which lie off the western coast of Korea. It would
be impossible for anyone to imagine the suffering and distress entailed
by these invasions. The records say that the people simply left their
houses and fields and fled to these places of refuge. What did these
hundreds of thousands of people live on as they fled, and after they
reached their places of retreat? What breaking of old bonds of
friendship and kinship, what rending of family ties and uprooting of
ancient landmarks! It is a marvel that the land ever recovered from the
shock. These Mongols were fiercer and more ruthless than the Japanese
who overran the country three centuries later and they were far more
numerous, besides. Plunder being their main motive, their marauding
bands covered a much greater territory and mowed a much wider swath than
did the soldiers of the great Hideyoshi, who kept to comparatively
narrow lines of march. Nor did these Mongols meet the opposition which
the Japanese met. The Mongols made a clean sweep of the country, and
never again do we read of those splendid armies of 200,000 or 300,000
men which Koryŭ was once able to put into the field, even when groaning
under the weight of a corrupt court and a rampant priesthood. It is from
these days that dates that utter prostration of Koryŭ’s power which left
her an easy prey to every Japanese freebooter who had 100 good swords at
his back.

After ravaging to their hearts’ content the Mongols withdrew in 1236 to
their own territory but sent a messenger ordering the king to go to
Peking and bow before the Mongol emperor. He refused, but sent instead a
relative by the name of Chŭn with a letter asking the emperor to excuse
him from attempting the difficult journey to the Mongol court. Again the
next year the same demand was made, but this time the king simply
declined to go. The Mongols then modified their demand and ordered the
King to come out from his island retreat and return to Song-do. This the
king had no intention of doing; but the next year he sent another
relation named Sun as a hostage to the Mongol court asserting that this
was his son. The emperor believed this and married Sun to one of his own
near relatives.

The Mongol emperor Ogdai died in 1242 and the queen dowager took charge
of affairs during an interval of four years, until 1246, when Gayuk
became emperor. This brought peace to troubled Koryŭ for a period of
five or six years. During this time, all that was left of her resources
was used up in sending five or six embassies to the Mongol court each
year. The moment the pressure of war was raised the king followed once
more the bent of his inclinations, and while the country was in the very
lowest depths of distress he feasted royally in his island retreat,
while the viceroy vied with him in the splendor of his entertainments.
It is said that at one feast 1300 musicians performed. Meantime the
people were slowly returning to their homes.

Gayuk Khan came to the Mongol throne in 1246, and it was the signal for
the renewal of hostilities against Koryŭ. At first four hundred men
came, ostensibly to catch sea-otter but in reality to spy out the
country and learn the mountain passes of the north. The king was not
expecting a renewal of hostilities, or else was too much taken up with
his feasting to attend to the defenses of the north; so the people fled
in panic before this handful of invaders. Many of them took refuge on
Wi-do Island off P‘yŭng-an Province and there engaged in agriculture.
They built a great dam across an estuary of the sea and reclaimed a
large tract of cultivable land, but they suffered badly from lack of
wells.

In 1249 Gayuk died and the regency again devolved upon the queen
dowager. Peace again reigned for a time, broken only by a single
attempted invasion by the Yŭ-jin people, which was unsuccessful. The
king began the erection of a new palace at Song-do in order to make it
appear that he intended to obey the standing injunction of his suzerain
to go back to the capital.

The Mongol regency ended in 1251 and Mangu Khan became emperor. An envoy
was immediately despatched to inquire whether the king had yet obeyed
this command, but as the answer was unsatisfactory the Koryŭ envoy who
appeared at the emperor’s court the following year was thrown into
prison and a last envoy was sent with instructions to settle the
question definitely. If the king would come out and return to his
capital the people might remain on Kang-wha, but if the king refused,
the envoy was to return with all haste to the Emperor and war would be
declared at once. A certain Korean, hearing about these instructions,
hastened forward and informed the king and urged that he go out and meet
the envoy. To this the king did not assent. When the envoy arrived the
king set a great feast for him, in the midst of which the Mongol arose
and, assuming a terrible aspect, demanded loudly why the king did not
leave the island and return to Song-do. Without waiting for an answer to
the question he strode out of the hall and posted back to the north. The
people were in dismay and said to each other, “This means war again.”

When the lengthening vernal sun of 1253 had melted the northern snows
this prophetic word was verified. The renegade Koryŭ general, Hong
Pok-wŭn, told the emperor that the king had triple-walled the island of
Kang-wha and would not move therefrom. War, ever welcome to these first
Mongol emperors, was now afoot. The first detachment of 10,000 troops
was led by the Emperor’s brother Song-ju. With many allies from the
Yŭ-jin and other tribes he crossed the Yalu. Then the Mongol general, A
Mo-gan, and the renegade Hong crossed and advanced as far as the Ta-dong
River. Following these came Gen. Ya Gol-dă with sixteen chieftains in
his train and with a formidable array of troops.

The envoy Sun who, we will remember, had married a Mongol princess, now
wrote an urgent letter to the king saying “The emperor is angry because
you persist in disobeying him and he is sending seventeen kings against
you. But he says that if you will leave the island and follow out his
commands he will even now recall the army. You have now an opportunity
of giving your country a lasting peace. If you leave the island, send
your son to the emperor and receive the Mongol envoy well, it will be a
blessing to the kingdom of Koryŭ. If you will not do this, I beg of you
to put all my family to death.”

Beneath this last appeal lay a terrible threat and the king realized it.
A great council was convened and the universal voice was in favor of
compliance; but a single voice was raised in opposition. It said “How
much treasure have we squandered on this insatiable barbarian, and how
many good men have gone as envoys and never returned. Let the king go
out now from this place of safety and when we behold him a corpse our
condition will be enviable indeed!” This word startles the assembly.
Cowards that they are, they rise to their feet and with one voice
applaud the stirring words and charge the king to stay in his island
fortress and still defy the savage of the north.

Gen. Ya Gol-dă now sent a messenger to the King purporting to be from
the Emperor saying “I have begun from the rising sun and I will conquer
to its going down. All people rejoice but you, who do not listen. I now
send Gen. Ya Gol-dă. If you receive him well, I will leave you in peace;
if not, I will never forgive the offense.” Immediately putting his
troops in motion the redoubtable general approached the strongest
fortress in Whang-ha Province. It was surrounded by almost perpendicular
precipices. The commandant laughed at the Mongols and defied them, and
feasted in their sight. But the Mongols, directing all their energy at a
single point, soon battered down a portion of the wall, set fire to the
buildings with fire arrows, and with scaling ladders effected an
entrance. The commandant hanged himself, and 4,700 of the garrison were
put to the sword. All children above ten years old were killed and all
the women were ravished.

Gen. Ya Gol-dă, being at To-san in Whang-ha Province, received a
plaintive letter from the king asking him to retire from the country. He
told the bearer of this missive “The Emperor says the king is too old to
bow. I am going to find out whether this is true. I will give him just
six days to get here.” The messenger argued the dangerous condition of
the road and said it could not be done in that time. Then the Mongol
forces turned eastward and began to destroy the fortresses and loot the
store-houses, at the same time sending to the king saying “If every
prefect in the land will send in a written surrender I will retire.”
This was impossible in the present state of turmoil, and it probably was
a mere pleasantry on the part of the Mongols.

The town of Ch‘un-ch‘ŭn was a rather formidable place and its siege and
fall offer some interesting indications of the method of Mongol warfare.
First a double fence or stockade was built around the town and outside
this a bank six feet high and a ditch correspondingly deep. Ere long the
supply of water in the town gave out and the people killed their cattle
and drank the blood. The distress was terrible. Cho Hyo-ip, a leading
man, seeing that there was no escape, first burned up his family and
then killed himself. The prefect fought until he was exhausted and then
threw himself into a burning house and perished. A party of the
strongest of the remaining soldiers made a fierce attack upon one
portion of the stockade and succeeded in breaking through, but they
could not force the bank and trench beyond. The enemy entered, razed the
town and burned the grain, and the women were carried away. During this
time the king was using the only means left for turning the tide of war.
He was worshipping every spirit that he could think of, and before every
large boulder. He raised all his ancestors several rounds in the ladder
of apotheosis; but it all seemed to have little effect upon the progress
of events. Another renegade, Yi Hyŭn, arose in the north and forced many
districts into his following.

In the course of time Gen. Ya Gol-dă arrived before the town of
Ch‘ung-ju in Ch‘ung-ch‘ŭng Province, but being unable to reduce it
without a regular siege, he left his main army there and came north to
the vicinity of Kang-wha. He then announced, “If the King will come out
and meet me here I will take my forces back across the Yalu.” With this
message he sent ten Mongol generals to the king. The latter complied,
and with a heavy guard came across the straits and met Ya Gol-dă at
Seung-ch‘ŭn-bu. Gen. Mong Go-dă was present with Ya Gol-dă at the
interview which followed. The Mongol general said “After we crossed the
Yalu into Koryŭ, thousands of your people fell every day. Why should you
think only of your own comfort while your people are dying thus by tens
of thousands? If you had consented to come out sooner, many lives would
have been saved. We now ought to make a firm treaty.” He added that
Mongol prefects must be placed in each district and that a force of ten
thousand in all must be quartered upon Koryŭ. To this the king replied
that with such conditions it would be extremely difficult for him to
return to Song-do. In spite of this the Mongol leader placed one of his
men in each of the prefectures. The only question which was discussed in
the royal councils was how to get rid of the Mongols. One man dared to
suggest that the Crown Prince be sent to intercede with the emperor. The
king flew into a rage at this but soon he was so far mollified as to
consent to sending his second son, Chang, with rich gifts to the Mongol
court, a course of procedure which once more drained the royal coffers
to the last farthing. The king had promised the Mongols to go back to
Song-do “gradually” as fast as preparations could be made, and also to
destroy the palaces in Kang-wha. The Mongols kept their word and retired
but as they went they plundered and ravaged. When they had gone the king
caught the renegade Yi Hyŭn and killed him and his son, and banished all
his adherents. This was a dangerous course, for this man had acted as
guide to the Mongols and the latter were more than likely to resent his
death. So it turned out, for an envoy came post from the Mongol court
complaining that only the king alone had come out from Kang-wha, and
that a man who had helped the Mongols had been slain for it. Whether the
king answered these complaints satisfactorily we do not know, but soon
the emperor developed a new plan. He sent Gen. Cha Ra-dă with 5,000
troops to become governor-general of Koryŭ. The emperor little knew what
sort of a man he was letting loose upon Koryŭ. No sooner had this beast
in human shape crossed the frontier than he began a systematic course of
extermination. He killed right and left, every living thing. The king
hastened to remonstrate but he answered “Unless all the people have
their hair cut I shall continue to kill.” The records say that he
carried into captivity the enormous number of 206,800 souls, both men
and women, and that of the dead he left behind no estimate was ever
made. When the emperor heard of this, even his fierce heart was touched,
and the next year, 1255, he recalled the monster. The latter obeyed but
on his way north he built fortified camps along the way, for future use.

In spite of the thanks which the Koryŭ king sent to the emperor for this
deliverance, the latter allowed this same general to come back with a
powerful force, and accompanied by the same former envoy, Sun, who had
married the Mongol princess. The king had to go out and meet them and
waste his remaining treasure in useless presents. So thoroughly was his
exchequer depleted that his own table was but ill supplied.

The two countries were now nominally at peace, but as Gen. Cha seemed
bent on fighting, there seemed to be nothing to do but to fight. Some of
his soldiers were roughly handled at Chung-ju where a thousand were
killed. Again in the east a large detachment of his troops were heavily
defeated.

At last Gen. Cha came, in his sanguinary wanderings, to the vicinity of
Kang-wha and displayed his banners in sight of that island, to the great
uneasiness of its occupants. Sun, the renegade, was now a Mongol general
and was as bitter against Koryŭ; as any of the northern savages.

The king, in despair, sent Kim Su-gan to the emperor to make a last
appeal to his clemency, but the emperor replied “I cannot recall my
troops, for your king will not come out from his retreat”. To this the
envoy made the beautiful reply, “The frightened quarry will not come
forth from its hole till the hunter has departed. The flower cannot
spring from the frozen sod”. Upon hearing this the emperor immediately
gave orders for the recall of the ruthless Gen. Cha.

Ch‘oe Hang the son of Ch‘oe U, had held the position of viceroy for
eight years. His course had been one of utter selfishness and
oppression. Many honorable men had met their death at his hands. He now
died, leaving a son, Ch‘oe Chung, a young man of considerable power.
When the viceroy died his retainers did not announce the fact until the
household had been put in readiness for any emergency and a strong armed
guard had been stationed at every approach. We can argue from this fact
that the viceroyalty was anything but pleasing to the king and that in
case the viceroy died the king would be glad of an opportunity to
abolish the office altogether. Subsequent events proved the truth of
this supposition. When everything was in readiness the death was
announced and the young man Ch‘oe Chung was put forward as viceroy. The
king was obliged to confirm him in the office. He had no power to
refuse. Ch‘oe Jung was a son by a concubine and from this time the
annals contain no mention of men’s birth on the mother’s side. This was
because Ch‘oe Jung killed everybody who was heard speaking slightingly
of his birth. If anyone had a spite against another he could always
effectually vent it by charging him with having said that Ch’oe Chung
was of common birth.

Disaster and distress followed each other thick and fast in these days.
An insurrection arose in Kang-wŭn Province under the leadership of one
An Yul, but was put down. A famine wasted the country and the poor were
fed out of the government supplies. The Mongols though nominally at
peace with Koryŭ seemed to consider the territory as their legitimate
foraging ground, and now they came walking through the land, coming even
to the gates of Song-do. The king sent Gen. Yi Eung and feasted the
unwelcome guests in the hope of inducing them to leave the unhappy
country. It was a vain hope. They turned southward and continued their
thieving across the Han River even to Chik-san. The king feasted them
again and asked them to desist. The leader replied that he would do so
if the king would come out of Kang-wha and send the Crown Prince to the
Mongol court. As this leader was that same Gen. Cha who had once been
recalled by the emperor for cruelty, we may easily understand how
anxious the king was to be rid of him, at any cost. He therefore
consented to the conditions, and Gen. Cha retired as far as Yŭn-ju and
ordered all the detachments of his army to desist from plundering. The
king kept his word, in part at least, for he sent not the Crown Prince
but his second son together with Ch’oe Chung.

Ch’oe Chung used his wits for the purpose of personal emolument and his
credulity also led him into all kinds of difficulties. His grand mistake
was in casting off an aged slave, Kim In-jun, who had served his father
and grandfather faithfully and deserved better treatment at the young
man’s hands. The worm, thus trodden upon, turned and bit to the bone. It
was as follows. The aged servant, gaining access to the king, told him
that the young viceroy was dead and in a moment secured another man as
leader of the soldiers. Clad with his new power the vengeful old man
caught and killed some of the most intimate friends of the viceroy and
in the early morning gained access to the viceroy’s house and hunted him
from room to room. He found him hidden in a disused chimney flue from
which he was speedily drawn forth and dispatched. When the old slave
announced this to the king the latter said “You have done me a great
favor”, and could hardly refrain from tears. The king then destroyed the
picture of Ch’oe Chung-heun who had founded the viceroyalty, and
distributed the ill-gotten wealth of the Ch’oe family among the people.
It is said that even the lowest citizen received at least three bags of
rice or other grain. At the same time all Ch’oe’s following were
banished.

The year 1258 had now come, the last that the aged king Ko-jang was
destined to see. In this year the Mongols came again as usual. They
began by building and garrisoning a fortress at Eui-ju. Then Gen. Cha
Ra-dă with a small body of a thousand troops came southwards as far as
Su-an in Whang-hă Province. It shows how utterly shorn of power Koryŭ
was, that this general should dare to penetrate so far into the land
with only a thousand men at his back. Hearing of this the aged king
decided to try a little artifice. He came out of Kang-wha, across the
straits to Tong-jin on the opposite bank, in order to make it appear
that he had complied with the emperor’s command. Gen. Cha demanded that
the crown prince also come out. He made a line of camps all the way from
Song-do to Tong-jin and settled down as if he intended to stay and see
his orders obeyed. The king had retired to the island again upon the
near approach of the Mongols and now the latter redoubled their demands
and ravaged more remorselessly than ever. They swarmed all about
Kang-wha and nothing but a narrow strip of water lay between the king
and that more than half savage army. The water proved, however, an
effective barrier. All this time another Mongol force under Gen. San
Gil-dă was wasting the northern and eastern districts, The people of
Wha-ju and of fourteen other towns, led by one Sin Chip-pyŭng sought
refuge on Cho-do island but finding this insecure, moved to another; but
some Koryŭ renegades led Mongol troops there and overthrew the little
colony.

The king now altered his tactics. Sending an envoy to China he said “I
have desired to obey the emperor but hitherto I have been prevented by
the powerful officials. Now that the viceroy has been put out of the way
I will go back to Song-do and do as you shall direct. But we are
surrounded by your soldiery and it is hard to move. We are like mice
when the cat is about. Let them be ordered back home and I will do as
you direct.”

Meanwhile two traitors in the north had overpowered the Koryŭ general
and had gone over to the enemy. The whole north was therefore without a
single defence and was being held by these two traitors under Mongol
orders. Such was the unhappy condition of affairs when the year 1258
came to a close.



                              Chapter VII.

The Mongols a fixture.... a royal envoy.... his reception.... palaces on
    Kang-wha destroyed.... the regency.... Mongol troops ordered
    away.... standing complaint.... a singular custom.... pirates....
    the prince finds Kublai Khan.... the prince returns to Korea....
    Mongol policy conciliatory.... again suspicious.... tribute
    remitted.... king goes to China.... Sun silenced.... Chinese envoys
    to Japan.... accompanied by Korean envoys.... Kublai’s message to
    Japan.... specified charges against Koryu.... Mongol general
    murdered.... envoys to Japan shabbily treated.... Kublai orders
    Koryu to aid in the invasion of Japan.... Kim Ehun destroyed....
    Japanese captives sent to Peking.... revolution.... the emperor
    threatens.... king reinstated.... king goes to China.... his
    requests.... returns.... sedition.... preparations to invade
    Japan.... officials’ wives restored.... a remarkable
    commissioner.... Kublai proclaims the Yuan empire.... Japanese
    envoy.... rebellion on Quelpart.... finances in bad shape.... Koryu
    falsely accused.... rebellion stamped out.... Koreans build boats
    for the Mongols.... the army of invasion.... the expedition sets
    sail.... attack.... driven back by storms.... the king’s Mongol
    queen.... Mongol coiffure and dress.... argument for plurality of
    wives.... women’s rights.... another envoy to Japan.


The year 1259 opened with the sending of an envoy to China but he was
waylaid, robbed and killed by Koryŭ ruffians; thus Koryŭ was ever
discredited in the eyes of China. The Mongols now began to make fields
about P‘yŭng-yang with the intention of making that city a permanent
Mongol center. They repaired the walls of the town and constructed new
war boats on the river.

The king came to the decision that there was no possibility of ridding
himself of this incubus but by sending the crown prince to China. When
Gen. Cha Ra-dă heard of this he was highly pleased. Of course it would
appear that he had brought about this happy result. This was in the
third moon and Gen. Cha expected the arrival of the prince the following
month. When he heard that he was not to start till the fourth moon he
was angry; the king therefore hurried the preparations and sent the
prince off in the third moon. The escort consisted of forty men, and
there were three hundred horse-loads of gifts. In good time all arrived
at the court of the Mongol emperor. Gen. Cha however did not enjoy his
triumph, for at this very time he sickened and died.

When the prince arrived at the Chinese court the emperor was away on a
campaign against the Sung Empire in the south; so he announced himself
to the official in charge at the capital, Song Kil. The latter asked if
the king had as yet gone back to Song-do, to which the prince replied in
the negative, but added that the king would go as soon as possible if
the emperor demanded it. Song Kil rejoined “How can we recall the
soldiers so long as the king does not leave Kang-wha?” The Prince
replied “Gen. Cha said that if I came the troops would be recalled. If
they are not recalled the people will have no hope except in flight.”
When Song Kil heard this he countermanded an order which had been given
for additional troops to be sent into the peninsula. Word was sent,
instead, ordering the destruction of the palaces on Kang-wha. The order
was obeyed and it is said that the fall of the buildings sounded like
distant thunder. But the aged king who had suffered so many vicissitudes
of fortune was not to survive this great shame, and in the summer of
1259 he passed away.

Koryŭ was now without a king and the crown prince was far away in China.
It was decided to form a regency to act until the return of the prince.
At first it was conferred upon the second son of the deceased king but
the officials, remembering that the dying king had said “Put my grandson
in as regent until the prince returns”, made the change, and the crown
prince’s son, Sun, became regent pending his father’s return.

As the Mongol troops continued their depredations in the north an envoy
was again dispatched to the emperor’s court. As the latter was still
away campaigning in the south the envoy made bold to follow him up. He
passed Chŭk-san and finally found the emperor at Hyŭp-ju and delivered
his message. The emperor said “If you profess to be friendly with me why
are you always talking about my troops being in the way? Yet since the
crown prince has come to China I am willing to show you this favor”. He
thereupon sent an order for the retirement of all Mongol troops from
Korea.

Some busybody told the emperor that Koryŭ had no desire to hold faith
with China and in consequence an envoy came in haste to Song-do
demanding why the people who had fled to the islands did not return to
their homes. The reply was that the detention of the prince in China was
a cause of uneasiness and that even if he returned it would take at
least three years to get the people back to their homes; how much less
could it be done with the prince in China. This then became the standing
complaint of the Mongols, that the Korean people would not come back to
the mainland.

By this time the uncertainty of affairs and the fact that the central
government was weak and the Mongols still numerous caused great
instability in the north. The people were easily induced to revolt on
the slightest provocation. It became a regular custom for the people, if
they did not like their prefect, to kill him and transfer their
allegiance to the Mongols. The central government did not dare to punish
them, for this would provoke the Mongols, and reprisals would be in
order. At the same time there was trouble in the south, for pirates from
both Japan and the Sung kingdom of southern China kept ravaging the
island of Quelpart. An official was sent from Song-do to take in hand
the defense of the island but the people found him worse than the
pirates had been.

It was in 1260 that the crown prince followed the emperor southward, but
soon after reaching the emperor’s camp the latter died in the town of
Hap-ju and Gen. A-ri Pal-ga took the reins of power arbitrarily. The
prince knew that the great general Hol-p‘il-ryŭl (Kublai) would
doubtless become emperor in spite of this seditious movement on the part
of A-ri Pal-ga; so he secretly effected his escape from the latter’s
camp and struck directly across the country to Kang-nam where he found
Hol-p‘il-ryŭl in charge of an army, and, informing him of the emperor’s
decease, they both hastened toward Peking. It was not till the crown
prince returned to Peking that he learned of his father’s death and he
hastened to assume the mourner’s garb.

The emperor, Kublai Khan, sent him back to Koryŭ with great honor,
believing that, as he was to become king of Koryŭ, the vassal power
would thus become more closely united to China. Two Mongol generals came
with him as escort. These were Sok Yi-kă and Kang Wha-sang. On the way
these generals were told by a Koryŭ renegade that the crown prince would
change the capital to Quelpart. They asked the prince to face this man
and deny the charge but he assumed a royal attitude and exclaimed “I
would cut off my hair and become a slave before I would meet the
villain”. The generals were ashamed to press the matter. As they
approached Kang-wha the prince’s son, the acting king came with a great
retinue to meet them at Che-jung Harbor, where they all took boat and
crossed to the island. As the Mongol generals strongly urged the king to
go back to Song-do, the latter sent many of the officials back there in
order to make it appear as if he would follow shortly. All Mongol
soldiers were now recalled from Koryŭ and all their prefects as well.
The emperor likewise gave the king a present of seals, clothing, bows,
arrows, silks and other articles of value. The king so far conceded to
the wishes of his suzerain as to remove from Kang-wha to Tong-jin on the
adjacent mainland, from which, however, it was but half an hour’s sail
across to the island again. In addition to this the king sent the heir
apparent to China with gifts, of which, in view of the depletion of
Koryŭ’s treasury, the officials gave the greater part out of their
private means. The main request preferred at Kublai’s court was that he
would not listen longer to the representations of Koryŭ renegades whose
one object was to stir up strife and keep the countries at war with each
other. The emperor assented to this.

In 1261 the emperor made a requisition upon Koryŭ for a large amount of
copper and lead. The king did not have the copper and yet did not dare
to refuse; so he sent to A-t‘o in China and bought copper and delivered
it as ordered, but told how he had procured it. The emperor charged him
with lying and claimed that he was remiss in her duties as a vassal. He
moreover ordered that the king take a census of Koryŭ, establish a horse
relay system, train soldiers and prepare provisions for an army. The
king was unable to comply and an estrangement grew up between him and
the emperor which was unfortunate for both. Hong Ta-gu, a Koryŭ
renegade, took advantage of this to charge the Koryŭ prince, who was
then in Peking, with having insulted the Mongol crown prince. The
emperor believed the charge and cut off the Koryŭ prince’s revenues and
treated him with marked coldness. Hong also poisoned the emperor toward
Koryŭ by intimating that she would soon attempt to throw off the yoke of
China. But by the following year the relations seem to have become
cordial again, for when the king asked that the tribute be remitted on
the ground of the heavy expense of rebuilding palaces at Song-do, the
emperor not only consented but sent a present of 500 sheep. Koryŭ was
also fortunate in the sending of an envoy to Japan, for he returned with
a large amount of rice and cloth from Tsushima, which had been stolen by
Japanese corsairs.

In 1263 the king was ordered to repair to Peking. A long discussion
followed, some of the courtiers advising one thing and some another. The
monks at this time said, in effect, “I told you so”, for they had long
ago promised the king that if he would favor them he would not be called
to Peking. But go he did, leaving his son to administer the kingdom in
his absence. Sun, whom we will remember as the Koryŭ gentleman who had
married a Mongol princess and who was thoroughly Mongolized, told the
emperor that there were 38,000 troops in Koryŭ and that someone should
go and bring them to China where they could act as allies for the
Mongols in their conquests. To this Yi Chang-yung, who was in the king’s
retinue, answered. “Formerly we had that number of soldiers but many
have died and few are left. If the emperor cannot believe this let him
send Sun with me to Koryŭ and we will review all the troops and learn
the truth.” This was a telling blow, for Sun knew that if he once
crossed into Koryŭ territory his life would not be worth an hour’s
ransom; so he discreetly held his peace. The king came back to Song-do
in December of the same year.

In 1264 the Japanese pirates made another descent upon the shores of
southern Koryŭ but were driven away by the royal forces under Gen. An
Hong.

In 1265 the seed was sown that led to the attempted invasion of Japan by
the Mongols. A Koryŭ citizen, Cho I, found his way to Peking and there,
having gained the ear of the emperor, told him that the Mongol power
ought to secure the vassalage of Japan. The emperor listened favorable
and determined to make advances in that direction. He therefore
appointed Heuk Chŭk and Eun Hong as envoys to Japan and ordered them to
go by way of Koryŭ and take with them to Japan a Koryŭ envoy as well.
Arriving in Koryŭ they delivered this message to the king and two
officials, Son Kun-bi and Kim Ch‘an were appointed to accompany them to
Japan. They proceeded by the way of Kö-je Harbor in Kyŭng-sang Province
but were driven back by a fierce storm and the king sent the Mongol
envoys back to Peking. The Emperor was ill satisfied with the outcome of
the adventure and sent Heuk Chŭk with a letter to the king ordering him
to forward the Mongol envoy to Japan. The message which he was to
deliver to the ruler of Japan said “The Mongol power is kindly disposed
toward you and desires to open friendly intercourse with you. She does
not desire your submission but if you accept her patronage the great
Mongol empire will cover the earth.” The king forwarded the message with
the envoys to Japan, and informed the emperor of the fact.

Meanwhile the emperor was being worked upon by designing men who were
seeking to injure Koryŭ. They succeeded so well in their designs that he
sent an envoy bearing a list of specified charges against the king. (1)
You have enticed Mongol people to Koryŭ. (2) You did not feed our troops
when they were in Koryŭ. (3) You persistently refuse to come back to the
capital. (4) When our envoy went to Koryŭ you had a spy watch him. (5)
Your tribute has not been at all equal to the demand we made. (6) You
brought it about that the Japanese did not accept our offer. The
emperor’s suspicions continued to increase until finally he sent a
general, U-ya Son-dal, to demand that Yi Chang-yong and Kim Chun, two of
the most influential officials of Koryŭ, together with the father and
son of the latter, be brought to Peking. Kim Chun, on learning of this,
advised that the envoy be promptly killed and that the king remain in
some island, out of harm’s way. But the king knew that such a course
would be suicidal and firmly refused. So Kim Chun himself put Gen. U-ya
Son-dal to death and then announced the fact to the court. The king and
court were dumbfounded at his temerity but dared not lay hands on him,
though they all felt sure they would suffer for his rash act.
Fortunately for them, however, other events of great importance were
happening which distracted the attention of the emperor and secured
immunity from punishment. These events we must now relate.

The Mongol and Koryŭ envoys, upon reaching the Japanese capital, were
treated with marked disrespect. They were not allowed to enter the
gates, but were lodged at a place called T‘ă-jă-bu, outside the west
gate of the city. There they remained five months, and their
entertainment was of the poorest quality. And at last they were
dismissed without receiving any answer either to the emperor or to the
king.

Kublai Khan was not the kind of a man to relish this sort of treatment
and when he heard the story he sent a messenger straight to Koryŭ
telling the king “I have decided to invade Japan. You must immediately
begin the building of one thousand boats. You must furnish four thousand
bags of rice and a contingent of 40,000 troops.” The king replied that
this was beyond his power, for so many of the people had run away that
workmen could not be secured in sufficient numbers. The emperor,
however, was resolute and soon sent an envoy to see if his orders were
being carried out, and to make a survey of the straits between Koryŭ and
Japan, in the vicinity of Heuk-san Island. The emperor could scarcely
believe that the Japanese would dare to treat his envoy so
disrespectfully as had been reported and he suspected that it was some
sort of ruse that the king of Koryŭ had been playing on him; so he
decided to send his envoy Heuk Chŭk once more to Japan. This time also
he was accompanied by a Koryŭ envoy, Sim Sa-jŭn.

Meantime Kim Chun finding that his foul murder of the Mongol envoy went
unpunished, became prouder and more headstrong. His son stole two
boatloads of vegetables intended for the king’s own table. This roused
the ire of the king. Kim Chun might kill all the Mongol envoys he wished
but when it came to stealing from the king’s table something must be
done. There was only one official, Im Yun, who hated Kim Chun worse than
he feared him and the king selected this man for the work in hand.
Sending away all the other officials to a neighboring monastery to
sacrifice to Buddha for his health, he summoned Kim Chun and, when he
had him at his mercy, let Im Yun fall upon him with a club and take his
life. Kim Chun’s brother likewise fell the same day and the household of
the offender was broken up. The usual impotence of the king was
illustrated here by the very trick to which he was forced in order to
rid himself of his traitorous subject.

The spring of 1268 opened, and still the envoys had not returned from
Japan. The Koryŭ people managed to capture some Japanese from Tsushima
who had come near the Korean coast. They were sent to Peking together
with an envoy. The emperor was delighted, showed the captives all over
the palace and reviewed the army before them. After showing them all the
grandeur of the Mongol court, he sent them back to tell their king about
it and to urge him to make friends with the great Yuan empire. This same
year the crown prince went to the Mongol court.

Im Yun, whom the king had used as an instrument for the removal of the
obnoxious Kim Chun, did not intend to go without his reward. He began to
plan how he might become a king-maker himself. He desired to depose the
king and put another in his place who would be quite subservient to
himself. To this end he began to banish those who might oppose him in
this scheme, and at last when he had cleared the way and deemed the time
ripe, he surrounded himself with a powerful guard and called all the
officials to a council. He told them that the king desired to kill him,
but rather than die tamely he was resolved to do something desperate. He
asked them if they agreed, but no man dared to open his mouth. Then
putting on his armor he led the way to the palace and proclaimed Chang
as king. This Chang was a distant relative of the king. He also made all
the officials bow to him. The records say that this deed was accompanied
by a tremendous storm of rain in which the deposed king was driven forth
on foot. Im Yun and his lewd followers then proceeded to loot the
palace.

The parvenu Chang, at the instance of Im Yun sent an envoy to the Mongol
court saying that the king had handed over the reins of government to
him. The king’s son, who had gone but lately to the Chinese court, was
now on his way home. He arrived at night on the farther bank of the Yalu
River and was there met by a secret messenger who had crossed in the
dark to tell him that Chang had usurped the throne and that soldiers had
been stationed at Eui-ju to kill him when he arrived. So the Prince
turned and hastened back to the emperor and a letter was immediately
dispatched demanding the reinstatement of the rightful sovereign. After
two such appeals had remained unanswered the emperor threatened to send
an army to enforce the demand. The officials thereupon became afraid and
reluctantly put the rightful king back upon his throne. The emperor then
ordered both the king and the man who had deposed him to go to China in
order that the matter might be investigated. The king went but Im Yun
refused and sent his son instead. The emperor ordered the king to write
out the cause of the trouble but the latter feared that if he did so it
would make trouble for him when he went back, for Im Yun was a powerful
and unscrupulous man. He therefore told the emperor that he was troubled
with a lame hand that prevented his writing. Later however, in private,
he made the matter bare before the emperor and as a consequence Im Yun’s
son was thrown into prison. Before returning to Koryŭ the king asked the
emperor to bestow upon his son, the crown prince, the hand of one of the
Mongol princesses, to give him a Mongol escort back to Koryŭ, to place a
Mongol governor at P‘yŭng-yang and to return to the control of Koryŭ the
northern districts of the peninsula. The emperor consented to all but
the last of these requests. When the king came back to Song-do, Im Yun
attempted to oppose him but was speedily put down and decapitated.

Arriving at the capital the king went into camp outside the walls to
await the completion of the palace which was in course of construction.
The troops oppressed the people, and when the king ordered them to
disband they marched out in a body and went by boat to Chŭl-la Province
and began to act in a rebellious manner. A royal army, sent against
them, chased them into the island of Chin-do where they forced the
people to join their standards. Mongol and Koryŭ troops were sent
against them, but the people hated the Mongols so heartily that this
rather added to the difficulty than otherwise, and the disaffection,
spreading with increased rapidity, began to assume serious proportions.
The emperor learned of this and, believing that the king was hardly
equal to the task of managing the affairs of the government, sent a
commissioner to assume control at Song-do.

Matters stood thus when in 1270 the emperor determined to send another
envoy to Japan. Cho Yong-p‘il and Hong Ta-gu were appointed to this
important mission and they were joined in Koryŭ by the representative of
that country, by name Yang Yun-so. This embassy was charged with the
somewhat dangerous task of demanding the submission of Japan. The
emperor did not anticipate success in this, as is shown by the fact that
he had rice fields made in Pong-san, Koryŭ, to raise rice for an army of
invasion which he intended to launch upon Japan. For this work he
ordered the king to furnish 6000 plows and oxen, as well as seed grain.
The king protested that this was quite beyond his power, but as the
emperor insisted he sent through the country and by force or persuasion
obtained a fraction of the number demanded. The emperor aided by sending
10,000 pieces of silk. The Koryŭ army had dwindled to such a point that
butchers and slaves were enrolled in the lists. The rebel army had been
driven out of Chin-do, but a remnant had crossed over to Quelpart where
the kingdom of T‘am-na still flourished. Many of these rebels had been
captured on Chin-do and had been taken as captives to China. Now at the
request of the king they were sent back to Song-do for punishment. A
curious complication arose in connection with this. These rebels, when
they first went to Kang-wha had stolen the wives of many of the
officials there and had carried them south. These women accompanied
their newly acquired husbands to China; but now that they were all
returned to Song-do many of them again met their former husbands. Some
were received back gladly while others were not wanted, owing to new
arrangements which were quite satisfactory. But the king commanded that
all officials who found their former wives should take them back.

The emperor, influenced by evil-minded men who exaggerated the wealth of
the peninsula, demanded that Koryŭ send a large amount of timber to
China, but the king answered that he could not accomplish
impossibilities. The commissioner who had been sent was a capable man
and was well liked by the people in spite of his Mongol nationality. The
commissioner fell ill and was fast approaching his end. The king sent
him some medicine but he refused to take it, saying that if he took it
and yet died the emperor might charge the king with having made away
with him by poison. So the disease ran its course and the commissioner
expired amid the lamentations of the people. Their appreciation of this
Mongol’s kindness shows how badly they were accustomed to being
governed. Their high appreciation of his mild and just government
overcame even their prejudice against his birth.

It was in this same year that Kublai Khan proclaimed the name of his
empire Yuan.

When the Mongol and Koryŭ envoys returned from Japan they were
accompanied by a Japanese envoy. The king hurried them on to Peking
where they were received by the emperor with great delight, who hoped
that he had now gained his point. But he did not relax his preparations
for an invasion, for he commanded the king to hasten the construction of
boats and the collection of provisions. Everything however was hindered
by the rebels on Quelpart who built there a strong fortress and made it
a center from which to harry the southern islands and even parts of the
mainland. The exchequer was exhausted and the people could not endure
further taxation. Many of them fled from their homes to escape the
exactions of the government. It is said that one day the king himself
had to get along without any side dishes or condiments.

The land seemed doomed to misfortune. A marauding party of Japanese
landed at Keum-ju and the people, in fear of their lives, treated them
well and gave them whatever they asked for. This the renegade Hong Ta-gu
told the emperor with embellishments of his own and averred that Koryŭ
was making friends with Japan with a view to an invasion of China. The
action of the people of Keum-ju made this seem probable. This fed the
emperor’s suspicions of Koryŭ’s bad faith and added materially to the
overwhelming difficulties under which the land was already staggering.

The matter of the Quelpart rebels came to an issue when they began
ravaging the coast of Chŭl-la Province, burning at one place between
twenty and thirty ships and carrying away a number of Mongol soldiers as
prisoners. The following spring a strong body of Mongol and Koryŭ troops
crossed to Quelpart, overthrew the stronghold of the rebels and placed
there a garrison of 500 Mongol and 1000 Koryŭ troops.

The eventful year 1273 opened with a vigorous demand on the part of the
emperor that the king prepare 300 vessels, for which he was to supply
not only the labor but the materials as well. At the same time the
vanguard of the army of invasion, 5000 strong, came to Koryŭ, perhaps to
see that the commands of the emperor were promptly complied with. They
brought 33,000 pieces of silk to use in purchasing supplies for their
maintenance. Silk was the very last thing that the poverty-stricken
people of Koryŭ wanted, but it was forced upon them and they had to buy
whether they wished or not. The king in attempted obedience to the
Emperor’s demands assembled 3500 carpenters and other artisans necessary
to the building of the boats, and the work was begun.

The Mongol governor who had been placed at P‘yŭng-yang was a man of dark
and fierce aspect and he was universally feared and hated. He also
demanded the society of the fair sex and seized women right and left.
Famine stared the capital in the face and the emperor was obliged to
send 20,000 bags of rice to relieve the distress. In spite of the
inauspiciousness of the times the crown prince who had been plighted to
a Mongol princess was sent to Peking where the nuptials were celebrated.
No sooner had this been done than the emperor sent to Koryŭ the main
body of the army which was to cross the straits and attack Japan. It
consisted of 25,000 men. Thus slightingly did the great conqueror gauge
the prowess of the Island Empire.

King Wŭn-jong died while the prince was in China and the emperor
hastened to confer upon the latter the insignia of royalty and send him
back to take charge of affairs at home. This prince’s name was Ko,
posthumous title Ch‘ung-ryŭl. The princess, his wife, did not accompany
him to Koryŭ at first but waited to follow at leisure. When the young
king arrived at Song-do has first act was to send an escort to bring his
Mongol queen to him.

The events above recorded had followed thick and fast upon each other
and now the great and long contemplated invasion of Japan was about to
become an accomplished fact. The entire army of invasion rendezvoused on
the southeastern coast of Korea, opposite the islands of Japan. It
consisted of 25,000 Mongol troops under Generals Hol Ton, Hong Ta-gu and
Yu Pok-hyöng; and 15,000 Koryŭ troops under Gen. Kim Pang-gyŭng. The
flotilla that was to carry this army across the straits consisted of 900
boats. Sailing from the shores of Korea the fleet made for the island of
Iki near the mainland of Japan. Entering the harbor of Sam-nang they
found a small garrison stationed there. Generals Kim and Hong attacked
and routed this outpost, returning to the fleet, it is said, with 1000
heads. From this point they approached the mainland, landing at several
points for the purpose of making a general advance into the country. The
Japanese however attacked them briskly and checked the advance, but were
themselves checked by a Koryŭ General, Pak, whom the Mongols praised
highly for his valor.

It was a foregone conclusion that the allied Koryŭ and Mongol forces
must retire sooner or later. Forty thousand men could do nothing on the
Japanese mainland. So they retired slowly back to their boats. Nature
aided the Japanese, for a storm arose which wrecked many of the boats
and many more were scattered, so that the total loss to the allied
forces was something over 13000. The scattered remnants of the fleet
rendezvoused as best they could at the harbor of Hap and from there made
their way back to Koryŭ. So ended the first attempt to subdue the Land
of the Rising Sun.

Meanwhile events were not at a standstill in the peninsula. The king
went as far as P‘yŭng-yang to meet his bride. Escorting her back to the
capital he gave her a palace of her own, fitted up according to her
fancy. The records say that she had sheep skins hanging in the doorways.
This would probably be in accord with Mongol ideas. The former Queen was
lowered to the position of second wife or concubine. The Mongolizing
tendency had now gone so far that the king ordered the officials to
adopt the Mongol coiffure. The order was not obeyed until after long and
heated debate, but at last the conservatives were voted down and all
submitted to the new style. At the same time the Mongol dress was also
adopted.

An amusing incident is reported as having occurred about this time. A
courtier named Pa-gyu observed to the king, “The male population of the
country has been decimated but there are still plenty of women. For this
reason it is that the Mongols take so many of them. There is danger that
the pure Koryŭ stock will become vitiated by the intermixture of wild
blood. The king should let each man take several wives and should remove
the restrictions under which the sons of concubines labor.” When the
news of this came to the ears of the women they were up in arms, as
least the married portion; and each one read to her spouse such a
lecture that the subject was soon dropped as being too warm to handle.
When the king passed through the streets with Pa-gyu in his retinue the
women would point to the latter and say “There goes the man who would
make concubines of us all.”

In spite of the failure of the plan of invasion, the emperor could not
believe that Japan was serious in daring to oppose his will and so sent
another envoy demanding that the Japanese sovereign come to Peking and
do obeisance. We may well imagine with what ridicule this proposition
must have been received in the capital of the hardy islanders.



                             Chapter VIII.

A Queen huntress.... general tax.... a jealous Queen.... tribute.... a
    thrifty Queen.... lack of filial piety.... a termagant.... Mongol
    influence at its zenith.... second invasion planned.... corrupt
    court.... preparations for the invasion.... expedition sets sail....
    difficulties .... terrible catastrophe.... survivors.... retreat....
    new preparations.... the plan given up.... corruption.... famine in
    China.... northern cannibals.... at last driven back.... a son’s
    rebuke.... Timur Khan makes changes.... king abdicates.... family
    difficulties.... an abject king.... new slave law.... king goes to
    Peking.... Ch‘ung-sŭn ascends the throne.... a disgusted
    courtier.... a kingless country.... eunuchs elevated....
    reconstruction.... king of Mukden.... pander to the Mongol court....
    king’s father banished.... silver coin.


The sporting proclivities of the Mongol queen of Koryŭ were an object of
wonder and disgust to the people, for she was accustomed to accompany
the king in his expeditions and was as good a horseman as any in the
rout. It may well be imagined that the finances of the country were in
bad shape, and it was found necessary to reconstruct the revenue laws to
meet the constantly recurring deficit. For the first time in the history
a general tax was levied on all the people, high and low alike. Hitherto
taxes had been levied only on the better class of people. This tax was
called the _hop‘o_ which means “house linen,” for the tax was levied in
linen cloth. This shows that although coin circulated, barter was as yet
the main method of interchange of commodities.

The custom of dressing in white must be a fairly ancient one for we
learn that at this time the government ordered the use of blue instead
of white, as blue is the color that corresponds to east. The birth of a
son to the king’s Mongol consort was the signal for great rejoicings and
festivities. Everyone offered congratulations, even the discarded queen.

It is said that the king paid some attention to this former queen and
that it aroused the fierce jealousy of the Mongol queen. She declared
that she would write and complain to the emperor that she was being ill
treated. She was dissuaded from this by the earnest entreaties of the
officials. At the same time a further concession was made to the
Mongolizing tendency by changing the names of official grades to those
in use among the Mongols.

The emperor had not given up his plan of subduing Japan, and for this
purpose he began the preparation of boats in the south of Korea, calling
upon the Koreans to supply all the requisites. But this was not the only
use to which he put his Koryŭ vassal, for he also demanded women and
pearls; the former were taken from the men and the latter from the
women; and both were sent to the Mongol court.

The Mongol queen of Koryŭ was a thrifty woman and let no small scruples
stand in the way of the procuring of pin-money. She took a golden pagoda
from one of the monasteries and melted it down. The bullion found a
ready market. She also went into the ginseng raising business on her own
account, taking people’s fields by force and marketed the crop of
ginseng in Nanking, where it brought a good price. She thus turned an
“honest” penny. But it all went against the aristocratic tendencies of
the king. That the queen was not without a touch of superstition is
shown by the fact that she desisted from accompanying the king to the
grave of Wang-gön when told that the spirit of the founder of the
dynasty was a strong one and that if she went she might be attacked by
some dangerous disease.

When some one hinted to the queen that the former queen was plotting
against her life she promptly had her seized and put to the torture, and
it would have cost her her life had not the officials interfered and won
the inquisitors over to clemency. But her oppression of the people went
on unchecked and she sequestered so much of their property that hundreds
of people were driven into actual mendicancy. Even when news of her
mother’s death reached her she stopped feasting but a short time, to
shed a few conventional tears, and then resumed her revels. This was
perhaps her greatest offence in the eyes of the people of Koryŭ. But her
affection for her husband was very real for we learn that when he was
taken sick and she was told that it was on account of her lavish use of
money, she stopped building, sent away her falcons and restored a gold
pagoda to the monastery from which she had taken it. She had ideas of
her own as to the proper treatment of women by the sterner sex, for when
the king preceded her in one of the processions she turned back and
refused to go. The king went back to pacify her but she struck him with
a rod and gave him a round scolding. She was meanwhile doing a stroke of
business in sea-otter skins. She kept a large number of men hunting
these valuable animals, but when she found they were “squeezing” half
the catch she imprisoned the offenders.

It was not till 1279 that all the officials, high and low, military and
civil, had adopted the Mongol coiffure and dress. It was now that the
Mongol influence was at its zenith in the peninsula. In this year the
whole royal family made a journey to Peking and it was the signal for a
grand festival at that capital. It put an end once for all to the
suspicions entertained by the emperor relative to the loyalty of the
king of Koryŭ. The busybodies therefore found their occupation gone. On
their return the queen resumed building operations, seized over 300 of
the people’s houses and had a thousand men at work erecting a palace.

Meanwhile what of the Mongol envoy who had been sent to Japan with his
daring demand that the Japanese sovereign go to Peking and do obeisance?
He had been promptly killed, as might have been anticipated. When the
king sent word to Peking that the emperor’s envoy had been killed,
another invasion was immediately decided upon; and the king was charged
with the duty of preparing 900 vessels to transport a great army of
invasion across the straits. The king was hardly prepared for such an
undertaking. He was spending his time in revelry and debauchery. He
called to Song-do all the courtezans, sorceresses and female slaves and
had them join in singing obscene songs for the delectation of his
guests. His manner of life was in no sense worthy of his position. It is
not surprising therefore that famine found its way to Koryŭ the
following year, and the emperor had to give aid to the extent of 20,000
bags of rice.

The king wanted to lead the army of invasion, and so the emperor called
him to Peking to discuss the matter. But Hong Ta-gu talked the emperor
over and secured the post of general-in-chief himself. He raised 40,000
regular troops and another general raised 100,000 more among the vassal
tribes. The king advised that only the men from the dependent tribes be
sent, but that their number be increased. To this the emperor did not
consent, and soon the king came back to his capital where he went to
work preparing the 900 boats, 15,000 sailors and 10,000 bags of rice,
together with many other things that would be needed. The emperor sent
Hong to superintend these preparations and the king, being thrown
completely into the shade, could do nothing but obey orders. Hong was so
obnoxious to the king that he requested the emperor to remove him and
let Gen. Kim Pang-gyŭng superintend the work of preparation. To this
consent was given.

[Illustration: _CARRYING GOLD ORE TO THE MILL._]

It was in the next year, 1282, that all the troops rendezvoused at
Hap-p‘o, now Ch‘ang-wŭn, and prepared to embark. The king went down from
the capital to review the whole array. There were 1000 boats in all. Of
Koryŭ soldiers there were 20,070, of Mongols there were 50,000. The
soldiers from the dependent tribes, of which there were 100,000, had not
yet arrived. It is hard to say just who these 100,000 men were. The
records say they were from Kang-nam but they are also designated by
another character in the records which would imply a different origin.

Then the whole flotilla sailed away to the conquest of Japan. They made
for Tă-myŭng Harbor where the first engagement with the Japanese took
place. At first the invaders were victorious and 300 Japanese fell, but
when the latter were reinforced the Mongols drew back with great loss.
The allied forces then went into camp where it is said that 3000 of the
Mongols died of fever. Gen. Hong was very anxious to retreat, but Gen.
Kim said, “We started out with three month’s rations and we have as yet
been out but one month. We cannot go back now. When the 100,000
contingent arrives we will attack the Japanese again.” Soon the
reinforcements came.

The invading army now pulled itself together and sailed for the mainland
of Japan. As they approached it a storm arose from the west and all the
boats made for the entrance of the harbor together. As it happened the
tide was running in very strong and the boats were carried along
irresistibly in its grip. As they converged to a focus at the mouth of
the harbor a terrible catastrophe occurred. The boats were jammed in the
offing and the bodies of men and the broken timbers of the vessels were
heaped together in a solid mass, so that, the records tell us, a person
could walk across from one point of land to the other on the solid mass
of wreckage. The wrecked vessels contained the 100,000 men from the
dependent tribes, and all of them perished thus horribly, excepting a
few who managed to get ashore. These afterwards told their story as
follows: “We fled to the mountains and lay hidden there two months, but
the Japanese came out and attacked us. Being in a starving condition, we
surrendered, and those of us who were in fair condition were made slaves
and the rest were butchered.”

In that great catastrophe 8,000 Koryŭ soldiers perished, but the
remaining Koryŭ and Mongol forces, beholding the miserable end of the
main body of the invading army, turned their prows homeward and furled
their sails only when they entered a Koryŭ harbor.

At first the emperor was determined to continue the attempt to subdue
the Japanese, and immediately sent and ordered the king to prepare more
boats and to furnish 3,000 pounds of a substance called in the records
_tak soé_. The character _tak_ means a kind of wood from whose pulp
paper is made, and the character for _soé_ means metal, especially such
as is used in making money. Some have conjectured that this refers to
paper money, others that it simply meant some metal.

A Koryŭ citizen, Yu Ju, advised the emperor to use only Koryŭ troops and
the men from Kang-nam in his next invasion of Japan and to provide in
advance 200,000 bags of rice in the peninsula. The emperor thereupon
ordered the king to lay aside 40,000 bags with this end in view. The
king answered that if all his officials could get but ten thousand bags,
this greater number was surely out of the question. So he was told to
set aside as many as he could.

The following year, 1283, changed the emperor’s purpose. He had time to
hear the whole story of the sufferings of his army in the last invasion;
the impossibility of squeezing anything more out of Koryŭ and the
delicate condition of home affairs united in causing him to give up the
project of conquering Japan, and he countermanded the order for the
building of boats and the storing of grain.

The record of the next few years is hardly worth writing. The royal
family went to Peking with 1,200 men as escort and remained there six
months. Returning, they spent their time in trampling down good
rice-fields in the pleasures of the chase and in seeking ways and means
of making government monopolies of various important commodities,
especially salt. On a single hunting expedition 1,500 soldiers
accompanied the royal party afield. The queen developed a strange
propensity for catching young women and sending them to her people in
Peking. A law was promulgated that before a young man married he must
notify the government. This was done for the purpose of finding out
where marriageable girls lived so that they could be the more easily
seized and sent to China. One official cut off his daughter’s hair when
he found that she was to be sent to China. The king banished him for
this and beat the girl severely. It is said that these girls upon
arriving in China became wives, not concubines.

In 1289 a famine in China resulted in a demand for 100,000 bags of rice
from Koryŭ. The king was at his wits end but by great exertion and
self-sacrifice on the part of the officials 60,000 bags were collected.
They were sent by boat, but 6000 were destroyed in a storm and 300 men
were lost.

But now in 1290 a new element of danger appeared in the shape of the
wild tribe of T‘ap-dan across the northern border who began to ravage
the outlying Koryŭ towns. When they had penetrated the country as far as
Kil-ju the king sent an army against them, but more than 20,000 came
swarming down from the north and seized two districts in Ham-gyŭng
Province. They ate the flesh of men and dried the flesh of women for
future consumption. The Koryŭ troops held them in check at first. The
emperor sent 13,000 troops to reinforce the Koryŭ army. In spite of
this, however, the king felt obliged to take refuge in Kang-wha for fear
of surprise. The following year the T‘ap-dan savages came as far south
as Kyŭng-geui Province and all the officials and many of the people fled
before them. It was a literary man of Wŭn-ju who was destined to be the
first to bring them to a halt. Wŭn Ch‘ung-gap gathered about him all the
strong men of the neighborhood and drove back the van of the invading
force. Then the great body of the savage horde came and surrounded the
town. Wŭn killed the messengers they sent demanding surrender, and sent
back the heads as answer. A desperate attack was made but the little
garrison held firm till by a lucky chance a rumor of some kind caused a
panic among the attacking forces and in the stampede that followed every
man’s sword was at his neighbor’s throat. While this was going on Wŭn
and his fellows made a sudden sally and captured the savage chief To
Cha-do, and sixty of his attendants were cut down. The rabble then took
to their heels and from that day never dared to attack any considerable
town. The spell of terror which had held the people of Koryŭ was now
broken and they found no more difficulty in keeping these savages at
arm’s length. Ten thousand Mongol troops arrived and began a campaign
against these freebooters and in Ch‘ung-ch‘ŭng Province had a splendid
victory over them, leaving, it is said, a line of thirty _li_ of dead as
they pursued the flying enemy. When the Mongol troops went back home,
their general told the emperor that the war had destroyed the crops of
Koryŭ and that 100,000 bags of rice must be sent. The emperor consented,
but when the rice arrived the officials and men of influence divided the
rice among themselves, while the people went without.

All this time the crown prince was suffering a lively feeling of disgust
at the sporting propensities of his father, and now that he was about to
return from Peking he wrote his father a very sarcastic letter saying,
“As all the public money has been used up in hunting tournaments you
must not lay an extra expense upon the treasury by coming out to meet
me.” The king was ashamed and angry but went as far as P‘yŭng-ju to meet
his son and took advantage of the occasion to hunt along the way.

That Kublai Khan harbored no ill-will against the Japanese on account of
his failure to conquer them is shown by his sending back to their
country several Japanese whom the Koreans had caught and carried to
Peking. Two Koryŭ men carried them back to Japan; but the Japanese did
not return the courtesy, for the two Koryŭ messengers were never seen
again.

The king and queen were both in China when the emperor Kublai died and
they took part in the funeral rites, although the Mongol law forbade any
outsider to participate in them. Timur Khan succeeded Kublai. He
apparently had no intention of invading Japan, for of 100,000 bags of
rice which had been stored in Koryŭ for that purpose, he sent 50,000 to
the north to relieve a famine-stricken district. He also gave back to
Koryŭ the island of Quelpart which had been in Mongol hands since the
time when the Mongol and Koryŭ soldiers had put down the rebellion. From
this time dates the use of the name Ché-ju, which means “District across
the water,” and by which the island has ever since been known.

The king had now completed his cycle of sixty-one years and the
soothsayers were appealed to to read the future. They said evils were in
store and he was advised to give amnesty to all but capital criminals,
repair the tombs of celebrated men, give rice to the poor and remit
three years’ revenue. But gray hairs had not brought wisdom to the king.
His time was spent in frivolity and sensuality. The crown prince looked
with unfriendly eye on these unseemly revels and when, in the following
year, 1297, his mother, the Mongol princess, died, he claimed that her
death was due to one of the favorite concubines, and as a consequence
the suspected woman was killed. The prince had married a Mongol princess
in China and now at her summons he went back to China. The old man,
bereft of both wife and concubine, wrote the emperor that he wished to
surrender the reins of power into the hands of his son. The emperor
consented and in the following year the prince was invested with the
royal insignia, while his father was honored with the title “High King.”
The new queen was a Mongol and as she came to the Koryŭ capital a new
palace was constructed for her. But her royal husband saw fit to follow
the example of his forebears and take to himself a concubine. The queen,
by her frequent exhibitions of jealousy, lost what little love her lord
had ever felt for her. She was not long in letting the state of affairs
be known at Peking and soon an imperial mandate arrived consigning the
concubine and her father to prison. Then another came remanding both to
China. Then a high monk came to mediate between the king and queen. This
proved ineffectual and the emperor commanded both king and queen to
appear before him in Peking. It was done and the royal seals were put
back into the hands of the aged king. The prince and his unhappy queen
were kept in China ten years.

The close of the century beheld an old dotard on the throne of Koryŭ, so
incapable of performing the duties of his high office that the emperor
was obliged to send a man to act as viceroy while the old man spent his
time trifling with mountebanks and courtesans. The records state that he
had lost all semblance to a king.

The viceroy whom the emperor had sent was named Whal-yi Gil-sa, and one
of his first proposals was to do away with slavery; but objection was
raised that then a slave might become an official and use his influence
to wreak vengeance upon his former master. So a law was made that only
the eighth generation of a manumitted slave could hold office.

In 1301 an envoy was sent to Peking to make the audacious proposal that
the crown prince’s wife should be made the wife of a Korean official
named Chong. This was because the Koryŭ officials believed she had been
criminally intimate with him and they were anxious to get the prince
back on the throne. An official originated the scheme of having this
Chong take the prince’s wife and ascend the throne himself, but the
emperor ordered him thrown into prison. When this had been done the aged
king sent an envoy pleading that the prince be sent back to him. As this
was not granted the king himself went to Peking where he lodged at first
at his son’s house, but after a quarrel with him moved to the house of
the discarded princess, his daughter-in-law. The emperor tried to
mediate between father and son but without effect. Then he tried to send
the old man back to Koryŭ; but rather than go back the aged king took
medicine to make himself ill and so incapable of travel. He was fearful
that he would be assassinated on the way by his son’s orders.

The emperor died in 1308 and was succeeded by Guluk Khan. This young man
was the friend of the prince, and as a consequence the old king was
thrown into prison, his nearest friends killed or banished and the young
man was raised to a high position under the Chinese government and his
friends, to the number of a hundred and eighty, were made officials. But
it was the old man that the emperor finally sent back to Koryŭ to rule
at the same time he making the prince king of Mukden. Though so far away
from the capital of Koryŭ the prince was the one who really ruled Koryŭ,
so the records say. The father soon died and the prince immediately
proceeded to Song-do and assumed the throne in this same year 1308. His
posthumous title was Ch‘ung-sŭn.

He had been kept out of his own so long that he now proceeded to make up
for lost time, and vied with his father’s record in revelry and
debauchery. It is said that a courtier took an axe and went to the
palace, where he asked the king to decapitate him as the sight of these
excesses made him hate life. The king was ashamed, though we are not
told that he mended his ways.

In his second year he revived the government salt monopoly and put the
money into his private purse. Heretofore it had been divided between
certain monasteries and officials. The Mongol empress made him furnish
large quantities of timber from Păk-tu Mountain, floating it down the
Yalu. It was used in the building of monasteries. The whole expense was
borne by the king. The latter was now spending most of his time in
Peking. The Koryŭ officials earnestly desired him to come back to
Song-do, but he refused. There was a constant flow of eunuchs and
courtesans from Koryŭ to Peking and it would be difficult to imagine a
more desperate condition of affairs in the king-deserted country. How it
was being governed we do not know. It was probably governing itself. The
rural districts, which had been laid waste by the Mongol armies and
which had been deserted by their occupants, were probably being
gradually occupied again and the less they heard of Song-do the better
they liked it.

In the third year of his reign the king killed his son because some
busybodies told him that the young man was conspiring to drive him from
the throne. This shows the depths to which the court had sunk, when
kings were not sure but that their own sons were their worst enemies.
Orders kept coming from Peking to make certain eunuchs Princes. These
orders could not be disregarded. These eunuchs had doubtless been in
Peking and were known to be devoted to Mongol interests. All this time
the king was in Peking where his presence began to be something of a
bore. The mother of the Emperor urged him to go back to Koryŭ. He
promised to go in the following autumn, but when the time came he
changed his mind and abdicated in favor of his second son.

The new king, named To, posthumous title Ch‘ung-suk, came to the throne
in 1314. One of his first acts was to take a thorough census of the
people. Unfortunately the result is not recorded. The revenue laws were
also changed and a new measurement of the fields was ordered with a view
to a more effective collection of the revenue. The king likewise had
ambitions along religious lines, for he sent 150 pounds of silver to
Nanking to purchase books; and 10,800 were secured. The emperor also
gave 4,070 volumes. These were doubtless Buddhist books and it is more
than likely that many of the books in the Sanscrit or Thibetan
character, still found in the monasteries in Korea, are copies of the
works introduced into Koryŭ during these times.

The king who had abdicated was sent back with his son, though he had
abdicated solely for the purpose of being able to live permanently in
Peking. He spent his time in attending Buddhist festivals, but when he
saw into what ruins the palaces in Song-do had fallen he said, “If my
father had feasted less I should have had better palaces.” He soon
returned to China where he devoted himself to letters. The emperor
offered to make him his Prime Minister but he declined the honor. He
mourned over the lack of letters in Koryŭ and came to realise that it
was Buddhism that had proved the curse of the dynasty. He accepted the
post of King of Mukden and later became Prime Minister to the emperor.

The young king went to Peking in 1317 to marry a Mongol Princess, and
like his father was very loath to come back. We infer that the position
of king in Song-do was so hedged about by priestcraft that it was much
pleasanter for the king to reside at the Chinese court. Koryŭ must have
been exceedingly poor after the desperate struggles she had been through
and life in Peking with his hand in the imperial exchequer must have had
its attractions.

At the end of a year however the king and his bride came back to
Song-do. The records say that in order to induce him to come they had to
bribe the soothsayers to tell him that if he did not come he would be
involved in war. As soon as he arrived he began to search for unmarried
women to send to Peking. He had turned pander to the Mongol court. The
men of the upper classes hid their daughters and denied their existence
for fear they would be seized and sent to Peking. He himself put in
practice the principles he had imbibed at the Mongol court, and spent
his days in hunting and his nights in high revelry.

The king’s father who had been made king of Mukden, made a trip into
southern China, or at least as far south as Chŭl-gang and Po-ta San
where he engaged in Buddhist worship. Two years later he asked
permission to repeat the visit and the emperor consented. But he was
suddenly called back to Peking and ordered to go straight to Koryŭ. He
refused and the emperor compelled him to cut his hair and to become a
monk. He was banished to T‘o-bŭn or San-sa-gyŭl in the extreme north.
This was because one of the Peking eunuchs, who had formerly been a
Koryŭ man and hated the king, told the emperor that the ex-king had on
foot a scheme to raise a revolt in China.

At this time there was silver money in Koryŭ in the form of little
bottle-shaped pieces of silver, but it was much adulterated by an alloy
of copper. The king gave thirty of these bottles and the officials
contributed a number more; and with them a silver image of Confucius was
made, indicating a slight reaction against Buddhism.

1322 the emperor, being deceived by the lying representations of the
king’s cousin who wished to secure the throne of Koryŭ, ordered the king
to Peking. The latter was glad to go, but was obliged to get away
secretly by night for fear of being prevented by his officials. When he
got to Peking the emperor took away his royal seal and ordered him to
remain there, which he doubtless was nothing loath to do. The officials
of Koryŭ joined in a letter begging the emperor to send him back, but
without success, till in 1324 the emperor died and his successor
proclaimed a general amnesty, of which the aged ex-king took advantage
to return to Peking from his place of banishment in the north. The king
and Queen returned to Koryŭ in the following year. No sooner were they
settled in their palace again than they went on a pleasure trip to the
Han River; but the trip ended disastrously for while away on the journey
the Queen was confined and died in giving birth to a son. This shows to
what extremes the passion for the chase led the court.



                              Chapter IX.

Horrible excesses.... a royal desperado.... martial implements
    proscribed.... another scapegrace.... general suffering.... taxes
    increased.... emperor furious.... a general cleaning out.... the
    kings.... beginning of the great Japanese depredations.... king
    supplanted.... a memorial.... omens of the fall of the dynasty....
    Buddhism ascendent.... a traitor falls.... costly festival....
    trouble in China.... the rising Ming power.... restiveness under the
    Mongol yoke.... Yi Whan-jo appears upon the stage.... genealogy....
    place of origin.... Mongol adherents try to make trouble.... Mongol
    power opposed.... coinage.... a new capital.... divination.... first
    mention of founder of present dynasty.... alarming Japanese
    raids....“the mighty fallen”.... a curious spectacle....“Red Head
    robbers”.... they invade Koryŭ.... a council.... P‘yŭng-yang
    taken.... panic at the capital “Red Heads” beaten.... king favors a
    Mongol pretender.... the dreaded Japanese.... king removes to
    Han-yang.


With the year 1329 begins a series of events that almost baffles
description. The worst excesses of Rome in her decline could not have
shown more horrible scenes than those which made the Koryŭ dynasty a
by-word for succeeding generations. The king’s cousin, who was king of
Mukden, was always slandering him to the emperor, for he was itching for
the crown of Koryŭ himself. Meanwhile the king was building “mountains”
and pleasure-houses without end and his hunters were his favorites by
day and the courtezans his boon companions by night. His son was in
Peking learning the ways of the Mongol court and preparing to prove as
abandoned a character as his father. In 1331, at the request of the
king, the Emperor made the young man king. The cares of office seem to
have interfered with his debaucheries. The prince’s name was Chung,
posthumous title Ch‘ung-hyé. He was sent to Song-do and his father
called to Peking. This was well, for the young man hated his father
intensely. No sooner had he assumed the reins of power then he ran to
ten times the excess of riot that even his father had done. The whole of
his newly acquired power was applied to the gratification of his
depraved appetites and within a year so outrageous were his excesses
that the emperor had to recall him in disgrace to Peking and send back
the father to administer the government. This added fuel to the son’s
hatred of his father.

The reinstated king continued his old courses and added to his former
record another desperate crime, in that he frequently stopped a marriage
ceremony and forcibly carried away the bride to become a member of his
harem. It was a marvel that the people did not rise and drive such a
villain from the country. When he made a trip to Peking in 1336 the
emperor made him carry his son back to Koryŭ. He was such a desperate
scapegrace that Peking itself was not large enough to hold him.

The following year the emperor promulgated a singular order and one
whose cause it is difficult to imagine. It was to the effect that all
swords, bows and other martial implements be put away from all Koryŭ
houses and that no one be allowed to ride a horse; but all must go
afoot. This may have been a precautionary measure to prevent the
acquiring of skill in the use of weapons or in horsemanship, so as to
render less probable the future use of such acquirements in an attack
upon China.

At last, in 1340, the king died and it looked as if the desperate
character who for one short year had played fast and loose with Koryŭ
royalty would become king. A courtier, Cho Chŭk, surrounded the palace
with soldiers with a view to assassinating the young man who had not yet
received investiture from the emperor, and at the same time a message
was sent to the deceased king’s cousin, the king of Mukden, summoning
him to Song-do. The young Prince, bad as he was, had a considerable
following, and a desperate fight ensued in which he was wounded in the
shoulder. But Cho Chŭk’s forces were routed and he himself caught and
beheaded. The emperor learning of this through the Prince’s enemies,
called him to Peking and took him to task for killing Cho Chŭk, the
friend of the king of Muk-den; but the facts soon came out, and the
Prince was exhonerated and sent back to Song-do, having been invested
with the royal insignia. Unlike his father and grand-father, he did not
marry a Mongol Princess but took as his Queen a Koryŭ woman. He likewise
took a large number of concubines. Not content with this he had illicit
commerce with two of his father’s wives. The almost incredible statement
is made in the records that on one occasion, feigning drunkenness, he
entered the harem of his dead father and had the women seized and
violated them. They tried to escape to China but he prevented them from
securing horses for the purpose. His profligate life was the curse of
the country. Nothing was too horrible, too unnatural, too beastly for
him to do, if it afforded him amusement. He sent 20,000 pieces of cloth
together with gold and silver to purchase many things of foreign
manufacture, but what these were we are not informed. One of his
amusements was the throwing of wooden balls at a mark but when this lost
piquancy he substituted men for the target and frequently engaged in
this truly humane pastime. General distress prevailed. Many died of
starvation and many ran away to distant places and many became monks in
order to escape the king’s tyranny. Sons cut off their hair and sold it
in order to secure food for aged parents. The prisons were full to
overflowing. Suicide was a thing of daily occurence.

The king sent to Kang-neung to levy a tax on ginseng, but as none could
be found the messenger levied on the well-to-do gentlemen of the place
and this was so successful that the king widened the scope of his
operations and made it as hard to live in the country as at the capital.
Everything that could possibly be taxed was put on the roll of his
exactions. No form of industry but was crushed to the ground by his
unmitigated greed. When amusements failed he tried all sorts of
experiments to awaken new sensations. He would go out and beat the drum,
to the sound of which the workmen were building the palace. This
building had iron doors, windows and roof. If the king’s pander heard of
a beautiful slave anywhere she was seized and brought to this palace
which was also her prison and where she spent her time in weaving in
company with many other women who had been similarly “honored.” Often by
night the king would wander about the city and enter any man’s house and
violate any of its inmates.

When this all came to the ears of the emperor he was furious. An envoy
was sent to Song-do with orders to bring the wretch bound to Peking. The
king came out to meet this envoy but the Mongol raised his foot and gave
the wretch a kick that sent him sprawling on the ground. He was then
bound and locked up and after things had been put in some sort of shape
in the capital the king was carried away to Peking to answer to the
emperor. Many of the king’s intimates were killed and many fled for
their lives. A hundred and twenty concubines were liberated and sent to
their homes.

When the king was brought before the emperor the latter exclaimed “So
you call yourself a king. You were set over the Koryŭ people but you
tore off all their flesh. If your blood should become food for all the
dogs in the world justice would still be unsatisfied. But I do not care
to kill any man. I will send you to a place from which you will not soon
return.” So he was placed on a bier, the symbol of humiliation, and sent
away to Ké-yang “twenty thousand _li_ away,” so the records say. No man
went with him save his bearers. They carried him from village to village
like a dead man. He died on the journey at Ak-yang before reaching his
place of exile. When the people of Koryŭ heard of this there was general
rejoicing; and a proverb was made which runs, _Aya mangoji_. The _Aya_
refers to Ak-yang where he died and _mangoji_, freely translated, means
“damned.”

The heir to the throne of Koryŭ was a lad of eight years. The emperor
asked him, “Will you be like your father or like your mother?” The lad
replied, “Like my mother,” and thereupon he was proclaimed king of
Koryŭ. His posthumous title is Ch’ung-mok. Orders were sent to Song-do
to discharge all the servants and officials of the late king, and to put
an end to all the evils which had been fastened upon the people. The
iron palace was turned into a school. The examination laws were changed.
Heretofore the examination had been simply with a view to ascertaining
the candidate’s knowledge of the classics. Now it was made to include an
exegesis of obscure passages and exercises in penmanship. This was
followed by an essay on “What is the most important question of the
time.” The emperor also ordered the establishment of a new department,
to be called the Bureau of General Oversight.

The empress of China at this time seems to have been a Koryŭ woman and
her relatives, who abounded in the Koryŭ capital, expected to have their
own way in all matters. This new department, however, arrested and
imprisoned many of them and a number died in consequence. The empress
therefore sent a swift messenger demanding the reasons for this. The
reasons seem to have been good, for the matter was dropped. Of course
the young king was not of an age to guide the affairs of state in
person. We are left in ignorance as to what form of regency administered
the government for him.

In 1348 the boy king died and the question as to succession arose. The
king’s younger brother Chi was in Koryŭ at the time; but Keui, the son
of Ch‘ung-suk, the twenty-seventh monarch of the line, was in China. The
Koryŭ officials asked that Keui be made king, probably because he was of
a proper age to assume the responsibilities of royalty; but the emperor
refused, and the following year, 1349, Chi was made king at the age of
twelve, posthumous title Ch‘ung-jong. Keui, the unsuccessful candidate,
was married to a Mongol princess, perhaps as a consolation for his
disappointment.

With the year 1350 begins a series of Japanese depredations on the
coasts of Koryŭ which were destined to cover a period of half a century
and which, in their wantonness and brutality, remind us strongly of
similar expeditions of the Norse Vikings on the shores of western
Europe. In the second year of the young king these corsairs came, but
were driven off with a loss of 300 men. Soon, as if in revenge, over 100
Japanese boats were beached on the shores of Kyŭng-sang Province; the
government rice was seized and many villages wantonly burned.

That same year a kingdom called Ul-lam sent an envoy with gifts to the
king of Koryŭ.

In 1351 again the Japanese corsairs came and ravaged the islands off
Chul-la Province.

The emperor, for some reason not stated, decided to make Keui, his
son-in-law, king of Koryŭ. He was therefore proclaimed king at the
Mongol court and started for Song-do. This was the distinct wish of the
Koryŭ officials and of course the boy upon the throne was helpless. He
fled to Kang-wha and the next year was killed by poison, but by whose
hand administered or at whose instigation is neither known nor recorded.
This new king’s posthumous title is Kong-min.

The Japanese cared for none of these changes but steadily pursued their
ravages, gradually creeping up the western coast.

A Koryŭ man, Yi Săk, who had studied profoundly and had passed the civil
examinations in China, now returned to Koryŭ and memorialised the king
in reference to five special points; to wit, (1) The necessity of having
definite boundaries for the fields. (2) Defense against the Japanese
corsairs. (3) Making of implements of war. (4) The fostering of study
and learning. (5) The evils of Buddhism.

All during this reign, so say the records, there were signs and omens of
the fall of the dynasty. There were earthquakes, eclipses and comets;
worms ate the leaves of the pine trees in the capital, and as the pine
tree was the emblem of the dynasty this was ominous; red and black ants
had war among themselves; a well in the capital became boiling hot;
there was a shower of blood; for many days a fog like red fire hung over
the land; black spots were seen on the sun; there was a shower of white
horse hair three inches long; hail fell of the size of a man’s hand;
there was a tremendous avalanche at Puk-san, near the present Seoul.
These _ex post facto_ prophecies show the luxuriance of the oriental
imagination.

In spite of the Confucian tendency which had manifested itself Buddhism
had no intention of letting go its hold on the government, and we find
that in his second year the king took a Buddhist high priest as his
teacher, and thus the direction was given to his reign that tended to
hasten it toward its fall. He also conferred high positions upon
Buddhist monks and so alienated the good will of all the other
officials. This hostile feeling took definite shape when Cho Il-si
surrounded the palace with a band of soldiers, killed many of the
leaders of the party in power together with many of the relatives of the
Mongol empress, and announced himself prime minister. To screen himself
he told the king that it was not he who had caused the execution, but
two other men; and he even went to the extreme of putting to death two
of his confiding friends in order to give color to this statement. But
Cho Il-si had overestimated his strength and the king, by secret
negotiations, was soon able to decorate the end of a pole with his head.
Twelve of his accomplices were also killed.

As the Mongol empress was a Koryŭ woman, the maternal grandmother of the
crown prince of China was of course a Koryŭ woman. She was living in
state in Song-do when her grandson came from Peking to make her a visit.
It is said that in the festivities which graced this unusual occasion
5,100 pieces of silk were used in making artificial flowers. Such a
feast had never before been seen at the capital of Koryŭ, however
frequent they may have been at Peking.

The records state that in 1355 there was a great rebellion in China. We
must remember that between the years 1341 and 1368 affairs were in a
chaotic state in China. The last Mongol emperor, Tohan Timur, came to
the throne in 1333 and gave himself up to licentiousness and luxury. No
attention was paid to the filling of offices according to the
time-honored law of literary merit, but the best positions were given to
Mongols by pure favoritism. This caused widespread dissatisfaction among
the Chinese and from that time the doom of the Mongol dynasty was
sealed. In 1355 the low-born but brilliant leader Chu Yuan-chang, at the
head of the insurrectionary army, crossed the Yang-tse river and took
Nanking. This was the great rebellion spoken of in the Koryŭ annals and
soon an envoy arrived from Peking demanding aid in the shape of
soldiers. Twenty-three thousand men were sent on this forlorn hope. In
1356 a Mongol envoy brought incense to be burned in all the Koryŭ
monasteries, doubtless with a view to securing supernatural aid against
the rising Ming power. At the same time great uneasiness was again
caused by raids of the Japanese, which increased in frequency and
extent. One gang of robbers alone carried out of Kyŭng-sang Province, at
one time, 200 boat-loads of rice. This year also saw the Ming forces
pressing on toward Peking and driving the Mongols back step by step. As
the fortunes of the Mongols waned the loyalty of Koryŭ waned
accordingly. For the mass of the Koryŭ people, the Mongol yoke had never
been less than galling, and they hailed the signs of the times which
pointed toward her overthrow.

This tendency to restlessness under the Mongol yoke was shown when the
Mongol envoy was carrying the incense about the country to various
monasteries. Everywhere he treated the people like abject slaves and
trampled on their prejudices and rights. When he came to Chul-la
Province the governor promptly threw him into prison and put his son to
death. The Mongols in Peking were of course too busy with their own
troubles to attempt to chastise Koryŭ for this; and this very impunity
added impetus to the anti-Mongol feeling.

In this same year, 1356, we see the first rising of the cloud that was
soon to spread over the country and, breaking, clean the land of the
corruption which had so long been festering at her core. This event was
the coming to the capital of the father of the man who founded the
present dynasty, on the ruins of Koryŭ. This man was Yi Cha-ch‘un whose
posthumous title, given after the founding of this dynasty, was Whan-jo.
As his son founded this dynasty it will be fitting to inquire briefly
into his antecedents. His great-grandfather was Yi An-sa, a Koryŭ
official who died in 1274, and who was afterwards given the title
Mok-jo. His son was Yi Hăng-yi, born in Tŭk-wun in Ham-gyŭng Province,
who was compelled by the Mongols to take office under them while they
held possession of the north. His posthumous title is Ik-jo. His son was
Yi Ch‘un, born in Ham-heung in Ham-kyŭng Province, who held rank under
Koryŭ between 1340 and 1345. His posthumous title is To-jo. His son was
Yi Cha-ch‘un of whom we are now speaking. He was born in 1315 and at the
time of which we are writing he was made prefect of his native place,
Sang-sŭng, in Ham-gyŭng Province. This part of Koryŭ had been held by
the Mongols during the whole period of their occupation of Koryŭ until
their loosening grasp let it fall back into the hands of Koryŭ and the
king hastened to reorganise his government there.

The relatives of the Mongol empress still nursed the delusion that they
could do as they pleased in Koryŭ, secure in the possession of such
powerful friends at Peking. But they soon discovered their mistake, for
their misdeeds met the same punishment as did those of others.
Infuriated at this they planned an insurrection. They thought this newly
acquired district of Sang-sŭng would be the most likely to co-operate
with them in this scheme; so they opened negotiations with its people.
The king therefore summoned Yi Whan-jo to Song-do and warned him against
these traitors. Foiled here, the empress’ relatives appealed to the
country to rise in defense of the Mongol supremacy, which was being thus
rudely flouted. They learned what Koryŭ thought of Mongol supremacy when
they were incontinently seized and put to death and their property
confiscated. The next step was the sending back to China of the Mongol
“resident.” This was followed by an expedition into trans-Yalu territory
which seized all the land there which formerly belonged to Koryŭ.
Fearing, however, that he was going a little too fast, the king sent an
envoy to Peking to tell the emperor that the local governor of the north
was responsible for these reprisals and not the central Koryŭ
government. Troops were nevertheless stationed in each of these newly
acquired districts and fields were cultivated to provide for their
maintenance.

Not long after this the important question of coinage came up. We have
already seen that the medium in Koryŭ was little bottle-shaped pieces,
but as these were each a pound in weight they could be used only for
large transactions. Each one of them was worth a hundred pieces of
linen. It was decided to change to a system of regular coinage, and so
the silver was coined into “dollars” each worth eight pieces of
five-strand linen. It is probable that in all small transactions barter
was the common method of exchange although there may have been a metal
medium of exchange as far back as the days of ancient Chosŭn, a thousand
years before Christ.

The question again came up as to the advisability of moving the capital
to Han-yang, the present Seoul. Enquiry was made at the ancestral temple
but what answer the spirits made, if any, we are not told. All dishes
and implements as well as tile were made black because the peninsula is
nearly surrounded by water and black is the color that corresponds to
water according to Chinese and Korean notions. Black was substituted for
the prevailing color in dress which was at that time blue-green, and
men, women and monks all donned the sable attire.

It was at length decided to change the capital to the other site and
palaces were ordered built there. They were, so some say, probably
outside the present south gate of Seoul.

It is said that in order to decide about the removal of the capital the
king had recourse to that form of divination which consisted in making
scrawls at random with a pen and then examining them to see what Chinese
characters the marks most resembled. At first they did not favor a
change, but after several trials the favorable response was obtained.

The year 1359 beheld a recurrence of the dreaded Japanese incursions. At
this time the robbers burned 300 Koryŭ boats at Kak-san. An official, Yi
Tal-jung, was sent to govern the great north-eastern section of the
land. He was a friend of Yi Whan-jo, the prefect of Sang-sŭng. As he
approached that place his friend Yi Whan-jo came out to meet him,
accompanied by his son Yi Song-gye who was to become the founder of the
present dynasty, and whom we shall designate by his posthumous title
T‘ă-jo. When Yi Whan-jo handed his friend a cup of wine he drank it
standing, but when Yi T‘ă-jo handed him one, so the story runs, he drank
it on his knees. When the father demanded why this greater deference was
shown his son the guest replied, “This boy is different from us,” and,
turning to the young man, he continued. “When I have passed away you
must always befriend my descendants.”

The Japanese raids had now reached such alarming proportions that an
extra wall was built about Song-do and all the government granaries
along the coast were moved far inland to be out of the reach of
piratical parties, who would naturally hesitate to go far from their
boats.

The breaking up of the Mongol power was foreshadowed by the act of a
certain Mongol district Hă-yang which, with its garrison of 1,800 men,
now came and enrolled itself under the banner of Koryŭ. How had the
mighty fallen! Less than eighty years before the world had trembled
beneath the hoof-beats of the “Golden Horde.” This was followed by the
submission of a wild tribe in the north called Pang-guk-chin, and a
Mongol rebel sent a messenger with gifts to the court of Koryŭ.
Meanwhile the Japanese were ravaging the southern and western coasts
without let or hindrance. It was a curious spectacle, a country eaten up
by its own excesses receiving humble deputations from former masters and
at the same time being ridden over rough-shod by gangs of half-naked
savages from the outlying islands of Japan.

There was one tribe in the north however, called the Hong-du-jŭk or
“Red-Head Robbers,” who threatened to invade the country, but forces
were sent to guard against it. In the case of the Japanese marauders the
difficulty was to know where they were going to strike next. There was
military power enough left in Koryŭ had it been possible to so place the
forces as to intercept or bring to action the robber gangs. The Japanese
had really begun to threaten Song-do itself and the king wished to move
the capital to Su-an in Whang-hă Province. He went so far as to send a
commissioner to look over the site and report.

The king was not blessed with an heir, and in 1360 he took a second
wife, which was the cause of constant quarrelling and bickering.

The “Red-Head Robbers” were led by Kwan Sŭn-sang and P‘a Tu-ban. They
now took the city of Mukden and entering Liaotung, sent a letter to the
king of Koryŭ saying “We have now consolidated our power and intend to
set up the Sung dynasty again.” The Mongols were thus beset on both
sides and were in desperate straits. Three thousand of the “Red-Heads”
crossed the northern border and carried fire and sword into the frontier
towns. A Mongol general, deserting the banners of his waning clan, took
service with these people. His name was Mo Ko-gyŭng. He collected 40,000
men and crossed the Yalu. Eui-ju fell forthwith and the prefect and a
thousand men perished. Chöng-ju soon fell and In-ju was invested, but a
stubborn resistance was here encountered. The prefect, An U, was the
only prefect in the north who was not afraid of the invaders. He made
light of their power and by swift counter-marches and brilliant
manoeuvers succeeded in making them fall back to Chöng-ju. In the mean
time Gen. Yi An was sent north to P‘yŭng-yang to take charge of the army
of defense. The tide of fortune had turned again and the invaders were
in full march on P‘yŭng-yang. A council of war was held at which it
appeared that all the generals were about equally frightened. With a
powerful force in hand and an easily defended town to hold they still
considered only how best to make a retreat. Some were for burning
everything behind them and retiring to some point more easy of defense;
but Gen. Yi An thought they had better leave a large store of provisions
in the city, for the enemy would pause and feed there until everything
was gone, and this would give the Koryŭ army time to gain needed
reinforcements. This course would also appear so foolish to the enemy
that few preparations would be made to meet the Koryŭ troops later. This
plan was adopted and the army retired into Whang-hă Province and left
the gates of P‘yŭng-yang open to the invaders. This caused the greatest
consternation in the capital, and every citizen was under arms. The king
immediately sent and deprived Gen. Yi An of the office which he had so
grievously betrayed and put the command into the hands of Gen. Yi
Seung-gyŭng.

The invading host was now feasting in P‘yŭng-yang and the king and queen
in Song-do were practicing horse-back riding with the expectation that
they would be obliged to leave the capital. It was the beginning of
winter and the cold was intense. The Koryŭ soldiers died by hundreds and
the people were being wantonly killed by foraging parties of the “Red
Heads.” The records say that they left “heaps upon heaps” of dead in
their track.

As in duty bound the Koryŭ forces went north and engaged the invaders at
P‘yŭng-yang. At first the latter were successful and a thousand Koryŭ
troops were trampled under the hoofs of the enemy’s horses; but in the
end the “Red Heads” were defeated and, retreating northwards, were hotly
pursued as far as Ham-jŭng. There they were reinforced and attempted to
make a new stand; but the Koryŭ troops, drunk with success, attacked
them with such abandon that they were obliged to build a palisade within
which they intrenched themselves. The Koryŭ generals surrounded this
stockade and, by a simultaneous assault of horse and foot, broke through
the barrier and put the occupants, numbering 20,000, to the sword. The
leader, Whang Chi-sŭn was taken alive. A remnant fled to the Yŭn-ju
River where the ice broke beneath them and 2,000 perished. The few
survivors made a desperate stand on a hill but were starved out and
compelled to continue their flight, in which hundreds more were cut down
along the road; and at last, out of 40,000 men who had come across the
Yalu, just three hundred recrossed it and were safe.

Hardly had this happened when seventy boat-loads of these same “Red
Heads” arrived at P‘yŭng-ju and soon after a hundred boat-loads more
disembarked at An-ak and scoured the surrounding country. They were,
however, soon put to flight by Gen. Yi Pang-sil whom the king rewarded
richly for his services.

It was at this time that the king first received an envoy from Chang
Sa-sŭng, a pretender to the Mongol throne. The king made the first move
toward breaking away from the Mongol yoke by sending an envoy in return.
The Koryŭ court evidently was in great doubt as to just how matters were
going to turn out in the struggle that was under way in China. By
favoring these advances on the part of a Mongol, whether of the imperial
family or not, it is probable that the king lost the good-will of the
Mings who, as we shall see, looked with satisfaction upon the overthrow
of Koryŭ and the founding of the present dynasty.

The alarming increase both in the frequency and the violence of the
Japanese incursions gave scope for the development of the military
genius of Gen. Yi Whan-jo, the father of the founder of this dynasty. He
was appointed general of the west to guard against the freebooters. The
people of Song-do were in dismay over the proximity of the dreaded
Japanese and over the defeat of all the armies sent to put them down.
Many civil officials took part in the martial preparations and even took
the field in defense of their country. The Japanese were now penetrating
Kyŭng-geui Province. In this year, 1360, they landed on Kang-wha, killed
three hundred men and stole 40,000 bags of rice. So many men were in
mourning that the king was obliged to curtail the period of mourning
from three years to only a few days. The palace in Han-yang had now been
completed and the king removed to that place, apparently because it was
further from the sea shore and more difficult of access by the Japanese.



                               Chapter X.

An unnecessary warning.... “Smoke-house Soldiers”.... Yi Whan-jo
    dies.... Yi T‘ă-jo takes his place.... new invasion by “Red
    Heads”.... Song-do evacuated.... the enemy revel in the capital....
    cannibals.... plans for defense.... the “Red Heads.” badly
    beaten.... Gen. Yi distinguishes himself.... the monster Kim
    Yong.... Gen. Yi brings Nap-t‘ap-chul to terms.... Quelpart
    revolts.... “tax without reason”.... the Mongols proclaim a new king
    for Koryŭ.... a bold envoy.... a faithful eunuch.... Kim Yong
    destroyed... Mongol invasion.... order restored.... Gen. Yi drives
    back the Mongols.... Japanese advances.... a conscientious
    official.... the Japanese creep nearer to Song-do.... king
    inconsolable.... he meets Sin-don.... who becomes his favorite....
    king’s oath to Sin-don.... disgraceful practices.... an heir to the
    throne.... Sin-don’s policy.... Japanese swarm along the coast....
    Sin-don the “Tiger”.... he chides the king.


With the opening of the year 1361 Yi Whan-jo was appointed general of
all the forces in the north and north-east. This was done against the
advice of one of the officials who told the King that as Gen. Yi was
from the north-east it was dangerous to appoint him general over the
forces there, for untoward events were likely to happen. The king turned
a deaf ear to this warning, which indeed was unnecessary, for the king
had no more loyal subject that Yi Whan-jo. The king, having feasted the
new appointee, sent him on his mission and himself returned to Song-do.

Ere long came reports of new and terrible ravages by the Japanese along
the southern coast, especially at Nam-hă, Ko-sŭng, Kö-je and Ul-ju,
while at Fusan they stole a large number of Korean boats. A garrison had
been stationed in the south to be used in just such emergencies, but it
had been used for so many different things that it could not be
concentrated upon any given point; so levies were made on the common
people. These levies went under the name of Yŭn-ho-gun, or “Smoke-house
Soldiers” because from every house where smoke was seen arising a man
was requisitioned. At the same time the governor of Chŭl-la Province
advised the establishment of a horse relay system, but the suggestion
was not acted upon.

At this time the king lost the services of Gen. Yi Whan-jo who died at
his post. His son, Yi Sŭng-gye, better known by his title Yi T‘ă-jo,
stepped into his father’s place. At the very beginning of his martial
career an opportunity presented itself for him to perform a signal
service for the king. A certain Pak Eui deemed that the time was ripe
for an insurrection and he began to take steps in that direction, but
the king sent the young general, Yi T‘ă-jo, against him and the little
blaze was promptly stamped out. As a consequence the young man was
confirmed in the position of military governor of the north and east,
and under his command was placed a large body of troops.

And now there burst upon the country another storm of fire and blood.
The “Red Heads” had been gaining ground rapidly and were now ready to
take their revenge for the terrible reverses they had suffered during
the previous invasion. They crossed the Yalu 200,000 strong under the
leadership of generals Pan-sŭng Sa-yu and Kwan Sŭng-săng. The king
promptly sent Gen. Yi Pang-sil against them and hastened to swell the
army to as high a point as possible, The officials and monks and other
people of means brought horses or provisions, while the walls of Song-do
were guarded with jealous care.

In the very first engagement the Koryŭ army was crumpled up like paper
and one of the leading generals was killed. The “Red Heads” sent a
letter to the king saying “We have ten million men and there is no
escape for you except in prompt surrender.” It seemed true, for the
invading army swept like a cyclone though the north, and in Song-do
panic reigned. Flight seemed imperative. The women and children
belonging to the royal household were sent away first and the king was
about to follow, when the defeated Gen. Yi Pang-sil came hurrying in and
implored the king not to run away but to rally the people about him and
stand the siege. The king went to the center of the city, “Big Bell
Street,” and submitted the question to the people, asking whether they
would rally round him. Just two men responded. This settled the matter
and the king and queen, each on horse-back, rode out the south gate,
while behind them came a weeping crowd of old men, women and children.
Such was the confusion that parents lost their children and families
were scattered. The king’s escort consisted of only ten men. When he
arrived at the Im-jin river he sent messengers in all directions
summoning all loyal soldiers to rally round him.

The northern savages swept down upon the devoted city, sat down in its
palaces and gave themselves up to every form of excess. They feasted
upon the cattle and horses, hanging their hides upon the city wall and
pouring water over them and letting it congeal, thus preventing the
citizens from making their escape from the city clandestinely.

The king in his flight carried terror with him, for the people thought
the enemy would be in hot pursuit; so they scattered in every direction.
This displeased the king so much that when he arrived at the capital of
Ch‘ung-ch‘ŭng Province he imprisoned the governor. From that point he
hurried southward as far as Pak-ju, now An-dong, in Kyŭng-sang Province.

Day by day the horrible orgies of the savages in Song-do increased in
barbarity. It is said that they cooked and ate little children and that
they cut off the breasts of women and fed on them.

In the midst of these vicissitudes the king appointed Chöng Se-un as
general-in-chief of all the Koryŭ forces. He was a wise and loyal man
and was ever thinking of ways and means of checkmating the invaders. He
advised the king to send out a general letter encouraging the people and
calling all the soldiers to rally to the defense of the country. The
officials were also encouraged and made to feel that their utmost
endeavors must be put forth in the good cause. The generals were all
exhorted to do their best and were threatened with death in case they
proved unfaithful. So the campaign was opened. The savages had looted
all the towns about Song-do and had taken Wŭn-ju and killed its prefect.
They also went north to An-byŭn in Ham-gyŭng Province where the people
pretended to surrender, but, having gotten their conquerors intoxicated,
they fell upon and killed them. The same tactics were tried in Kang-wha
with equal success.

Gen. Chöng Se-un now appeared before Song-do with 200,000 troops. These
figures must surely be an exaggeration for we can hardly suppose Koryŭ
able at that time to put that number of men in the field. Snow and rain
added to the difficulties of the situation. A spy returned and said that
the troops of the enemy were massed inside the South Gate and that if a
picked body of men could gain entrance somewhere and attack them from
behind they could be easily overcome. At the dead of night a picked body
of horsemen gained admittance somewhere in the rear of the city and fell
with fury upon the garrison. At the same time the main body advanced to
attack the South Gate. The savages, not knowing the size of the
attacking force and being surprised from behind were thrown into
confusion and attempted to run away. Gen. Yi T‘ă-jo distinguished
himself by pursuing and capturing Kwan Sŭn-săng the leader of the
hostile force. In this stampede the routed savages trod on and killed
each other by hundreds. In the center of Song-do the dead were piled in
heaps. It is said, though it must be an exaggeration, that 100,000 men
perished miserably on that night. As a result of this battle several
Mongol seals which the savages had taken in previous fights with the
imperial armies, were recovered.

Some of the generals advised that a remnant of the enemy be spared; so
the Sung-in and T‘an-hyŭng gates were thrown open and Pa Tu-ban and his
remaining followers hastened out and made for the Yalu River.

It is related that during the fight on that eventful night a body of
Koryŭ troops collided with a company of the enemy and a melée ensued
near the East Gate, where the soldiers trod on each other. Gen. Yi
T‘ă-jo was there and was stabbed in the back with a spear. Finding
himself in extremely narrow quarters he drew his sword and, hewing a
path through the enemy, leaped the wall, horse and all, for he was in
the saddle. The spectators thought he was a spirit. A volume might be
filled with the stories of the wonderful achievements of this man, but
most of them are figments of the imagination, invented at a later period
to add lustre to the name of the founder of the dynasty.

The capable leader Gen. Chöng Se-un, met the fate which has been the
curse of Korean history from the beginning to the present time. Kim
Yong-an, a jealous official, forged a royal order for his execution and
sent it to Gen. An U who promptly carried it out. When the king learned
of this he thought it was an incipient revolution but soon the other
generals joined in a letter to His Majesty saying that it had been done
because the murdered man was a traitor. The king accepted this as true
and rewarded the murderers.

The fortress of Sang-sŭng near the Tu-man River had long been under
Mongol control and was governed by a Koryŭ renegade Cho Whi and
afterwards by his descendants as a hereditary fief. Now when Koryŭ once
more assumed control, Cho So-săng, the then chief of this anomalous
settlement, fled to Mukden where he joined the banners of a wild tribe
under the lead of Nap-t‘ap-chul, and proposed to them to make a raid
into Koryŭ. This they did, crossing the Yalu and ravaging as far as
Puk-ch‘ung and Hong-wŭn. This promised to become a serious matter, but
the difficulty of the situation for Koryŭ was increased tenfold by a
fresh invasion of the south by Japanese. The king was on his way back to
Song-do when news of these two disasters reached him. Things looked
desperate, but to add to the hopelessness of the situation the same Kim
Yong-an who had murdered Gen. Chöng now compelled the king to kill Gen.
An U on the ground that it was he who had killed Gen Chöng. The monster
then proceeded to killed his own brother, and induced the king to put to
death generals Yi Pang-sil and Kim Teuk-pă, two of the best surviving
generals. It is a wonder that Gen. Yi T‘ă-jo was spared. Song-do had
been so roughly handled that the king feared the historical records
would be lost or destroyed; so he now sent men to look them up and put
them in a place of safety.

The wild Nap-t‘ap-chul having been so successful in their first venture,
now once more entered Koryŭ territory and as the general sent against
them was not able to check their advance Gen. Yi T‘ă-jo was appointed to
this place. The enemy was encamped in Hong-wŭn in Ham-gyŭng Province.
Gen. Yi attacked them there and routed them with a loss of 1,000 men.
Near Ham-hung they made a stand and defended themselves desperately, but
he soon had them in full flight once more. Taking 600 picked cavalrymen
he pursued them to Ch‘a-ryăng Pass and secured another victory. Only one
of the enemy fought well. This man fought aways in front of Gen. Yi. The
latter feigned flight to draw him on and then suddenly turning attacked
his pursuer and laid him low with an arrow from his unerring bow. The
women who followed the camp of the invading army came out and taunted
the men saying “You have overcome everyone but these Koryŭ people; them
you cannot conquer. You had better retreat and make for home.” The enemy
called a truce and told Gen. Yi that they had come not to attack Koryŭ
but the “Red Heads.” This was a mere ruse to save time. Gen. Yi knew
this and drawing an arrow to the head shot one of the leaders of the
enemy through the body. At last he gave orders to his archers to shoot
the horses from under the enemy. This decided the battle and the
Nap-t‘al-chul sued for peace. In recognition of these services the king
appointed him general of all the forces in the north. The general then
proceeded to annihilate all the colonies and settlements of the
obnoxious Nap-t‘ap-chul throughout the entire north, and having placed
them where they belonged, showed them that their only hope was in making
a lasting treaty with Koryŭ. This they were quite willing to do.

As the king came slowly north toward the capital the officials urged
that Song-do was too small for the capital and too near the sea to be
well protected from the Japanese corsairs. They therefore urged him to
remain for a time at Ch‘ŭng-ju, and he gave consent.

And now, strange to relate, Quelpart, at the instigation and under the
leadership of Ho-dok-ko Pul-wha, who had been stationed there three
years before to take charge of the horse-breeding industry, revolted
from the sway of Koryŭ and became at least nominally a part of the Yuan
empire.

In order to reward the soldiers who had done such good work in the north
the king levied a special tax on the people which they gave with such
poor grace that they called it the “tax without reason.”

In 1362 the emperor of China, led to it by the empress, whose seditious
relatives had forfeited their lives in Koryŭ, proclaimed one Hye, called
Prince Tok-heung, a relative of the king, as king in his place. But
Koryŭ well knew that the old time power of the Mongols was gone and so
prepared to resist the order.

Early in 1363 the king at last re-entered his deserted capital. A strong
force was sent north to guard against the pretender and an envoy was
sent to Peking to ask why there were two kings for Koryŭ. The emperor
replied that the newly appointed one was the right one and that he must
be received in Koryŭ. To this the envoy replied “Though you kill me and
smear my blood upon my clothes I will not accompany the pretender back
to Koryŭ.” The emperor praised the envoy’s bravery and did not insist
upon the demand.

A Koryŭ official named Kim Yong-an, whose evil deeds we have already
related, now desired to kill the king and bring in the pretender. A
eunuch, An To-jok, knew of the plot and on the appointed night
personated the king and was killed by the assassin’s hand. The plotter
was forthwith seized, drawn and quartered and his limbs were sent
throughout the land as a warning to other malcontents. The emperor was
urged to send the pretender as a prisoner to Koryŭ but of course he
refused. Not only so, but he also ordered the king to send the royal
seals to Peking. The king refused and began preparations for defense
against a possible invasion.

He did not have to wait long, for with the opening of the year 1364 a
Mongol army 10,000 strong crossed the Yalu and besieged Eui-ju. In the
fight at that point the Koryŭ forces were completely routed, though not
till after great valor had been shown by Gen. An U-gyŭng against
overwhelming odds. The Koryŭ forces retreated in disorder to An-ju.
Panic prevailed among all the people of that section for they thought
the horrors of the former Mongol invasion were about to be repeated.

The king sent Gen. Ch‘oe Yŭng with a considerable force to An-ju where
he made all his generals swear to stand by the colors to the last. He
executed a number of fugitives as an example to the rest and soon
succeeded in restoring some semblance of order in the camp. Gen. Yi
T‘ă-jo was ordered with 1,000 soldiers from the northeast province to
An-ju. Also generals Yi Sun, U Che, and Pak Ch‘un were ordered to the
same point, and the army thus consolidated assumed large proportions,
but the men were miserably dressed and fed, and the death rate was high.
Desertions were of frequent occurence.

Gen. Yi T‘ă-jo’s influence in the northeast is proved by the commotion
that followed when he left. The remnant of the Yŭ-jin tribe, led by Sam
Seun and Sam Ka seized the whole of this northeast and the people were
longing for the return of Gen. Yi. These two Sams were cousins of Gen.
Yi and they had fled beyond the northern border and joined the wild
Yŭ-jin folk.

The combination of the generals gave great confidence to the troops and
when the battle was joined at Chöng-ju the Mongol forces were badly
defeated. A Mongol general’s body was taken and sent all about that
section to encourage the people and make them believe their troubles
were near an end. Gen. Yi blamed the other generals for not following up
their advantage and they became angry and said “If you are so brave, you
had better try it yourself.” So the very next day he led the army out
and surrounded the Mongol forces at Su-ju near the sea, where another
glorious victory was won. That night the remnant of the Mongols fled
back to the Yalu. Gen. Yi gave chase and it is said that only seventeen
of the Mongol army got back in safety across that Rubicon of Korea. This
done, Gen. Yi returned to his northeast province and drove back to their
haunts the wild tribe who had taken advantage of his absence.

Gen. Yi T’ă-jo was steadily rising in favor although like Wang-gön he
wisely stayed as far as possible from his royal master. The king now
conferred upon him the title of Mil-jik-sa which means “The Messenger
who Restores Confidence and Firmness.”

The Japanese had not ceased their incursions. Only a year had passed
since 200 boat loads had ravaged the southern coast and now a like
number swept the island of Kal-do in the south, so that from many a
district no revenue rice was forthcoming. It is to be feared that this
was the principal cause of uneasiness in Song-do—the loss of revenue.
Troops were sent and a fleet of eighty war boats to guard the coast and
to convoy the revenue junks, but these unexpectedly fell in with a
Japanese fleet and were all lost. This disaster caused a panic among the
people of Kang-wha and Kyo-dong Island. The governor of Chŭl-la Province
came northward with troops guarding the revenue but he too met Japanese
and lost all the rice and half his men.

This same year 1364 a Mongol official told the emperor that the king of
Koryŭ ought to be allowed to retain his position; and the emperor
listened to him. The renegade Ch‘oe Yu was sent back to Koryŭ where he
was imprisoned and executed. The Koryŭ envoy Yi Kong-su also returned
from Peking. A very neat story is told of him. As he was pursuing his
way across a wide plain which seemed to have no inhabitants he was
obliged to feed his animals with the standing grain. When he was
preparing to resume his way he took a bolt of linen and wrote upon it
“The price of grain,” and left it among the standing barley. His
attendants said, “But the owner of the grain will never get it. Someone
will steal it.” The envoy replied, “That is not my affair. I will have
done my duty.” The king wished the emperor to send the would-be king to
Koryŭ but to this consent was not given.

The Japanese crept nearer and nearer to Song-do with every new
expedition. They went into the temple to the dead and carried away a
picture of the king. It was with great difficulty that they were
dislodged and driven away.

In 1365 when the queen was confined the king ordered the monks to
worship on every mountain top and at every monastery to ensure a safe
delivery, but all to no avail. She died in giving birth to the child and
the king was inconsolable. Treasure was poured out like water to make
the funeral the most imposing that had ever been seen in Koryŭ. For
three years following the king ate no meat.

It was in this year that the king had that singular dream which led to
such disastrous results. He dreamed that someone attempted to stab him,
but a monk sprang forward and by intervening saved his life. The face of
this monk remained stamped on his memory. Soon after this he met a monk,
Sin-don, whose face was the same as that of the monk who had saved his
life in the dream. He was the son of a slave in Ok-ch‘ŭn Monastery and
he was looked down upon and despised by the other Monks. The king took
this Sin-don to himself, raised him to high position and lavished upon
him wealth and honors. As a fact this Sin-don was a most unprincipled,
licentious and crafty man, but always when in the presence of the king
he assumed the sedate demeanor of the philosopher and for many a year
completely hoodwinked his royal master. The other officials expostulated
in vain. In vain did they urge that this monk was a beast in human
shape. The king considered him well-nigh inspired. He believed that it
was jealousy that prompted their antagonism and rather enjoyed getting
an outsider in and showing them that office and honors did not always go
by inheritance. This new favorite soon began to urge the banishment of
this or that official and the king always complied. On this account the
feeling against him rose to such a pitch that the king was obliged to
send him away for a time lest he should be killed. He remained in this
retreat until the king had put to death some of his worst enemies. At
last the king sent and recalled him; but the crafty man answered “I
cannot go back. It is not right that I should hold office.” When the
king reiterated his pressing invitation the monk replied “I am afraid
that you will listen to my enemies.” To this the king made answer “I
swear by the sun, the moon, the stars, heaven and earth that I will
listen to no one but you.” So the wily man came back and from that day
completely dominated the king. He exaggerated the faults of his enemies
and so gradually supplanted them with his creatures. It is claimed of
him that he built a dark vaultlike room where he indulged in almost
incredible excesses. He gave out that he could cure barrenness, and by
his evil practices brought down upon himself the maledictions of the
whole people. The king alone would believe no ill of him. He said he was
the greatest prodigy in the world.

At this time the Mongol empire was on the verge of its fall and Koryŭ
envoys found it impossible to force their way through to Peking and so
were compelled to desist. It is a noteworthy fact that though Koryŭ
hated the Mongols she nevertheless held fast to them till the very last
moment.

At this time it happened that the king was without an heir and both he
and the court were anxious about the succession.

The records say that he was so anxious to have a son that he committed
an act almost if not quite unparalleled in the history of any land,
civilized or savage. Having become prematurely old by his terrible
excesses, he introduced a number of young men into the palace and gave
them the _entre_ into the queen’s apartments, hoping thereby that his
hopes might be realised. In this he was disappointed. One day while
passing an hour in the apartments of his favorite, Sin-don, he noticed
there a new-born babe, the son of one of Sin-don’s concubines. He seemed
pleased with the child and Sin-don asked him to adopt it as his own. The
king laughed but did not seem averse to the proposition. Returning to
the palace he summoned the officials and told them that for some time he
had been frequenting the apartments of Sin-don and that he had gotten a
son by one of the women there. He knew well enough that if he proposed
to adopt Sin-don’s son the opposition would be overwhelming, so he took
this means of carrying out the plan. Of course it is impossible to
verify the truth of this statement. It may have been a fabrication of
the historians of the following dynasty in order to justify the founder
of the new dynasty in overthrowing Koryŭ. The annals of the Ming dynasty
say that it was the king’s son and not Sin-don’s.

In 1366 the opposition to the favorite increased in intensity and the
king was almost buried beneath petitions for his banishment or death.
These the king answered by banishing or killing the senders and by this
means the open opposition was put an end to. The wily monk knew that he
needed more than the king’s favor in order to maintain his position of
honor, and so he began to take away the fields and other property of
high officials and distribute them among the people in order to curry
favor with them. This brought from the officials a new and fiercer
protest and they told the king that these acts would make his reign a
subject of ridicule to future generations. While this did not move the
king to active steps against Sin-don it caused a coolness to spring up
between them. The favorite saw that he had been going too far and he
tried to smooth the matter over by returning the property that had been
sequestered. At the same time he secured the liberation of many slaves.
Here, too, he was [...]

All this time the Japanese were busy at the work of pillage and
destruction. They took possession of an island near Kang-wha with the
intention of fortifying it and making of it a permanent rendezvous. They
landed wherever they pleased and committed the most horrible excesses
with impunity. The Koryŭ troops were in bad condition. They had no
uniforms and their arms were of the poorest kind and mostly out of
order. They dared not attack the Japanese even when there was good hope
of success. The generals showed the king the ways and means of holding
the freebooters in check but he would not follow their advice, probably
on account of the expense. He paid dearly for his economy in the end.

The mother of the king could not be brought to treat Sin-don with
respect. When the king expostulated with her and told her that the
favorite was the pillar of the state she declared that he was a low-born
adventurer and that she would not treat him as her equal. From that time
she incurred the deadly enmity of the favorite who used every means in
his power to influence the king against her. He became suspicious of
everyone who held any high position and caused many of the highest
officials to be put to death. He was commonly called “The Tiger.” The
depth of the king’s infatuation was shown when in this same year he went
to a monastery to give thanks to Buddha for the cessation of famine,
which he ascribed to his having taken Sin-don as counsellor. It is also
shown in the impunity with which Sin-don took the king to task in public
for certain things that displeased him. The favorite was playing with
fire. The people sent to the king repeatedly asking if the rumors of the
favorite’s drunkenness and debaucheries were correct. But the king’s
eyes had not yet been opened to the true state of affairs and these
petitioners were severely punished.



                              Chapter XI.

Sin-don’s pride.... Mongol Emperor’s plan of escape to Koryŭ.... Mongol
    Empire falls.... Japanese envoy snubbed.... an imperial letter from
    the Ming court.... ill treatment of Japanese envoy bears fruit....
    more trouble in Quelpart.... census and revenue.... Gen. Yi
    promoted.... Koryŭ adopts Ming dress and coiffure.... Gen. Yi makes
    a campaign across the Yalu.... the Japanese come north of the
    capital.... Sin-don is overthrown.... popular belief regarding
    him.... trouble from three sources at the same time.... a Mongol
    messenger.... the Japanese burn Han-yang.... a new favorite.... a
    laughing-stock.... Chöng Mong-ju an envoy to Nanking.... plans for a
    navy.... useless army.... Ming Emperor demands horses.... Quelpart
    rebels defeated.... king assassinated.... Ming Emperor refuses to
    ratify the succession.... Mongols favored at the Koryŭ court.... a
    supernatural proof.... Japanese repulsed.... Japanese deny their
    responsibility for the action of corsairs.


The year 1367 saw no diminution of the symptoms that proclaimed the
deep-seated disease that was eating at the vitals of Koryŭ. Sin-don even
dared to flout the emperor by scornfully casting aside an imperial
missive containing a notification of his elevation to an honorary
position. The king continued to abase himself by performing menial
duties in Buddhistic ceremonies at his favorite monastery. Sin-don added
to his other claims the power of geomancy and said the king must move
the capital to P‘yŭng-yang. He was sent to look over the site with a
view to a removal thither, but a storm of hail frightened him out of the
project. Returning to Song-do he refused to see the king for four days,
urging as his excuse the fatigue of the journey. His encroachments
continued to such a point that at last he took no care to appear before
the king in the proper court dress but came in the ordinary dress of the
Koryŭ gentleman, and he ordered the historians not to mention the fact
in the annals.

The Mongol horse-breeders still ruffled it in high style on the island
of Quelpart where they even saw fit to drive out the prefect sent by the
king. For this reason an expedition was fitted out against them and they
were soon brought to terms. They however appealed to the emperor. As it
happened the Mongol emperor was at this time in desperate straits and
foresaw the impossibility of long holding Peking against the Ming
forces. He therefore formed the plan of escaping to the island of
Quelpart and there finding asylum. For this purpose he sent large store
of treasure and of other necessaries to this place. At the same time he
sent an envoy to the court at Song-do relinquishing all claim to the
island. In this way he apparently hoped to gain the good will of Koryŭ,
of which he feared he would soon stand in need. The king, not knowing
the emperor’s design, feared that this was a device by which to raise
trouble and he hastened to send an envoy declaring that the expeditions
to Quelpart were not in reference to the Mongols there but in order to
dislodge a band of Japanese freebooters. The former prefects had always
treated the people of Quelpart harshly and had exacted large sums from
them on any and every pretext; but the prefect now sent was determined
to show the people a different kind of rule. He even carried jars of
water from the mainland rather than drink the water of Quelpart. So at
least the records affirm. Naturally the people idolized him.

The year 1368 opened, the year which beheld the demolition of the Mongol
empire. It had risen less than a century before and had increased with
marvelous rapidity until it threatened the whole eastern hemisphere. Its
decadence had been as rapid and as terrible as its rise. The Mongols
were peculiarly unfit to resist the seductions of the more refined
civilizations which they encountered. The Ming forces drove the Mongol
court from Peking and the dethroned emperor betook himself northward
into the desert to the town of Sa-mak.

This year also witnessed the arrival of a friendly embassy from Japan
bearing gifts to the king. Here was Koryŭ’s great opportunity to secure
the coöperation of the Japanese government in the work of putting down
the pirates who were harrying the shores of the peninsula. Proper
treatment of this envoy and a little diplomacy would have saved Koryŭ
untold suffering, but the low-born but all-powerful favorite, Sin-don,
took advantage of the occasion to make an exhibition of his own
importance and he snubbed the envoy so effectually that the latter
immediately returned to Japan. The foolish favorite went so far as to
withhold proper food from him and his suite, and addressed them in low
forms of speech. The same year, at his instigation, the whole system of
national examinations was done away with.

[Illustration: _A FORM OF SEPULTURE._]

Early in 1369 the first envoy, Sŭl Sa, from the Ming court arrived in
Song-do. He was the bearer of an imperial letter which read as follows:-

“After the Sung dynasty lost its power, a hundred years passed by
without its recovering from the blow, but heaven hated the drunkenness
and licentiousness of the Mongols and now after eighteen years of war
the fruition of our labors has been reached. At first we entered the
Mongol army and there beheld the evils of the Mongol reign. Then with
heaven’s help we went to the west, to Han-ju and overcame its king Chin
U-ryang. Then we raised the standard of revolt against the Mongols. In
the east we overcame the rebel Chang Sa-sŭng and in the south the
Min-wŏl kingdom. In the north the Ho-in fell before us and now all the
people of China call us emperor. The name of our dynasty is Ming and the
name of this auspicious year is Hong-mu. We call upon you now as in duty
bound to render allegiance to us. In times past you were very intimate
with us for it was your desire to better the condition of your people
thereby.”

Such was the importance of this embassy that the king went out in person
to meet it. Splendid gifts were offered which, however, the envoy
declined.

In accordance with the summons contained in this letter the king
formally put away the Mongol calendar and assumed that of the Mings
instead. An envoy was immediately sent to the Ming court to offer
congratulations and perform the duties of a vassal. The emperor
responded graciously by sending back to Koryŭ all citizens of that
kingdom who had been held in semi-durance by the Mongols.

The criminal neglect of opportunity in driving away the friendly
Japanese envoy now began to bear its bitter fruit. Many Japanese had
from time to time settled peacefully in southern Koryŭ and the king had
given them a place to live at Nam-hă in Kyŭng-sang Province. They now
broke their oath of fealty to the government, rose in open revolt and
began ravaging the country right and left.

As the emperor of the Mongols had fled away north and his scheme for
taking refuge in Quelpart had come to naught we would suppose the Mongol
horse-breeders in that island would act with considerable
circumspection; but on the other hand they kept up a continual
disturbance, revolting and surrendering again in quick succession much
to the annoyance of the central government.

In the latter part of the year 1369 the government again took a census
of the arable land of the peninsula in order to make a re-estimate of
the revenue to be received. This indicates that there had been a certain
degree of prosperity in spite of all untoward circumstances and that the
margin of cultivation had moved at least a little way up the hill-sides,
and that waste land had been reclaimed. It is only by inferences from
chance statements like this that we get an occasional imperfect glimpse
of the condition of the common people. Oriental histories have not been
written with reference to the common people.

The king had now handed over to Sin-don the whole care of public
business and he was virtually the ruler of the land. Gen. Yi T‘ă-jo had
shown his wisdom in staying as far as possible from the capital and in
not crossing the path of the dangerous favorite. He was now appointed
general-in-chief of all the north-eastern territory and at the same time
Gen. Yi Im-in was appointed to a similar position in the north-west.
There was some fear lest fugitive Mongols might cross the border and
seek refuge in Koryŭ territory. The chief business of the army there was
to guard all the approaches and see to it that such fugitives were
strictly excluded. In the following year, 1370, Gen. Yi T‘ă-jo even
crossed the Yalu, probably in the vicinity of the present Sam-su, into
what was then Yŭ-jin territory, and took 2000 bullocks and 100 horses,
but gave them all to the people to be used in cultivating the fields.

Now that the Ming dynasty was firmly established the emperor turned his
attention to Korea. He began by investing the king anew with the
insignia of royalty and presenting him with a complete outfit of clothes
of the style of the Ming dynasty. He also gave musical instruments and
the Ming calendar. The important law was promulgated that after a man
had passed the civil examinations in Koryŭ he should go to Nanking and
there undergo further examination. The king received all the emperor’s
gifts and commands with complacency and soon the Ming dress was adopted
throughout by the official class and more gradually by the common
people. It is the style of dress in vogue in Korea today, whereas the
Chinese themselves adopted later the dress of their Manchu conquerors.
In this respect the Koreans today are really more Chinese than the
Chinese themselves.

With the opening of 1371 Gen. Yi led an army across the Yalu and
attacked Ol-ja Fortress. The whole territory between the Yalu and the
Great Wall was at this time held by the Yŭ-jin people or by offshoots of
the Mongol power. The Ming emperor had as yet made no attempt to take it
and therefore this expedition of Koryŭ’s was not looked upon as an act
of bad faith by China. Just before the attack on Ol-ja began, there came
over to the Koryŭ forces a general who, formerly a Koryŭ citizen, had
long been in the Mongol service. His name was Yi In-bok. Gen. Yi sent
him to Song-do where the king elevated him to a high position. A bridge
had been thrown across the Yalu and the army had crossed in safety, but
a tremendous thunder storm threw the army into confusion, for they
feared it was a warning voice from a deity who was angered by this
invasion of trans-Yalu territory. With great presence of mind one of the
leaders shouted that it was a good sign for it meant that the heavenly
dragon was shaking things up a bit as a presage of their victory. Their
fears were thus allayed and the attack upon the fortress was successful.
Gen. Yi then led his forces toward the Liao Fortress but cautiously left
all the camp baggage three days in the rear and advanced, with seven
days rations in hand. The advance guard of 3000 reached the fortress and
began the assault before the main body came up. When the garrison saw
the full army approach they were in despair but their commander was
determined to make a fight. As he stood on the wall and in person
refused Gen. Yi’s terms it is said that the latter drew his bow and let
fly an arrow which sped so true that it struck off the commander’s
helmet, whereupon Gen. Yi shouted, “If you do not surrender I will hit
your face next time.” The commander thereupon surrendered. So Gen. Yi
took the place and having dismantled it and burned all the supplies,
started on the return march. Provisions ran low, and it was found
necessary to kill the beasts of burden. They were in some danger from
the detachments of the enemy who hung upon their rear but they were kept
at a respectful distance by an ingenious strategem of Gen. Yi’s, for
wherever he made a camp he compelled the soldiers to make elaborate
preparations even to the extent of erecting separate cattle sheds and
water closets. The enemy finding these in the deserted camps deemed that
the army must be in fine condition and so dared not attack them. Thus
the whole army got safely back to An-ju.

As the Japanese pirates, emboldened by the impunity with which they
could ravage Korea, now came even north of the capital and attacked
Hă-ju the capital of Whang-hă Province, and also burned forty Koryŭ
boats, Gen. Yi was detailed to go and drive them away, which he speedily
did.

The royal favorite was now nearing the catastrophe toward which his
criminally corrupt course inevitably led. He was well known to all but
the king whom he had infatuated. But now he began to see that the end
was not far off. He knew that soon the king too would discover his
knavery. For this cause he determined to use the little power he had
left in an attempt to overthrow the government. What the plan was we are
not told but it was nipped in the bud, for the king discovered it and
arrested some of his accomplices and by means of torture learned the
whole truth about the man whom he had before considered too good for
this world. The revulsion of feeling was complete. He first banished
Sin-don to Su-wŭn and then at the urgent advice of the whole court sent
an executioner to make way with him. The messenger of death bore a
letter with him in which the king said, “I promised never to move
against you but I never anticipated such actions as those of which you
have been guilty. You have (1) rebelled, (2) you have numerous children,
though a monk and unmarried, (3) you have built yourself a palace in my
capital. These things I did not agree to.” So Sin-don and his two sons
perished.

It is said of Sin-don that he was mortally afraid of hunting-dogs and
that in his feasts he insisted upon having the flesh of black fowls and
white horses to eat. For these reasons the people said that he was not a
man but a fox in disguise; for Korean lore affirms that if any animal
drinks of water that has lain for twenty years in a human skull it will
have the power to assume at will any form of man or beast. But the
peculiar condition is added that if a hunting-dog looks such a man in
the face he will be compelled to resume his original shape.

With the opening of 1372 troubles multiplied. Nap T‘ap-chul, a Mongol
chieftain at large, together with Ko-gan, led a mixed army of Mongol and
Yŭ-jin adventurers across the Yalu and began to harry the northern
border. Gen. Chi Yun was sent to put down the presumptuous robbers. At
the same time the Quelpart horse-breeders again revolted and when the
king, at the command of the emperor, sent a man to bring horses as
tribute to China the insurrectionists put him to death. But the common
people of Quelpart formed a sort of militia and put down the
insurrection themselves. The Japanese also made trouble, for they now
began again to ravage the eastern coast, and struck as high north as
An-byŭn, and Ham-ju, now Ham-heung. They also carried on operations at
Nam-han near Seoul, but in both instances were driven off.

It is said that at this time the king was given over to sodomy and that
he had a “school” of boys at the palace to cater to his unnatural
passions. The people were deeply indignant and talk ran very high, but
the person of the king was sacred, and his acts were not to be accounted
for; so he went his evil way unchecked, each step bringing him nearer
the overthrow of the dynasty which was now not far away.

Late in the year the king sent a present of fifty horses to the Ming
emperor.

No sooner had the spring of 1373 opened than the remnant of the Mongols
in the north sent to the king and said “We are about to raise a mighty
force to overthrow the Ming empire, and you must cooperate with us in
this work.” The messenger who brought this unwelcome summons was
promptly clapped into prison, but later at the advice of the courtiers
he was liberated and sent back home.

It would be well-nigh impossible to describe each successive expedition
of the Japanese to the shores of Koryŭ, but at this time one of unusual
importance occurred. The marauders ascended the Han River in their small
boats and made a swift attack on Han-yang the site of the present
capital of Korea. Before leaving they burned it to the ground. The
slaughter was terrific and the whole country and especially the capital
was thrown into a state of unusual solicitude. The Japanese, loaded down
with booty, made their way to the island of Kyo-dong just outside the
island of Kang-wha, and proceeded to kill and plunder there.

The boy whom the king had called his son but who was in reality an
illegitimate son of Sin-don, was named Mo-ri-no, but now as he had
gained his majority he was given the name of U and the rank of
Kang-neung-gun, or “Prince who is near to the king.” As Sin-don was dead
the king made Kim Heung-gyŭng his favorite and pander. Gen. Kŭl Săng was
put in charge of the defensive operations against the Japanese but as he
failed to cashier one of his lieutenants who had suffered defeat at the
hands of the Japanese the testy king took off his unoffending head. Gen.
Ch‘oe Yŭng was then put in charge and ordered to fit out a fleet to
oppose the marauders. He was at the same time made criminal judge, but
he committed so many ludicrous mistakes and made such a travesty of
justice that he became a general laughing stock.

As the Ming capital was at Nanking the sending of envoys was a difficult
matter, for they were obliged to go by boat, and in those days, and with
the craft at their command, anything but coastwise sailing was
exceedingly dangerous. So when the Koryŭ envoy Chöng Mong-ju, one of the
few great men of the Koryŭ dynasty, arrived at the emperor’s court, the
latter ordered that thereafter envoys should come but once in three
years. In reply to this the king said that if desired the envoy could be
sent overland; but this the emperor forbade because of the danger from
the remnants of the Mongol power.

The eventful year 1374 now came in. Gen. Yi Hyŭn told the king that
without a navy Koryŭ would never be able to cope with Japanese pirates.
He showed the king a plan for a navy which he had drawn up. His majesty
was pleased with it and ordered it carried out, but the general affirmed
that a navy never could be made out of landsmen and that a certain
number of islanders should be selected and taught naval tactics for five
years. In order to do this he urged that a large part of the useless
army be disbanded. To all of this the royal assent was given. The
quality of the army may be judged from the action of the troops sent
south to Kyŭng-sang Province to oppose a band of Japanese. They ravaged
and looted as badly as the Japanese themselves. And when at last the two
forces did meet the Koryŭ troops were routed with a loss of 5,000 men.
Meanwhile the Japanese were working their will in Whang-hă Province,
north and west of the capital, and as to the details of it even the
annals give up in despair and say the details were so harrowing that it
was impossible to describe them.

The emperor of China was determined to obtain 2,000 of the celebrated
horses bred on the island of Quelpart and after repeated demands the
king sent to that island to procure them. The Mongol horse-breeders
still had the business in hand and were led by four men who said, “We
are Mongols, why should we furnish the Ming emperor with horses?” So
they gave only 300 animals. The emperor insisted upon having the full
2,000 and the king reluctantly proceeded to extremities. A fleet of 300
boats was fitted out and 25,000 men were carried across the straits. On
the way a gale of wind was encountered and many of the boats were
swamped, but the following morning the survivors, still a large number,
arrived at Myŭng-wŭl, or “Bright Moon,” Harbor where they found 3,000
men drawn up to oppose their landing. When the battle was joined the
enemy was defeated and chased thirty _li_ but they again rallied in the
southern part of the island at Ho-do where they made a stand. There they
were surrounded and compelled to surrender. The leader, T‘ap-chi was cut
in two at the waist and many others committed suicide. Several hundreds
others who refused to surrender were cut down. To the credit of the
officers who led the expedition be it said that wherever they went the
people were protected and lawless acts were strictly forbidden.

The king had now reached the moment of his fate. The blood of many
innocent men was on his hands and he was destined to a violent death
himself. He was stabbed by one of his most trusted eunuchs while in a
drunken sleep. The king’s mother was the first to discover the crime and
with great presence of mind she concealed the fact and hastily summoning
two of the courtiers consulted with them as to the best means of
discovering the murderer. As it happened the eunuch was detected by the
blood with which his clothes were stained. Put to the torture he
confessed the crime and indicated his accomplice. The cause of his act
was as follows. One of the king’s concubines was with child. When the
eunuch informed the king the latter was very glad and asked who the
father might be. The eunuch replied that one Hong Mun, one of the king’s
favorites, was the father. The king said that he would bring about the
death of this Hong so that no one should ever know that the child was
not a genuine prince. The eunuch knew that this meant his own death too,
for he also was privy to the fact. So he hastened to Hung Mun and they
together matured the plan for the assassination.

U, the supposed son of the king, now ascended the throne. His posthumous
title is Sin-u. An envoy was sent to Nanking to announce the fact, but
the emperor refused to ratify his accession to the throne. The reason
may have been because he was not satisfied as to the manner of the late
king’s demise, or it may be that someone had intimated to him that the
successor was of doubtful legitimacy; and now to add to the difficulties
of the situation the Ming envoy on his way home with 200 tribute horses
was waylaid by Korean renegades who stole the horses and escaped to the
far north. When news of this reached Nanking the Korean envoy there
hastened to make good his escape.

A conference was now held at the Koryŭ capital and as the breach with
the Ming power seemed beyond remedy it was decided to make advances to
the Mongols who still lingered in the north; but at the earnest desire
of Chöng Mong-ju this decision was reversed and an envoy was sent to
Nanking to explain matters as best he could. The eunuch and his
accomplice who had killed the king were now executed and notice of the
fact was sent to the Chinese court.

There was great dissatisfaction among the Koryŭ officials for they all
knew that the king was a mere usurper and it was again suggested that
approaches be made to the Mongols. About this time also a Mongol envoy
came demanding to know whose son the present king was. They wanted to
put the king of Mukden on the throne, as he was of course favorable to
the Mongols. A great and acrimonious dispute now arose between the
Mongol and Ming factions in the Koryŭ court. But the Mongol sympathizers
carried the day. This, however, came to nothing for when news came that
the king of Mukden and many Koryŭ renegades were advancing in force on
the Koryŭ frontier to take by force what the officials had decided to
give unasked, there was a great revulsion of feeling and troops were
sent to hold them in check. This was in 1376, and while this was in
progress the Japanese were carrying fire and sword through the south
without let or hindrance.

Pan-ya the real mother of the king came forward and claimed her position
as such, but another of the former king’s concubines, Han, had always
passed as the boy’s mother and she was now loath to give up the
advantages which the position afforded. For this reason she secured the
arrest and imprisonment of Pan-yu. It was decided that she must die and
she was carried to the water’s edge and was about to be thrown in when
she exclaimed, “When I die one of the palace gates will fall as a sign
of my innocence and the truth of my claim.” The story runs that when she
sank beneath the water this came true and all knew, too late, that she
was indeed the mother of the king.

The Japanese now made their appearance again in Ch‘ung-Ch‘ŭng Province
and took the town of Kong-ju. The Korean forces under Gen. Pak In-gye
were there routed but not till their leader had been thrown from his
horse and killed. Then an army under Gen. Ch‘oé Yŭng met them at
Hong-san. The general rushed forward ahead of his men to attack the
marauders and was wounded by an arrow in the mouth but he did not retire
from the fight. The result was a glorious victory for the Koryŭ forces.
The Japanese were almost annihilated.

Some time before this the king had sent an envoy Na Heung-yu to Japan to
ask the interference of the Japanese Government against the pirates, and
the reply was now brought by the hand of a Japanese monk Yang Yu. It
said. “The pirates all live in western Japan in a place called Ku-ju and
they are rebels against us and have been for twenty years. So we are not
at fault because of the harm they have done you. We are about to send an
expedition against them and if we take Ku-ju we swear that we will put
an end to the piracy.” But the pirates in the meantime ravaged Kang-wha
and large portions of Chŭl-la Province.



                              Chapter XII.

A Mongol proposal.... “The Revellers”.... friends with the Mongols....
    Gen. Yi takes up arms against the Japanese.... victorious.... envoys
    to and from Japan.... gun-powder.... defeat turned into victory by
    Gen. Yi.... fire arrows.... vacillation.... prophecy.... Japan helps
    Koryŭ.... jealousies.... a reckless king.... Gen. Yi’s stratagem....
    a triumphal return.... the emperor loses patience.... a coast
    guard.... stone fights.... heavy tribute.... the capital moved....
    Japanese repelled.... lukewarm Koryŭ.... a disgraceful act.... Gen.
    Yi victorious in the north.... the emperor angry.... Japan sends
    back Koryŭ captives.... a skillful diplomat.... fine sarcasm.... a
    grave error.... victory in the northeast.... untold excesses....
    “Old Cat”.... tribute rejected.


Toward the close of 1377 the Mongol chieftain In-puk-wŭn sent the king a
letter saying, “Let us join forces and attack the Ming power.” At the
same time he sent back all the Koryŭ people who had been taken captive
at various times. The king’s answer was a truly diplomatic one. He said,
“I will do so if you will first send the king of Mukden to me, bound
hand and foot.” We need hardly say that this request was not granted.

The next attack of the Japanese extended all along the southern coast.
The general who had been placed in the south to guard against them spent
his time feasting with courtezans and he and his officers were commonly
known as “The Revellers.” Fighting was not at all in their intentions.
When the king learned of this he banished the general to a distant
island. Affairs at the capital were not going well. Officials were so
numerous that the people again made use of the term “Smoke House
Officials,” for there were so many that nearly every house in the
capital furnished one. They tampered with the list of appointments and
without the king’s knowledge slipped in the names of their friends. So
the people in contempt called it the “Secret List.”

The coquetting with the Mongols brought forth fruit when early in 1378
they invested the king of Koryŭ and he adopted the Mongol name of the
year. It is said that this caused great delight among the Mongols and
that they now thought that with the help of Koryŭ they would be able to
again establish their power in China.

After the Japanese had ravaged to their hearts’ content in Ch‘ung-ch‘ŭng
Province and had killed 1000 men on Kang-wha and had burned fifty boats,
the king did what he ought to have done long before, namely, appointed
Gen. Yi T‘ă-jo as General-in-chief of the Koryŭ forces. He took hold of
the matter in earnest and summoned a great number of monks to aid in the
making of boats for coast defence. The pirates now were ravaging the
east and south and were advancing on Song-do. The king wanted to run
away but was dissuaded. The Japanese were strongest in Kyŭng-sang
Province. Gen Yi’s first encounter with them was at Chi-ri Mountain in
Chŭl-la Province and he there secured a great victory, demonstrating
what has always been true, that under good leadership Koreans make
excellent soldiers. When the Koryŭ troops had advanced within 200 paces
of the enemy a burly Japanese was seen leaping and showing himself off
before his fellows. Gen. Yi took a cross-bow and at the first shot laid
the fellow low. The remainder of the Japanese fled up the mountain and
took their stand in a solid mass which the records say resembled a
hedge-hog; but Gen. Yi soon found a way to penetrate this phalanx and
the pirates were slaughtered almost to a man. But Gen. Yi could not be
everywhere at once and in the meantime Kang-wha again suffered. Gen. Yi
was next seen fighting in Whang-hă Province at Hă-ju, where he burned
the Japanese out from behind wooden defenses and slaughtered them
without quarter.

The Japanese Government had not been able as yet to put down the
pirates, but now an envoy, Sin Hong, a monk, came with gifts declaring
that the government was not a party to the expeditions of the
freebooters and that it was very difficult to overcome them. And so the
work went on, now on one coast of the country and now on another. The
king sent an envoy to the Japanese Shogun, P‘ă-ga-dă, to ask his
interference, but the shogun imprisoned the envoy and nearly starved him
to death and then sent him back. The king wanted to send another, but
the courtiers were all afraid. They all hated the wise and learned Chöng
Mong-ju and told the king to send him. He was quite willing to go and,
arriving at the palace of the shogun, he spoke out fearlessly and
rehearsed the friendly relations that had existed between the two
countries, and created a very good impression. He was very popular both
with the shogun himself and with the Japanese courtiers and when he
returned to Koryŭ the shogun sent a general, Chu Mang-in, as escort and
also 200 Koreans who had at some previous time been taken captive. The
shogun also so far complied with the king’s request as to break up the
piratical settlements on the Sam-do or “Three islands.”

A man named Im Sŭn-mu had learned among the Mongols the art of making
gunpowder and a bureau was now formed to attend to its manufacture but
as yet there were no firearms.

With the opening of 1379 things looked blacker than ever. The Japanese
were swarming in Ch‘ung-ch‘ŭng Province and on Kang-wha. The king was in
mortal fear and had the walls of Song-do carefully guarded. Gen. Ch‘oe
Yŭng was sent to hold them in check. The Japanese knew that no one but
he stood between them and Song-do so they attacked him fiercely and soon
put him to flight; but in the very nick of time Gen. Yi T‘ă-jo came up
with his cavalry, turned the retreating forces about and attacked the
enemy so fiercely that defeat was turned into a splendid victory. A
messenger arrived breathless at the gate of Song-do saying that Gen.
Ch‘oé had been defeated.

All was instantly in turmoil; the king had all his valuables packed and
was ready to flee at a moment’s warning. But lo! another messenger
followed hard upon the heels of the first announcing that Gen. Yi had
turned the tide of battle and had wrested victory from the teeth of the
enemy.

The good will of the Japanese government was shown when a prefect in
western Japan sent sixty soldiers under the command of a monk, Sin Hong,
to aid in the putting down of the corsairs. They made some attempts to
check their lawless countrymen but soon found that they had undertaken
more than they had bargained for, and so returned to Japan. As the
pirates were ravaging the west coast as far north as P‘yŭng-yang, the
king sent against them Generals Na Se and Sim Tŭk-pu who had been
successful before. By the use of fire-arrows they succeeded in burning
several of the enemy’s boats at Chin-p‘o and of course had the fellows
at their mercy, for they had no means of escape.

It is evident the king did not know his own mind in relation to Chinese
suzerainty. Now he favored the Mongols and now the Mings. A year or so
before this he had adopted the Mongol name of the year but now he turns
about and adopts the Ming name again. It was this vacillation, this
playing fast and loose with his obligations, that alienated the
good-will of the Ming emperor and made him look with complacency upon
the dissolution of the Koryŭ dynasty.

Late in the autumn of 1379 the Japanese were again in dangerous
proximity to the capital and the king wanted to move to a safer place.
The geomancers’ book of prophecies indicated Puk-so San as “A narrow
place and good for a king to live in,” but the courtiers opposed it,
saying that there was no large river flowing near by, on which the
government rice could be brought by boat to the capital. So it was given
up.

There was a Mongol general named Ko-ga-no who had become independent of
the main body of the Mongols and had set up a separate government on his
own responsibility in Liao-tung. He was wavering between natural ties on
the one hand, which bound him to the Mongols, and the dictates of common
sense on the other, which indicated the rising fortunes of the Ming. He
chose a middle course by coming with his 40,000 men and asking the
privilege of joining Koryŭ. The records do not say whether permission
was given or not, but we may easily believe it was.

In 1380 the Japanese government sent 180 soldiers under the command of
Gen. Pak Kŭ-sa to aid in driving the pirates out of Koryŭ. In the midst
of these dangers from freebooters, jealousy was undermining the
government at Song-do. Gen. Yi T‘ă-jo had a friend named Gen. Yang
Păk-yŭn who now under false charges, enviously made by officials near
the king, was banished and then killed. It was wonderful that the fame
of Gen. Yi did not bring about his murder.

The Ming emperor thought, and rightly, that the king was a very fickle
individual and sent a letter asking him why it was that he had no
settled policy but did everything as the impulse of the moment led. The
king’s reply is not recorded but that he did not take to heart the
admonitions of the emperor is quite evident, for he plunged into greater
excesses than ever. His ill-timed hunting expeditions, his drunkenness
and debauchery were the scandal of the country. The people thought he
ought to be hunting Japanese pirates rather than wild boar and deer.
Even while the Japanese were ravaging Ch‘ung-ch‘ŭng Province the king
was trampling down the people’s rice-fields in the pursuit of game. He
stole the people’s cattle and horses whenever he needed them and if he
chanced to see a good looking girl anywhere he took means to possess
himself of her person by fair means or foul. He was indeed the son of
Sin-don both by blood and by disposition.

This year the ravages of the freebooters exceeded anything that had been
known before. The southern provinces were honeycombed by them. Generals
Pă Keuk-yŭm and Chöng Chi were sent against them but without result. At
last the Japanese laughingly asserted that they soon would be in the
city of Song-do. They might have gone there if Gen. Yi had not been sent
in person to direct the campaign against them. Hastening south he
rallied around him all the available troops and came to Un-bong in
Chŭl-la province. He ascended Chöng San which lay six miles from the
camp of the enemy. From this point he perceived that there were two
roads leading to this camp; one broad and easy and the other narrow and
rough. With great sagacity he judged that the Japanese would take the
narrow road, hoping to make a counter march on him. So he sent a
considerable force by the broad road but selected a band of trusty men
to form an ambush on the narrow one. The Japanese acted precisely as he
had foreseen. When they learned that the Koryŭ army was approaching they
hastened away by the narrow road and so fell into the ambush, where they
were severely handled. Fifty of their number were left dead. The
remainder sought safety in the mountains but were soon brought to bay.
The whole Koryŭ army was called up and the attack upon the Japanese
position was begun. It was necessary to attack up a steep incline and
Gen. Yi had two horses shot out from under him, and an arrow pierced his
leg; but he drew it out and continued the fight. Among the enemy was a
man stronger and larger than the rest. He stood spear in hand and danced
about, urging on his comrades. He was encased in armor and on his head
was a copper helmet. There was no opening for an arrow to enter; so Gen.
Yi said to his lieutenant, Yi Tu-ran, “Make ready an arrow and when I
strike off his helmet do you aim at his face.” Gen. Yi took careful aim
and struck off the man’s helmet and swift behind his arrow flew that of
his lieutenant which laid the fellow low. This demoralized the enemy and
they were soon hewn down. It is said that for days the stream near by
ran red with blood. As the result of this victory 1600 horses were taken
and a large amount of spoil, including implements of war.

When the victorious general returned to Song-do he was given a triumphal
entry and fifty ounces of gold and other gifts were distributed among
the generals who assisted him. It is said that, from that time on,
whenever the news came that a Japanese band had disembarked on the
southern coast the first word that was spoken was, “Where is Gen. Yi
T‘ă-jo?”

The long-suffering emperor at last tired of the erratic course of the
Koryŭ king and decided to bring a little pressure to bear upon him in
order to bring him to his senses. He ordered the king to send him each
year a thousand horses, a hundred pounds of gold, five thousand ounces
of silver and five thousand pieces of cotton cloth. This was beyond the
means of the king, but he succeeded in sending three hundred ounces of
gold, a thousand ounces of silver, four hundred and fifty horses and
four thousand five hundred pieces of cotton. This large amount of
tribute was delivered into the hands of the governor of Liao-tung to be
sent to the imperial court, but the governor declared that as the tax
was a penal one and not merely for tribute he could not accept less than
the full amount required. So he drove the envoy away.

In 1382 the government adopted a new policy in the matter of coast
defense. In all the larger seaport towns generals were stationed in
charge of considerable bodies of troops and in the smaller towns
garrisons of proportional strength. The constant coming and going of
these troops was a terrible drain upon the resources of the people but
there was no help for it. The piratical raids of the Japanese had now
become so frequent that no attempt was made to keep a record of them. It
would have been easier for the people to bear had the king showed any of
the characteristics of manhood, but his feasts and revels saw no
abatement. Frequently he was so intoxicated that he fell from his horse
while hunting. He peopled the palace with dancing-girls and it may be
said of him as it was of Nero that he “fiddled while Rome was burning.”
As the king rode forth to hunt with falcon on wrist the eunuchs rode
behind him singing ribald Mongol songs. When other pleasures cloyed he
invented a sort of mock battle in which stones were used as missiles. It
is believed by many that this was the beginning of the popular
“stone-fight,” which is such a unique custom of Korea today. Once he
amused himself by pretending that he was going to bury one of his
officials alive behind the palace, and he hugely enjoyed the poor
fellow’s shrieks and struggles. He made this same official put up his
hat as a target, than which hardly anything could be a greater disgrace,
for the hat in Korea is the badge of citizenship and is held in such
esteem that no one will attend to the duties of nature without taking
off his hat and laying it aside.

Being hard pressed by the emperor in the matter of tribute it is said
that in 1383 he sent to the Ming court a hundred pounds of gold, ten
thousand ounces of silver, ten thousand pieces of linen and a thousand
horses. The records say the emperor refused to take it, for it fell
short of his demands. It is probable that this means not that it was
sent back but that the emperor refused to give a receipt in full of all
demands.

In this same year, 1383, the capital was again moved to Han-yang. The
reasons alleged were that so many misfortunes overtook the dynasty that
it seemed as if the site of the capital must be unpropitious. It was
also said that wild animals entered the city, which was a bad sign. The
water in the wells had boiled, fish fought with each other, and a number
of other fictions were invented, all of which made it necessary to move
the capital. It was effected, however, in the face of great opposition.
Meanwhile the Japanese were working their will in the south, for Gen. Yi
was in the north repelling an attack by the Yŭ-jin forces.

In spite of the sending of tribute to the Ming court, Koryŭ was on good
terms with the Mongols. In 1384 the Mongol chief Nap-t‘ap-chul came with
gifts to the king and frequent envoys were exchanged. Koryŭ was neither
hot nor cold but lukewarm and for this reason it was that the Mings
finally spewed her out of their mouth. The capricious king now moved
back to Song-do and the courtiers were put to no end of trouble and
expense. When they returned to Song-do with the king they burned all
their houses in Han-yang so as to make it impossible to return.

One of the most disgraceful acts of this king was his attempt to possess
himself of his father’s wife, or concubine. Meeting her one day he
commented on her beauty and said she was more beautiful than any of his
wives. He tried to force his way into her apartments at night but in
some way his plan was frustrated. When one of the courtiers took him to
task for his irregularities he tried to shoot him through with an arrow.

Gen. Yi T‘ă-jo was having a lively time in the north with the Yŭ-jin
people. Their general was Ho-bal-do. His helmet was four pounds in
weight. He wore a suit of red armor and he rode a black horse. Riding
forth from the ranks he shouted insulting words to Gen. Yi and dared him
to single combat. The latter accepted the gage and soon the two were at
work striking blows that no ordinary man could withstand. Neither could
gain the advantage until by a lucky chance the horse of Gen. Ho
stumbled, and before the rider could recover himself Gen. Yi had an
arrow in his neck. But the helmet saved him from a serious wound. Then
Gen. Yi shot his horse under him. At sight of this Gen. Ho’s soldiers
rushed up, as did also those of Gen. Yi, and the fight became general.
The result was an overwhelming victory for Koryŭ. These flattering
statements about the founder of the present dynasty are probably, in
many cases, the result of hero-worship but the reader has the privilege
of discounting them at discretion.

The Ming court knew all about Koryŭ’s coquetting with the Mongols and
sent a severe letter warning her that the consequences of this would be
disastrous. The king was frightened and sent an envoy in haste to the
Ming court to “make it right,” but the emperor cast him into prison and
sent demanding five years’ tribute at once. We may well believe that
this demand was not complied with.

That there were two opinions in Japan as regards Koryŭ is shown by the
fact that immediately after that government sent back 200 Koryŭ
citizens, who had been carried away captive, a sanguinary expedition
lauded on the coast of Kang-wŭn Province near the town of Kang-neung and
ravaged right away north as far as Nang-ch‘ŭn.

The king, in partial compliance with the emperor’s demands sent, in the
spring of 1385, 2000 horses to China. It was the faithful Chöng Mong-ju
who accompanied this peace offering, and when he arrived in Nanking the
emperor saw by the date of his commission that he had come in extreme
haste. This mollified his resentment to such an extent that he gave the
envoy a favorable hearing and that careful and judicious man made such
good use of the opportunity that friendly intercourse was again
established between China and her wayward vassal.

The state of affairs in Koryŭ was now beyond description. The _kwaga_, a
literary degree of some importance, was frequently conferred upon
infants still in their mothers’ arms. The people, with fine sarcasm,
called this the “Pink Baby-powder Degree.” The king was struggling to
pay up his arrears of tribute, but he could not secure the requisite
number of horses. In lieu of these he sent large quantities of silver
and cloth. The pendulum had now swung to the other extreme and a Mongol
envoy was denied audience with the king.

In 1386, the year following the above events, the Ming emperor formally
recognized the king of Koryŭ. This event was hailed with the greatest
delight by the court. But it did not have the effect of awakening the
king to the dignity of his position for he gave freer rein to his
passions than ever. He seized the daughter of one of his officials and
made her his concubine although she was already affianced to another.
This is a most grave offense in the east, for a girl affianced is
considered already the same as married.

It is a relief to turn from this picture and see what Gen. Yi was doing
to free his country from Japanese pirates. He was in the northeast when
a band of these men landed in his vicinity, near the mouth of the Tu-man
River. When they found that Gen. Yi was near by they wanted to make
their escape but he forced them into a position where they either had to
fight or surrender. He informed them that immediate surrender was the
only thing that could save them. They agreed to his terms but when they
had thus been thrown off their guard he fell upon them and the slaughter
was so great that it is said the plain was filled with the dead bodies.
The records make no attempt to conceal or palliate this act of bad faith
on the part of this great general. It was not an age when nice
distinctions were made. The Japanese were not waging a regular warfare
against the Koryŭ government but were killing helpless women and
children and burning their houses. Their one aim was plunder and this
put them outside the pale of whatever code of military honor prevailed.

The king’s vagaries now took a new turn. Like Haroun al Raschid he went
forth at night and roamed the streets in disguise accompanied by
concubines and eunuchs. Crimes that cannot be described and which would
have brought instant death upon a common citizen were committed with
impunity. No man’s honor was safe. Not only so, but other evil-minded
people masquerading at night and in disguise committed like
indescribable outrages under the cover of the king’s name. In his
hunting expeditions the king rode forth preceeded by a host of harlots
and concubines dressed in male attire and wherever he went the people
lost their horses and cattle and whatever else the royal escort took a
fancy to.

The continual trouble in Quelpart arising out of the horse-breeding
business grew so annoying that the king finally sent Gen. Yi Hăng with
instructions to bring away every horse and to do away entirely with the
business. This was done and from that day Quelpart had peace.

Kim Yu the envoy to Nanking was closely questioned by the emperor as to
the cause of the late king’s death and he told that potentate that it
was done by Yi In-im, which indeed was true; but to the question as to
whose son the king might be he returned an evasive answer. As a result
of his frankness in telling who murdered the former king he was
banished, for Yi In-im was all-powerful at court. The sentence of
banishment meant death for he was sent to a distant place of banishment
as such a break-neck pace that no man could live through it. He died of
fatigue on the way as was intended. This Yi In-im and his following held
the reins of power at the capital and they sold all offices and took
bribes from all criminals. They thus succeeded in defeating the ends of
justice and the people “gnashed their teeth” at him. He caused the death
of so many good men that he earned the popular soubriquet of “Old Cat.”

The year 1387 was signalized by a closer union between Koryŭ and her
suzerain. The Ming emperor sent 5000 pieces of silk to purchase horses
but when the animals arrived at his capital they were such a sorry lot
that he rejected them and charged the king with bad faith. The Koryŭ
officials all adopted the dress and the manners of the Ming court. This
they had done before but had dropped them again when they turned back to
the Mongols. From that time on until the present day the clothes of the
Korean have followed the fashions of the Ming dynasty.



                             Chapter XIII.

King determines to invade Liao-tung.... why unwise.... the emperor’s
    letter and the answer.... preparations.... Gen. Yi’s argument....
    royal threat.... Gen. Yi marches northward.... the troops appealed
    to.... the Rubicon of Korea.... an omen.... advance toward
    Song-do.... the capital in Gen. Yi’s hands.... popular song.... Gen.
    Yi’s demands.... attempted assassination.... king banished.... a new
    king.... reforms.... the “Red Grave”.... envoy to China.... Koryŭ
    takes the offensive against the Japanese.... the emperor’s offer....
    a real Wang upon the throne.... the banished kings executed....
    unsuccessful plot.... Gen. Yi opposes the Buddhists.... capital
    moved to Han-yang.... people desire Gen. Yi to be made king.... he
    is reluctant.... his son active.... Chöng Mong-ju assassinated....
    all enemies silenced.... the king’s oath.... the king abdicates in
    favor of Gen. Yi T‘ă-jo.


Koryŭ was now whirling in the outer circles of the maelstrom that was
destined to engulf her. So long as the king revelled and hunted only and
did not interfere with outside affairs he was endured as an necessary
evil but now in the opening of the year 1388 he determined upon an
invasion of Liao-tung, a plan so utterly foolhardy as to become the
laughing-stock of reasonable men. It was an insane idea. The constant
inroads of the Japanese demanded the presence of all the government
troops, for the sending of any of them out of the country would be the
signal for the Japanese to pour in afresh and with impunity. In the
second place the king could not hope to cope with the great Ming power
that had just arisen and was now in the first blush of its power. The
kingdom of Koryŭ was essentially bound to the Mongols and she pursued
her destiny to the bitter end. In the third place the Ming power had now
obtained a firm foothold in Liao-tung and an invasion there would look
much like a plan to finally attack that empire itself. In the fourth
place the finances of the country were utterly disorganised and the
unusual taxes that would be required to carry out the plan would take
away all popular enthusiasm for it and desertions would decimate the
army. But in spite of all these drawbacks the stubborn king held to his
point and as a preliminary measure built a wall about Han-yang where he
sent all the women and children for safety. By this act he acknowledged
the extreme hazard of the venture. It is not unlikely that he was so
tired of all other forms of amusement that he decided to plunge into war
in order to make sport for himself.

The emperor seems to have been aware of the plan for he now sent an
envoy to announce to the Koryŭ court that “All land north of Ch‘ŭl-lyŭng
belongs to the Mongols, and I am about to erect a palisade fence between
you and them.” When this envoy arrived at Song-do the king feigned
illness and would not see him. A letter was sent in reply saying “We own
beyond the Ch‘ŭl-lyŭng as far as Sang-sŭng, so we trust it will please
you not to erect a barrier there.” He then called in all the troops from
the provinces in preparation for the invasion. His ostensible reason was
a great hunting expedition in P‘yŭng-an Province for he knew the people
would rise in revolt if they knew the real purpose. The Japanese were
wasting the south, the people were fainting under new exactions to cover
the expense of the repairs at Han-yang and it is said the very planting
of crops was dispensed with, so disheartened were the people.

Having made Ch‘oe Yŭng general-in-chief of the expedition, the king
accompanied the army north to Pong-ju, now Pong-san. Gen. Ch‘oe never
divulged the fact that this was an army of invasion but told all the
troops that they must be strong and brave and ready for any work that
might be given them to do. Gen. Yi T‘ă-jo was made lieutenant-general in
connection with Gen. Ch‘oe. He made a powerful plea against the war and
the main points of his argument are preserved to us. His objections were
(1) It is bad for a small country to attack a powerful one. (2) It is
bad to make a campaign in summer when the heavy rains flood the country,
rendering the transporting of troops almost impossible and decimating
them with disease. (3) It is bad to drain off all the soldiers from the
country when the Japanese are so constant in their ravages. (4) The heat
and moisture of summer will spoil the bows and make them break easily.
To all these objections the king replied that having come thus far the
plan must be carried out. Gen. Yi hazarded his neck by demurring; still
asserting that it would mean the overthrow of the kingdom. The king in
rage exclaimed “The next man that advises against this war will lose his
head.” This was an end of the debate and as the council of war dispersed
the officers saw Gen. Yi weeping, and to their questions he answered “It
means the destruction of Koryŭ.”

The Yalu was quickly bridged and Gen. Yi in company with one other
general started north from P‘yŭng-yang with 38,600 troops, 21,000 of
whom were mounted. At the same time the king discarded the Ming
calendar, dress and coiffure. The Mongol clothes were again adopted and
the hair cut. The Japanese knowing that the troops had gone north,
entered the open door thus invitingly left ajar and seized forty
districts.

But we must follow the fortunes of the expedition that was to attack the
empire of the Mings. When Gen. Yi arrived at the Yalu his plans were not
laid as to what he should do. For one thing, he intended to make no
invasion of China. So he crossed over to Wi-ha island, in the mouth of
the Yalu, and there made his camp. Hundreds of his troops deserted and
went back home. Some of these the king seized and beheaded; but it did
not stop the defection. From that island a general, Hong In-ju, made a
dash into Liao-tung territory and was highly complimented by the king in
consequence. But Gen. Yi remained impassive. He sent a letter to the
king imploring him to listen to reason and recall the army, urging
history, the flooded condition of the country and the Japanese reasons
for it. But the king was stubborn. Rumor said that Gen. Yi had fled but
when another general was sent to ascertain whether this were true or
false he was found at his post. The two generals wept together over the
hopeless condition of affairs. At last they summoned the soldiers. “If
we stay here we will all be swept away by the rising flood. The king
will not listen to reason. What can we do to prevent the destruction of
all the people of Koryŭ? Shall we go back to P‘yŭng-yang, depose the
general-in-chief, Ch‘oe, who urges on this unholy war against the
Mings?” The soldiers shouted out acclamations of glad assent. Nothing
could please them better.

As Gen. Yi T‘ă-jo mounted his white steed and with his red bow and white
arrows stood motionless upon a mound of earth watching his soldiers
recross the Yalu to the Koryŭ side against the mandate of their king and
his, we see a new Caesar watching his army cross the Rubicon, an army as
passionately devoted to their leader as the Roman legions ever were to
Caesar. And Caesar suffers in the comparison, for he went back not to
restore the integrity of the state and prevent the waste of human life,
but rather to carry out to its tragic end a personal ambition. We have
seen how once and again Yi T‘ă-jo had plead with the king and had risked
even his life to prevent this monumental folly; and we shall see how he
used his power not for personal ends but with loyalty to his king, until
circumstances thrust him upon the throne.

The records say that no sooner had Gen. Yi followed his army across the
stream than a mighty wave, fed by mountain streams, came rolling down
the valley and swept clean over the island he had just left. The people
looked upon this as an omen and a sign of heaven’s favor, and they made
a song whose refrain runs “The son of wood will become king.” This
refers to the Chinese character for Gen. Yi’s name. It is the union of
the two characters “wood” and “son.” The whole army then took up its
march toward Song-do. A magistrate in the north sent a hasty message to
the king saying that the army was in full march back toward the capital.
The king was at this time in Song-ch‘ŭn, north of P‘yŭng-yang. He knew
many of the generals were opposed to the war and thought that they would
obey him better if he were near by, and so had come thus far north.

Hearing this startling news he immediately dispatched Gen. Ch‘oe
Yu-gyŭng with whatever force he had, to oppose the march of the
rebellious Gen. Yi. The associate of the latter urged him to push
forward with all speed and seize the person of the king, but he was no
traitor, and he replied “If we hurry forward and encounter our
countrymen many will fall. If anyone lays a finger on the king I will
have no mercy on him. If a single citizen of Koryŭ is injured in any way
I will never forgive the culprit.” So Gen. Yi came southward slowly,
hunting along the way in order to give the king time to get back to
Song-do in a leisurely manner as becomes a king. At last the king
arrived at his capital and the recalcitrant army came following slowly.
The people along the way hailed them as the saviors of the nation and
gave them all manner of provisions and supplies, so that they lacked for
nothing.

When Gen. Yi T‘ă-jo reached the neighborhood of Song-do he sent a letter
to the king saying, “As General-in-chief Ch‘oe-yŭng does not care for
the welfare of the people he must die. Send him to me for execution.”
But Gen. Ch‘oe did not intend to give up without a struggle, however
hopeless his case might be; so he took what troops were left and manned
the walls of Song-do. It was a desperate move, for all saw what the end
must be. Hundreds of soldiers who had deserted now flocked again to the
standards of Gen. Yi.

When the attack came off, Gen. Yi stormed the South Gate and Gen. Yu
Man-su the West Gate, and soon an entrance was effected. It is said that
after entering the city the first attack upon the royal forces was made
by Gen. Yu alone and that he was driven back. When this was told Gen. Yi
he seemed not to care but sat on his horse and let it crop the grass
along the path. After a time he partook of some food and then leisurely
arose, drew up his forces and in full view of them all took a shot at a
small pine that stood a hundred paces away. The arrow cut it sheer off
and the soldiers hailed it as a sign of victory, for was not the pine
the symbol of Koryŭ? So they marched on the palace. The old men and boys
mounted the city walls and cheered the attacking forces. Gen. Yi did not
lead the attack in person and his lieutenant was beaten back by the
royal forces under Gen. Ch‘oe. Gen. Yi thereupon took in his hand a
yellow flag, crossed the Sön-juk bridge and ascended South Mountain from
which point he obtained a full view of the interior of the palace. He
saw that Gen. Ch‘oe and the king, with a band of soldiers, had taken
refuge in the palace garden. Descending the mountain he led his troops
straight through every obstacle, entered the palace and surrounded the
royal party. Gen. Ch‘oe was ordered to come out and surrender but as
there was no response the garden gate was burst open and the king was
discovered holding the hand of Gen. Ch‘oe. As there was no longer hope
of rescue the king, weeping, handed over the loyal general to the
soldiers of Gen. Yi. He stepped forward and said “I had no intention of
proceeding to these extremes, but to fight the Ming power is out of the
question. It is not only useless but suicidal to attempt such a thing. I
have come back to the capital in this manner because there was no other
way open to me, because it was a traitorous act to attack our suzerain,
and because the people of Koryŭ were suffering in consequence of the
withdrawal of protection.” Gen. Ch‘oe was then banished to Ko-yang and
Gen. Yi, as he sent him away, wept and said “Go in peace.”

The records say that long before this the evil-minded Yi In-im had
foretold to Gen. Ch‘oe that one day Gen. Yi T‘ă-jo would become king,
but at the time Gen. Ch‘oe laughed at it. Now he was forced to grant
that the prophecy had been a true one. A popular song was composed at
this time, whose refrain states that

         “Outside the wall of P‘yŭng-yang there is a red light,
         Outside the wall of An-ju a snake.
         Between them comes and goes a soldier, Yi.
         May he help us.”

When Gen. Ch‘oe had thus been disposed of, Gen. Yi turned to the king
and said “It was impossible to carry out the plan of conquest. The only
thing left was to come back, banish the man who gave such bad advice and
make a new start. We must now be firm in our allegience to the Ming
emperor, and we must change back to the Ming costume.”

The emperor, hearing of the threatened invasion, had sent a powerful
army into Liao-tung, but now that the invaders had retired he recalled
the troops.

We can easily imagine how the king, who had never been balked of his
will, hated Gen. Yi. The moment an opportunity occurred he called about
him eighty of his most trusted eunuchs, armed them with swords and sent
them to kill the obnoxious dictator. But they found him so well guarded
that the attempt proved abortive.

It will be remembered that this king was the son of Sin-don and was
therefore not of the royal stock. So now the courtier Yun So-jŭng told
Gen. Yi that they ought to find some blood relative of the Wang family,
the genuine royal stock, and put him on the throne. To this the dictator
assented. As a first move all arms were removed from the palace. The
king was left helpless. He was ordered to send away one of his
concubines who had formerly been a monk’s slave but he replied “If she
goes I go.” The generals went in a body to the palace and advised the
king to leave the capital and retire into private life in Kang-wha. This
was a polite way of saying that he was banished. He plead to be allowed
to wait till the next day as it was now well along toward night. And so
this evil king took his concubines, which he had always cherished more
than the kingdom, and passed off the stage of history. He it was who
most of all, excepting only his father, helped to bring about the fall
of the dynasty.

Gen. Yi now, in 1388, was determined to put upon the throne a lineal
descendant of the Wang family, but Cho Min-su with whom he had before
conferred about the matter desired to put Chang, the adopted son of the
banished king, on the throne. Gen. Yi demurred, but when he learned that
the celebrated scholar Yi Săk had favored this plan he acquiesced. The
young king wanted to give Gen. Yi high official position but he was not
anxious to receive it and it was only by strong pressure that he was
induced to take it. So the records say, but we must remember in all this
account that hero worship and desire to show the deeds of the founder of
the new dynasty in the best light have probably colored many of the
facts which occurred at this time.

As this king was never acknowledged by the emperor nor invested with the
royal insignia, his name is dropped from the list of the kings of Koryŭ.
Neither he nor his foster-father were given the regular posthumous
title, but were known, the father as Sin-u and the son as Sin Chang.

An envoy was dispatched to Nanking telling of the banishment of the king
and the appointment of his successor. Cho Min-su who had been
instrumental in putting this new king on the throne was not so modest as
the records try to make us believe Gen. Yi was. He now held almost
unlimited power. It spoiled him as it has spoiled many another good man,
and he gave way to luxury and ere long had to be banished, a victim of
his own excesses.

Reform now became the order of the day. First they changed the unjust
and shameful manner of appointing officials that had prevailed under the
banished king. The laws respecting the division of fields was changed,
making the people more safe in the possession of their property. The
defenses of the south were also looked to, for Gen. Chöng Chi went south
with a powerful force and scored a signal victory over the corsairs at
Nam-wŭn. Gen. Yi T‘ă-jo was now general-in-chief of all the royal
forces. His first act was to have the banished king sent further away,
to the town of Yö-heung; and at the same time the banished Gen. Ch‘oe
Yŭng was executed. The old man died without fear, at the age of seventy.
He was not a man who had given himself over to luxury and he had many
good qualities, but he was unlettered and stubborn and his crime in
desiring to attack China brought him to his death. The records say that
when he died he said “If I am a true man no grass will grow on my
grave,” and the Koreans say that his grave in Ko-yang is bare to this
day and is called in consequence “The Red Grave.”

The emperor’s suspicions had been again roused by the new change of face
on the part of Koryŭ. The celebrated scholar Yi Săk stepped forward and
offered to go to the emperor’s court and smooth things over. Gen. Yi
praised him highly for this act of condescension and he was sent as
envoy. He took with him Gen. Yi’s fifth son who is known posthumously by
his title T‘ă-jong. He was destined to become the third king of the new
dynasty. He was taken to China by Yi Săk because the latter feared that
Gen. Yi might usurp the throne while he was gone and the son would then
be a sort of hostage for good behavior on the part of the father. The
two great men of Koryŭ, when it fell, were Chöng Mong-ju and this Yi
Săk. They were both men of education and experience and were both warm
partizans of the Koryŭ dynasty. They were loyal to her even through all
the disgusting scenes herein described, but their great mistake was
their adherence to the Mongol power when it had plainly retired from
active participation in the affairs of Asia. Yi Săk now sought the court
of China not so much with a view to helping Koryŭ as to find means to
get Gen. Yi into trouble. But to his chagrin the emperor never gave him
an opportunity to say what he desired to say about the great dictator.

The questions the emperor asked gave no opportunity to mention the topic
nearest his heart. His chagrin was so great that when he got back to
Koryŭ he spoke slightingly of the emperor, to the great displeasure of
the court. The king himself desired to go to Nanking and do obeisance to
the emperor but was forbidden by the latter.

The year 1389 beheld some interesting and important events. In the first
place Gen. Yi decided to take the offensive against the Japanese; so a
hundred boats were fitted out. The expedition arrived first at Tsushima
where three hundred of the enemy’s boats were burned as well as many
houses; and more than a hundred prisoners were brought away. Secondly,
the emperor, being asked to let the king go to Nanking and do obeisance,
replied, “This having a pretender on the throne of Koryŭ is all wrong.
If you will put a real descendant of the royal family on the throne you
need not send another envoy to my court for twenty years if you do not
wish.” Gen Yi, to show his good will, sent a messenger to the banished
king and gave him a feast on his birthday. The king of the Loo Choo
Islands sent an envoy to Song-do with gifts, declaring his allegiance to
Koryŭ. At the same time he sent back some Koryŭ captives who had fallen
into his hands. Gen. Yi came to the conclusion that if the dynasty was
to continue, a lineal descendant of the royal family must be put at the
head of affairs. At this time Gen. Yi was of course the actuating spirit
in the government and at his desire the young king, who had been on the
throne but a year and who had not been formally recognised by the
emperor, was sent away to Kang-wha and the seventh descendant of the
seventeenth king of the line was elevated to the seat of royalty. His
name was Yo and his posthumous title Kong-yang. He was forty-five years
old. This move on the part of Gen. Yi was doubtless on account of the
pronounced views of the emperor. A busybody named Kang Si told the newly
appointed king that Gen. Yi did this not because he cared for the Wang
dynasty but because he feared the Mings. When Gen. Yi learned of this
the man’s banishment was demanded but not insisted upon. One of the
first acts of the new sovereign was to banish Yi Săk and Cho Min-su who
had insisted upon putting the parvenu Chang upon the throne. An envoy
was also dispatched to China announcing that at last a genuine Wang was
now on the throne of Koryŭ.

The officials urged that the two banished kings be killed but when the
matter was referred to Gen. Yi he advised a more lenient policy, saying,
“They have been banished and they can do no more harm. There is no sense
in shedding useless blood.” But the king replied, “They killed many good
men and they deserve to die;” so executioners were sent and the two men
were executed at their places of banishment. It is said that the wife of
the elder of the two took the dead body of her lord in her arms and
said, as she wept, “This is all my father’s fault, for it was he who
advised the invasion of China.” The records say that for ten days she
ate nothing and slept with the corpse in her arms. She also begged rice
and with it sacrificed before the dead body of the king.

In 1390 a dangerous conspiracy was gotten up with the view to
assassinating Gen. Yi, but it was discovered in time and many men were
killed in consequence and many more were put to the torture. Yi Săk and
Cho Min-su were in some way implicated in this attempt though they were
in banishment. It was advised to put them to death but after torture
they were sent back to prison. The emperor in some way had the
impression that Gen. Yi was persecuting these two men because they had
prevented his invasion of China. Cho was executed but when the
executioner approached the cell of Yi Săk, so the records say, a
terrific clap of thunder was heard and a flood of water swept away part
of the town in which he was imprisoned. For this reason the king dared
not kill him but granted him freedom instead.

Under the supervision of Gen. Yi a war-office was established and a
system of conscription which secured a rotation of military duty. The
king, true to the instincts of his family, was a strong adherent of
Buddhism and now proceeded to take a monk as his teacher. The whole
official class decided that this must not be, and the monk was forthwith
expelled from the palace. In spite of the suffering it entailed upon the
people the king decided to move the capital again to Han-yang and it was
done, but no sooner was the court transferred to that place than the
king, with characteristic Wang fickleness, went back to Song-do. The law
was promulgated that women must not go to visit Buddhist monasteries.
This was without doubt because the looseness of the morals of the
inmates rendered it unsafe for respectable women to go to them.

The people throughout the land looked to Gen. Yi as their protector and
it was the almost universal wish that he should become king. His friends
tried to bring this about but they were always thwarted by the aged
Chöng Mong-ju, the only great man who now clung to the expiring dynasty.
He was a man of perfect integrity and was held in much esteem by Gen. Yi
himself though they differed in politics. Chong Mong-ju really believed
it necessary for the preservation of the state that Gen. Yi be put out
of the way and he was always seeking means for accomplishing this end.

When the crown prince came back from Nanking, whither he had gone as
envoy, Gen. Yi went out to meet him. He went as far as Whang-ju where he
suffered a severe fall from his horse which for a time quite disabled
him. This was Chöng Mong-ju’s opportunity. He hastened to have many of
Gen. Yi’s friends put out of the way. He had them accused to the king
and six of the strongest partisans of the general were banished. Gen. Yi
was at Hă-ju at the time and his son T‘ă-jong hastened to him and
imparted the startling news. The old man did not seem to care very much,
but the son whose energy and spirit were equal to anything and who
foresaw that prompt action at this juncture meant life or death to all
the family, had the aged general carried on the backs of men back to
Song-do. When he arrived, attempts were being made to have the six
banished men put to death, but the coming of the great dictator put a
stop to this. T‘ă-jong urged that something must be done immediately to
save the family name, but the father did not wish to proceed to
extremities. The brunt of the whole business fell upon T‘ă-jong and he
saw that if his father was to become king someone must push him on to
the throne. The first step must be the removal of Chöng mong-ju. Nothing
could be done until that was accomplished.

Gen. Yi’s nephew turned traitor to him and informed Chöng Mong-ju that
there was danger. About this time Gen. Yi gave a dinner to the officials
and Chöng Mong-ju was invited. The latter decided to go and, by watching
the face of his host, determine whether the report was true. When
T‘ă-jong saw Chöng Mong-ju come to the banquet he knew the time had come
to make the master move. Five strong men were placed in hiding beside
Sön-juk bridge which Chöng had to cross in going home. There they fell
upon him and murdered him with stones, upon the bridge. Today that
bridge is one of the sacred relics of the kingdom and is enclosed by a
railing. On the central stone is seen a large brown blotch which turns
to a dull red when it rains. This is believed to be the blood of the
faithful Chöng Mong-ju which still remains a mute reproach to his
murderers.

This dastardly deed having been committed, T‘ă-jong conferred with his
uncle, Wha, and they sent Gen. Yi’s eldest living son, who is known by
his posthumous title of Chöng-jong, to the king, to demand the recall of
the banished friends of the general. The king was in no condition to
refuse and the men came back.

Gen. Yi mourned sincerely for the death of Chöng Mong-ju for he held him
to be a loyal and faithful man, but his son saw to it that the friends
of the murdered man were promptly banished. Even the two sons of the
king who had sided with the enemies of Gen. Yi were banished. Gen. Yi
was asked to put some of the friends of Chöng Mong-ju to death but he
sternly refused and would not even have them beaten. Yi Săk was again
banished to a more distant point, the property of Chöng Mong-ju was
confiscated and so at last all opposition was effectually silenced.

The energetic T‘ă-jong next proceeded to have the king make an agreement
or treaty of lasting friendship with his father. The officials opposed
it on the ground that it was not in keeping with the royal office to
swear an oath to a subject, but the king who had doubtless been well
schooled by the young intriguer agreed to it. Gen. Yi was very loath to
go and receive this honor at the king’s hand and it was at last decided
that the king should not attend the function in person but should do it
by deputy. The oath was as follows;—

    “If it had not been for you I never could have become king. Your
    goodness and faithfulness are never to be forgotten. Heaven and
    earth witness to it from generation to generation. Let us abjure all
    harm to each other. If I ever forget this promise let this oath
    witness to my perfidy.”

But soon the king began to see the ludicrousness of his position. His
sons had been banished, himself without a particle of power and the
voice of the people clamoring to have Gen. Yi made king. The pressure
was too great, and one day the unhappy king handed over the seals of
office to the great dictator Gen. Yi T‘ă-jo and the Wang dynasty was at
an end. The king retired to private life, first to Wŭn-ju, then to
Kan-Sŭng and finally to San-ch‘ŭk where he died three years after
abdicating. The dynasty had lasted four hundred and seventy-five years
in all.

                            END OF PART II.

------------------------------------------------------------------------



                               PART III.

                             MODERN KOREA.

                               1392-1897.



                              PART THREE.
                             MODERN KOREA.



                               Chapter I.

Beginning of the new kingdom.... name Cho-sŭn adopted.... prophecies....
    a man hunt.... a royal dream.... the wall of Seoul built.... capital
    moved.... diplomacy in the north.... Buddhism.... three ports set
    aside for the Japanese.... plot discovered.... back to Song-do....
    king T‘ă-jo retires.... death blow to feudalism.... Chöng-jong
    abdicates.... T‘ă-jong’s sweeping reforms.... copper type....
    sorcerers’ and geomancers’ books burned.... T‘ă-jong’s claims to
    greatness.... Se-jong reigns.... his habits.... literary work....
    Japanese islands attacked.... gradual suppression of Buddhism....
    trials for capital offenses.... numerous reforms.... wild tribe
    punished.... the far north colonised.... Japanese settlement in the
    south.... origin of Korean alphabet.... king Mun-jong dies from
    over-devotion to Confucian principles.


It was on the sixteenth day of the seventh moon of the year 1392 that
Gen. Yi ascended the throne of Koryŭ, now no longer Koryŭ. He was an old
man, far past the age when he could hope to superintend in person the
vigorous “house-cleaning” that the condition of things demanded. He
called about him all the officials whom he knew to be personally loyal
to himself and placed them in positions of trust and authority. Those
who had contributed to his rise were rewarded, and a tablet was erected
in the capital telling of their merits. He liberated many who had been
imprisoned because of their opposition to the Wang kings and recalled
many who had been banished.

It was not long before a message came from the emperor saying, “A man
can become king only by the decree of Heaven. How is it then that the
people of Sam-han have made Yi king?” In reply the king hastened to send
an envoy to explain matters and to ask the emperor whether he would
prefer to have the new kingdom called Cho-sŭn, “Morning Freshness” or
Wha-ryŭng, “Peaceful Harmony.” The emperor probably thought there was a
great deal more morning freshness than peaceful harmony in the
peninsula; at any rate he ordered the former name to be adopted. It was
the doubtful loyalty of the Wang kings to the Chinese throne that made
it easy for king T‘ă-jo to smoothe over the displeasure of the emperor.
The seals of the Koryŭ kings were then delivered over to China and new
seals received for the new dynasty.

According to unwritten law, with the beginning of a new dynasty a new
capital must be founded, and king T‘ă-jo began to look about for a new
site. At first he determined to build his capital at Kye-ryŭng Mountain
in Ch‘ung-ch‘ŭng Province, and he went so far as to begin work on it;
but it was found that in the days of Sil-la a celebrated priest, To-sŭn,
had prophesied that in the days to come Yi would found a capital at
Han-yang, and one of the Koryŭ kings had planted many plum trees at that
place and as fast as they matured had them mutilated, hoping thus to
harm the fortunes of the Yi family; for the Chinese character for Yi is
the same as that for plum. Tradition also says that the king had a dream
in which a spirit came and told him that Kye-ryŭng San was reserved for
the capital of a future kingdom which should be founded by a member of
the Chöng family. Two commissioners were thereupon sent to Han-yang to
make surveys for a palace site. It is said that a monk, Mu-hak, met them
at Ha-yang and told them that the palace should face toward Pă-gak
Mountain and Mong-myŭk Mountain (the present Nam-san,) but they
persisted in making it face the south. “Very well” the monk replied, “If
you do not listen to my advice you will have cause to remember it two
hundred years from now.” His words were unheeded but precisely two
hundred years later, in the year 1592, the Japanese hordes of Hideyoshi
landed on the shores of southern Korea. This is a fair sample of Korean
_ex post facto_ prophecy.

The courtiers urged the king to destroy the remaining relatives of the
last Koryŭ kings that there might be no danger of an attempt at revolt.
The royal consent was given and a considerable number of those
unfortunates were put in a boat, taken out to sea and abandoned, their
boat being first scuttled. The king thought better of this, however,
before it had gone far and ordered this man-hunt to be stopped.

As the emperor still seemed to entertain suspicions concerning the new
kingdom the king was fain to send his eldest son as envoy to the Chinese
court where he carefully explained the whole situation to the
satisfaction of his suzerain.

An interesting prophecy is said to have been current at the time. The
king dreamed that he saw a hen swallow a silk-worm. No one could explain
the meaning of the dream until at last an official more imaginative than
discreet averred that it meant that Kye-ryŭng would swallow Cham-du. Kye
means “hen” and Cham-du means “silk-worm’s head.” But Kye-ryong was the
site of the future capital of the next kingdom according to prophecy,
while “silk-worm’s head” is the name of one of the spurs of Nam-san in
Seoul. So the interpretation was that the new dynasty would fall before
another founded at Kye-ryong, by Chöng. The poor fellow paid for this
bright forecast with his life.

Cho Chin was charged with the work of building the wall of the new
capital. To this end, in the spring of 1391, 119,000 men were brought
from the provinces of P‘yŭng-an and Whang-hă and they worked steadily
for two months. In the autumn 89,000 men came from Kang-wŭn, Chŭl-la and
Kyŭng-sang Provinces and finished it in a month more. The whole circuit
of the wall was 9,975 double paces. At five feet to the double pace this
would give us about nine and a half miles, its present length. It was
pierced by eight gates, the South Gate, or Suk-nye-mun, the East Gate or
Heung-in-mun, the West Gate, or Ton-eui-mun, the Little West Gate, or
So-eui-mun, the North-east Gate, or Chang-eui-mun, the Water Mouth Gate,
or Kwang-heui-mun, also called the Su-gu-mun, and finally the
Suk-chang-mun, a private gate at the north by which the king may pass in
time of danger to the mountain fortress of Puk-han. At the same time a
law was made that dead bodies could be carried out of the city only by
way of the Little West or the Water Mouth Gates. Neither of these “dead
men’s gates” were roofed at first but were simply arches.

Immediately upon the completion of the wall the court was moved from
Song-do to the new capital and the new palace was named the Kyŭng-bok
Palace. By this time the news of the founding of a new dynasty had
spread, and envoys came from Japan, the Liu-kiu Islands and from the
southern kingdom of Sam-na. It will be remembered that the Mongols had
absorbed a portion of the northern territory of Korea, especially in
Ham-gyŭng Province. This had never come again fully under Ko-ryŭ
control, so that now the new kingdom extended only as far north as
Ma-ch’ŭn Pass. Between that and the Tu-man River lived people of the
Yŭ-jin tribe. The king sent Yi Tu-ran to give them a friendly
introduction to the newly founded kingdom of Cho-sŭn, and he was so good
a diplomat that soon he was able to form that whole region into 3
semi-independent districts and in course of time it naturally became
incorporated into Cho-sŭn. The Koryŭ dynasty left a heavy legacy of
priest-craft that was not at all to the liking of the new king. The
monks had far more power with the people than seemed consistent with
good government. Monasteries were constantly in process of erection and
their inmates arrogated to themselves large powers that they did not by
right possess. Monks were not mendicants then as they are today. Each
monastery had its complement of slaves to do all menial work and the law
that declared that the grandson of a slave should be free was a dead
letter. The first of a long list of restrictions upon the priesthood was
a restatement and an enforcement of this salutary law which made
hereditary serfdom impossible.

Before his accession to the throne he had succeeded in putting down the
Japanese pirates, at least for the time. He now placed high military and
naval officials at all the great southern ports, who offered the people
still further protection. He also set aside the three ports of Ch’e-p’o,
Yŭm-p’o and Pu-san-p’o (Fusan) as places where Japanese envoys and
trading parties might be entertained. At these places he built houses
for the accommodation of such guests.

King T'ă-jo had a numerous family. By his first Queen, Han, he had six
sons, of whom the second and the fifth later became Kings of Cho-sŭn,
with the posthumous titles of Chöng-jong and T‘ă-jong respectively. By
his second Queen, Kang, he had two sons, both of whom aspired to the
crown but without hope. They were named Pang-sŭk and Pang-bon. Their
ambition led them astray, for now in the sixth year of the reign they
conspired to kill their two rival half-brothers and so prepare the way
for their own elevation. They secured the services of two assassins who
made the attempt, but being foiled they lost their heads. It was well
known that the two princes were at the bottom of the plot, and the king,
knowing that even he could not protect them from justice, advised them
to make good their escape. They fled but were caught just outside the
West Gate and put to death.

The courtiers were all homesick for Song-do and the king himself
probably missed many of the comforts which he had there enjoyed.
Merchants had not as yet come in large numbers to the new capital and
the number of houses was comparatively small. It must be noticed that
with the change of dynasty it was taken for granted that the citizens of
the old capital were loyal to the fallen dynasty and so the people of
Song-do were not allowed to move to Seoul in large numbers. That city
was reserved as the residence of the friends of the new regime. Song-do
has ever been considered less loyal than any other city in the country
and the rule has been that no native of that city could hold an
important office under the present government. But at first, the new
capital was hardly as pleasant a place to live as the old, and so the
king gave the word and the whole court moved back there for a time.

We are told that king T‘ă-jo was heartily tired of the constant strife
among his sons as to who should be the successor and he decided to
resign the office and retire to his native Ham-heung. His choice of a
successor fell upon his oldest living son, Prince Yong-an, better known
by his posthumous title Chöng-jong Kong-jŭng Tă-wang. The army and the
people all desired that his fifth son, Prince Chöng-an, who is generally
known as T‘ă-jong, who had been so active in helping his father to the
throne and who was as energetic and enterprising as his brother was
slow, should become their ruler. When they heard that they could not
have their will there was an angry demonstration at the palace. This led
the retiring king to advise that after Chöng-jong had ruled a while he
had better resign in favor of his brother, the people’s choice.

King Chöng-jong’s first act was a statesman-like one. He commanded the
disbanding of the feudal retainers of all the officials. A few who
rebelled at this as an encroachment upon their rights were promptly
banished, and the rest submitted. Thus the death blow was struck at
feudalism in the peninsula. It never gained the foothold here that it
had in Japan, for it was thus nipped in the bud. The weakness of the
fallen dynasty had been that one or more of the officials had gathered
about their persons such large retinues that they succeeded in overawing
the king and making him a mere puppet. But this was not to be a feature
of the new regime, for King Chöng-jong by this one decree effectually
stamped it out.

The retired king seemed to be determined not to be disturbed in his
well-earned rest, for when his sons sent and begged him to come back to
the capital and aid the government by his advice, he answered by putting
the messenger to death. Later, however, he relented and returned to
Seoul.

T‘ă-jo’s third son, Prince Pang, was jealous because his younger brother
had been selected to succeed king Chöng-jong, and so he determined to
have him put out of the way. To this end he conspired with one Pak-po,
but the plot was discovered, Pak Po was killed and the prince banished
to T‘o-san in Whang-hă Province. T‘ă-jong himself, the prospective king,
seems to have chafed at the delay, for we are told that King
Chöng-jong’s Queen noticed his moody looks and advised her lord to
abdicate in his favor without delay, before harm came of it. So King
Chöng-jong called his brother and handed over to him the seals of office
and himself retired to private life with the title Sang-wang, or “Great
king.”

[Illustration: _THE WHITE BUDDHA._]

It was in the centennial year 1400 that T‘ă-jong, whose full posthumous
title is T‘ă-jong Kong-jŭng T‘ă-wang, entered upon the royal office. He
was a man of indomitable will, untiring energy and ready resource. It
was he who really entered upon the work of reform in earnest. T‘ă-jo had
been too old and Chöng-jong had lacked the energy. The year 1401 gave
him an opportunity to begin these reforms. The land was suffering from
famine, and the king said, “Why is so much grain wasted in the making of
wine? Let it cease for the present.” When he found that the people would
not obey he said. “It is because I myself have not desisted from the use
of wine. Let no more wine be served in the palace for the present.” It
is said that this practical appeal was successful and the people also
desisted. From the earliest times it had been the custom for the monks
to congregate and pray for the cessation of drought, but now by one
sweep of his pen the king added another limitation to the prerogatives
of the monks by forbidding the observance of the custom. Large tracts of
land were also taken from the monasteries and given back to the people.
The king hung a great bell in the palace gate and made proclamation that
anyone who failed to have a grievance righted by the proper tribunals
might appeal directly to the throne, and whoever struck the drum was
given instant audience. This privilege was seldom abused for it soon
became known that if a man did not have right clearly on his side his
rash appeal to the king brought severe punishment.

For many a decade letters had languished in the peninsula, and now with
a view to their revival the king ordered the casting of copper types and
provided that, as fast as new characters were found in the leading
Chinese works, they should be immediately cast and added to the font.
The authenticity of this statement cannot be called in question. It is
attested by all the great historical works both public and private. The
method of use was such that the types were practically indestructible
and large numbers exist and are in active use to this day. So far as the
evidence goes these were the first metal type ever made, though
xylography had been known since the very earliest time.

In 1406 the emperor sent an envoy asking that a copper Buddha on the
island of Quelpart be brought to Seoul for the king to do obeisance to
it, and that it then be forwarded to China. The king, however, refused
to bow before it. During this same year the law was promulgated
forbidding the imprisonment of criminals for long periods of time. It
also beheld the execution of all the brothers of the Queen. We are not
told the reason of this but we may surmise that it was because they had
been implicated in seditious proceedings.

In 1409 the Japanese, Wŭn-do-jin, was sent to the Korean court to
present the respects of the Japanese sovereign.

The kings of Koryŭ had set aside large tracts of land in Whang-hă
Province for hunting purposes. These by order of king T‘ă-jong were now
restored to the people and they were ordered to cultivate them. In 1413
the land suffered from a severe drought and the courtiers all advised
that the monks and the female exorcists and fortune-tellers be called
upon to pray for rain; but the king replied, “Buddhism is an empty
religion and the exorcists and fortune-tellers are a worthless lot. If I
were only a better ruler Heaven would not refuse us rain.” He thereupon
ordered all the sorceresses, fortune-tellers, exorcists and geomancers
to deliver up the books of their craft to the government and a great
fire was made with them in front of the palace.

King T‘ă-jong’s great sorrow was his son the Crown Prince, Yang-yŭng.
This young man was dissolute and worthless. He would not pursue the
studies prescribed by his tutors but spent his time in hunting, gambling
and in less reputable pursuits. The people cried out against him and
made it known that it was not their will that he should reign over them.
The father saw the justice of the complaint and the young man was
banished to Kwang-ju and the fourth son, Prince Ch‘ung-nyŭng, was
proclaimed heir to the throne.

King T‘ă-jong retired in 1419 in favor of this son Ch‘ung-nyŭng who is
known by the posthumous title Se-jong Chang-hŭn Tă-wang.

T‘ă-jong had been a radical reformer and worked a revolution in Korean
life similar to that which Cromwell effected in England. His greatness
is exhibited in three ways. (1) He was the first king who dared to break
away utterly from customs whose only sanction was their antiquity. (2)
He was wise enough not to force all these radical reforms at once, but
spread them over a period of nearly two decades. (3) He recognised that
a king is the servant of the people. It may be in place here to call
attention to a peculiar custom of the east. We refer to the custom of
surrendering the throne to a successor before one’s death. The benefits
of this custom are soon cited. The retiring sovereign becomes the tutor
of the incoming one. The young ruler has the benefit of his practical
suggestions and of his immense influence. He thus does away with much of
the danger of revolution or rebellion which so often accompanies a
change or rulers. If the new king proves inefficient or otherwise
unsatisfactory it is possible, through the father’s influence, to effect
a change. In other words the young ruler is on trial and he undergoes a
probation that is salutary for him and for the people as well. It also
helps greatly in perpetuating a policy, for in such a case the father,
knowing that his son is to assume the reins of government while he still
lives, takes greater pains to initiate him into the secrets of
government and in forming in his mind settled principles which, while
they may not always perpetuate the same policy, at least ensure an easy
gradation from one policy to another. This perhaps was the crowning feat
of T‘ă-jong’s greatness. He knew enough to stop while his success was at
its height and spend some years in teaching his successor how to achieve
even a greater success. Let us see how these principles worked in the
case of this new king.

The young king began in a modest way by consulting with his father in
regard to all matters of importance. The retired king had taken up his
quarters in the “Lotus Pond District” where he was at all times
accessible to the young king and where he took cognizance of much of the
public business. The new ruler was characterized by great evenness of
temper, great astuteness and untiring diligence. He is said to have
risen each morning at dawn.

He ordered the making of musical instruments, including metal drums and
triangles. Under his supervision a clypsehydra was made and a work on
astronomy was published. It is said that with his own hand he prepared
works on “The five rules of conduct,” “The duties of King, Father and
Husband,” “Good Government and Peace,” and a work on military tactics.
The custom of collecting rare flowers and plants and growing them in the
palace enclosure was done away and it was decreed that no more of the
public money should be squandered in that way. He built a little straw
thatched cottage beside the palace and compelled the officials to attend
him there in council. He put a stop to the evil practice of letting
concubines and eunuchs meddle with state affairs, for when one of his
concubines asked him to give one of her relatives official position he
promptly banished her from the palace.

In the second year of his reign, 1420, the king showed his partiality
for literature and literary pursuits by founding a college to which he
invited thirteen of the finest scholars that the kingdom could furnish,
and there they gave themselves up to the pursuit of letters. In the
early summer the dreaded Japanese again began their ravages on the
coasts of Korea. Landing at Pi-in, Ch‘ung-ch‘ŭng Province, they easily
overcame the local forces and marched northward along the coast into
Whang-hă Province. They there informed the Korean generals that they did
not want to ravage Korea but that they were seeking a way into China.
They lacked provisions and promised to go immediately if the Koreans
would give them enough rice for their sustenance, until they should
cross the border into China. Forty bags of rice were given to them, but
when the king learned of it he was displeased and said, “When they
return we must destroy them.” The southern provinces were put into a
state of defense and Gen. Yi Chong-mu was put at the head of a punitive
expedition. It is said that a fleet of 227 war vessels and an army of
107,285 men rendezvoused at Ma-san Harbor. They were provided with two
month’s rations. This powerful flotilla sailed away and soon reached the
island of Tsushima. There it burned 129 Japanese boats and 1939 houses.
Over a hundred Japanese were killed, twenty-one prisoners were taken and
131 Chinese and eight Korean captives were liberated. The fleet then
sailed toward Japan and arrived at Ni-ro harbor. There, the records say,
they lost 120 men and so abandoned the enterprise. This is good evidence
that the numbers of the army are overestimated, for a loss of a hundred
and twenty men from such an immense force would not have caused an
abandonment of the expedition.

The emperor sent a messenger asking for the four jewels that are
supposed to come from the bodies of good monks when they are
incinerated.

These were said to be kept at Heung-ch‘ŭn monastery at Song-do. King
Se-jong replied that there were no such jewels in the peninsula. He
ordered the discontinuance of the custom of building monasteries at the
graves of kings, and the people were commanded not to pray to Buddha in
behalf of the king. The great expense incurred in providing for the huge
stone that covered the sarcophagus of a king made him change the custom
and it was decreed that thereafter four smaller ones should be used
instead of the one great one.

One of his most statesmanlike acts was to decree that every man charged
with a capital offense should have three trials and that detailed
accounts of each of these should be furnished for the royal inspection.
Following out the policy of a gradual suppression of Buddhism, he
interdicted the observance of the festival called the _To-ak_.

In the fourth year of his reign, his father died. It is said that at the
time of his death there was a severe drought, and on his deathbed he
said, “When I die I will go and ask Heaven to send rain,” and the story
goes that on the very day he died the welcome rain came. To this day it
is said that it is sure to rain on the tenth day of the fifth moon, and
this is called the “T‘ă-jong rain.” We see that under that father’s
tutelage he had continued the policy of reform, but what he had done was
only the beginning. The law was made that if a prefect died the prefects
along the road should furnish transport for his body up to the capital.
The eunuchs were enjoined not to interfere in any way with the affairs
of state. The term of office of the country prefects was lengthened,
owing to the expense entailed upon the people by frequent changes. It
was made a crime to delay the interment of a corpse simply because the
geomancers could not find an auspicious spot for the burial, and all
geomancers’ books were ordered burned. Every adult male was required to
carry on his person a wooden tag bearing his name. This was for the
purpose of identification to prevent the evasion of taxes and of
military service. It is but right to say that this law was never
strictly carried out. Korea has always suffered from the existence of
armies on paper. The king edited a book on agriculture telling in what
districts and in what kinds of soil different species of grains and
vegetables would thrive best. He paid attention to penal laws as well.
Beating was to be administered on the legs rather than on the back; no
murderers were to be bound in prison who were under fifteen years or
over seventy; no prisoner under ten or over eighty was to suffer under
the rod; even the king’s relatives, if guilty of crime, were not to be
exempt from punishment.

These important reforms occupied the attention of the king up to the
year 1432, the fourteenth of his reign, but now the border wars in the
north claimed his attention. At this time the wild tribes across the
Ya-lu were known under the collective name of Ya-in. These savages were
ravaging back and forth across the border, now successful and now
defeated. King Se-jong decided that the peace of the north was worth the
outlay of some life and treasure; so, early in the year 1433 an
expedition under Gen. Ch’oé Yun-dok crossed the Ya-lu in six divisions,
each consisting of a thousand men or more. These had agreed to make a
common attack on Ta-ram-no, the stronghold of the robbers, on the
nineteenth of the fourth moon. This was successfully done with the
result that 176 of the enemy were left dead, and 236 captives and 270
head of cattle were taken. All of this was at the cost of just four men.

The northern portion of Ham-gyŭng province was as yet but sparsely
settled, and reports came in that the Ming people were coming in great
numbers and settling there; so the king felt it necessary to do
something to assert his rights. A great scheme for colonization was made
and people from the southern part of the province were sent north to
occupy the land. But there were two powerful Yŭ-jin chiefs across the
Tu-man river who were constantly crossing and harrying the people along
that border line. These were Ol-yang-t’ap and Hol-ja-on. It was not
until the year 1436 that they were really silenced and then only after
repeated and overwhelming victories on the part of the Korean forces.
During these years thousands of people from the southern provinces were
brought north by the government and given land in this border country.

About this time a Japanese named Chŭng Seung was Daimyo of Tsushima. He
sent fifty boats across to the Korean shore and the trade relations were
revived which we may feel sure had been sadly interrupted by the long
period of piratical raids. The government made these people a present of
200 bags of rice and beans. Sixty “houses” of people also came from that
island and asked to be allowed to live in the three ports, Ch’ep’o,
Yŭm-p’o and Pu-san-p’o. The king gave his assent and from that time
until about the present day, with only temporary intermissions, the
Japanese have resided in one or other of these three places, although
Pu-san (Fusan) has always been the most important of them. In the year
1443 the custom of giving the Daimyo of Tsushima a bonus of 200 bags of
grain a year was instituted. The number of trading boats that could come
was strictly limited by the Korean government to fifty, but in extreme
cases where sudden need arose through piratical raids or other cause the
number could be increased. This custom continued without interruption
until 1510.

The most striking feat that King Se-jong accomplished and the one that
had the most far-reaching and lasting effect upon the people was the
invention of a pure phonetic alphabet. This alphabet scarcely has its
equal in the world for simplicity and phonetic power. He was not the
first one to see the vast disadvantage under which the people labored in
being obliged to master the Chinese character before being able to read.
We will remember that in the days of Sil-la the scholar Sŭl-chong had
invented a rough way of indicating the grammatical endings in a Chinese
text by inserting certain diacritical marks, but this had of course been
very cumbersome and only the _ajuns_ or “clerks” were acquainted with
it. Another similar attempt had been made near the end of the Koryŭ
dynasty but it too had proved a failure so far as general use by the
people was concerned. King Se-jong was the first man to dare to face the
difficulty and overcome it by the use not of modifications of the
Chinese characters but by an entirely new and different system, a
phonetic alphabet. It can scarcely be said that he had the genius of a
Cadmus, for he probably knew of the existence of phonetic alphabets, but
when we remember that the Chinese character is considered in a sense
sacred and that it had been in use in the peninsula exclusively for more
than two thousand years we can place him but little lower than the great
Phoenician.

Korean histories are almost a unit in affirming that the alphabet is
drawn from the Sanscrit and from the ancient seal character of China.
Where then did King Se-jong have access to the Sanscrit? Some have
argued that his envoys came in contact with it at the court of the
Emperor at Nanking. This is possible but it is extremely unlikely that
they gained such a knowledge of it in this way to make it of use in
evolving their own alphabet. On the other hand it is well known that the
monasteries of Korea were filled with books written in the Sanscrit or
the Thibetan (which is an offshoot of the Sanscrit) character. It is
believed by some that Buddhism was entirely crushed in the very first
years of the dynasty, but this is a great blunder. Buddhism had begun to
wane, but long after the end of King Se-jong’s reign it was still the
predominant religion in Korea. Most of the officials, following the lead
of royalty, had given it up, but the masses were as good Buddhists as
ever. The probabilities are therefore overwhelming that when the
histories refer to the Sanscrit they mean the Sanscrit contained in
these Buddhist books and which had been a common feature of Korean
religious life for centuries.

Comparison reveals the fact that the Korean consonants are mere
simplifications of the Sanscrit consonants. On the other hand there are
no similarities between the Korean and Sanscrit vowels. King Se-jong’s
genius lay in his recognition of the fact that the vowel lies at the
basis of articulate speech, and in this he was in advance of every other
purely Asiatic alphabet. Each syllable was made up of the “mother and
child” the mother being the vowel and the child being the consonant. If
we examine the ancient seal character of China with a view to
ascertaining the source from which the Koreans drew their symbols for
the vowels we shall find at a glance that they consist in the simplest
strokes of those ideographs. Every Korean vowel is found among the
simpler radicals of the Chinese. What more need be added to prove that
the statements of the Korean histories are correct?

In this work the king made use of the two distinguished scholars Sin
Suk-ju and Sŭng Sam-mun. Thirteen times the latter was sent with others
to Liao-tung to consult with a celebrated Chinese scholar Whang Ch’an,
who was in banishment in that place. For the prosecution of this
literary plan and the work growing out of it the king erected a separate
building in the palace enclosure. There he caused to be compiled and
printed the dictionary of the Korean language in the new alphabet which
was called the _ön-mun_. This celebrated dictionary is called the
Hun-min Chöng-eum.

King Se-jong died in 1450 and was succeeded by his son Hyŭn whose
posthumous title is Mun-jong Kong-sun Tă-wang. His brief reign of two
years is a good sample of what Confucianism will do for a man if carried
to excess. Upon his father’s death he refused to be comforted and
neglected the necessary precautions for preserving his health. Long
nights he lay out in the cold thinking that by so doing he was showing
respect for the memory of his father. Such excesses joined with the lack
of a proper diet soon made it clear that his health was permanently
undermined. This was a source of great anxiety to the officials and to
the people, for the heir to the throne was a young boy, and the king’s
brother, Prince Su-yang, was a powerful and ambitious man. The king
himself entertained grave fears for his son and shortly before he died
he called together the leading officials and made them solemnly promise
to uphold the boy through every vicissitude. Then he turned to the wall
and died.



                              Chapter II.

Tan-jong becomes king.... “The Tiger”.... conspiracy.... king’s uncle
    virtual ruler.... sericulture encouraged.... king abdicates....
    people mourn.... king banished.... a royal captive’s song.... king
    strangled.... the usurper’s dream.... character of the new king....
    reforms.... trouble with the emperor.... policy in the north....
    more reforms.... official history of the land.... medicine....
    hostility to Buddhism.... king’s concern for the people.... army
    cared for.... literary work.... a standing Buddha.... a voluminous
    work.... dangerous rebellion in the north.... emperor pleased....
    king retires.... Great Bell hung.... The _Pyo-sin_.... a new
    king.... foreign relations.... Buddhists driven from Seoul....
    examinations.... convents broken up.... war against Buddhism.... a
    termagant.... a prosperous land.... law against the marriage of
    widows.... military operations in the north.... celebrated history
    written.... king reproved.... a foe to Buddhism.... reform in music.


It was in 1452 that king Mun-jong died and his little son Hong-wi
ascended the throne. The title of the latter is Tan-jong Kong-eui
Tă-wang, and of all the kings of Korea, whether of this dynasty or of
any other, his fate is the most calculated to excite the pity of the
reader.

His uncle, Prince Su-yang, was a bold, unscrupulous man with whom
natural affection did not affect the balance by a feather weight. He was
at the head of a powerful faction and it was only the jealous vigilance
of the Prime Minister, Kim Chong-so, that the boy ever came to the
throne at all. The people said that “The Tiger” must be killed before
the boy could come to his rights. Prince Su-yang saw that the people
were with the young prince to a man and he knew that he must brush from
his path these powerful friends of the young king before he ever could
come to the throne himself. To this end he conspired with Kwŭn Nam, Han
Myong-whe and some thirty others. The Prime Minister was the first
object of attack for he was the most strenuous supporter of the king.
Prince Su-yang, in company with one Im Un, armed with iron bludgeons,
went to the house of the Prime Minister and there the former feigned to
have lost one of the wings from his palace hat and asked the Minister to
lend him one for the day. The Minister could not refuse and sent his
little son to bring one, but ere the lad returned the father was laid
dead by a blow from the bludgeon in the hands of Im Un. The prince then
hastened to the palace and told the boy-king that the Prime Minister had
been conspiring against the government and so it had been necessary to
put him to death. Boy though he was, King Tan-jong saw straight through
this falsehood and his first words were, “I beg of you to spare my
life.” From that moment all power slipped from the hands of the king and
the Prince Uncle was virtual ruler of the land. Placing heavy guards at
the palace gates, he sent messengers summoning the king’s best friends,
and as soon as they appeared they were cut down. In this manner Whang
Po-in, Cho Keuk-gwan, Yi Yang, Yun Cho-gong and Min Si were killed.
Besides these many others were banished, so that soon the court was
deprived of almost every supporter of the king except the aged Sŭng
Sam-mun who was such a venerable man and held in such esteem by the
whole nation that even this bold prince did not dare to lay hands on
him. This done, Prince Su-yang began to center in himself all the high
offices of the realm and became an autocrat, dispensing offices and
regulating the affairs of the country according to his own ideas. Yi
Cheung-ok, the governor of Ham-gyŭng Province, was a strong supporter of
the king and so, though far from the scene of this intrigue, emissaries
were sent who murdered him in cold blood.

The only important act of this short and unfortunate reign was the
encouragement given to sericulture. The young king sent large numbers of
silk worms to various districts and rewarded those who did well with
them and punished those who made a failure of it.

All the time the wily prince had been urging upon the king the necessity
of abdicating in his favor. We know not what threats and cajolery were
used, but true it is that early in 1456, after all the other uncles of
the king had been banished to distant parts to get them away from the
person of the king, that unhappy boy, as yet but fifteen years old,
bereft of every friend he had ever known, hedged in by the threats of
his unnatural uncle, finally called the officials to a council and
repeated the lesson he had been undoubtedly taught. “I am too young to
govern the realm rightly and I desire to put the reins of government
into the hands of my uncle, Prince Su-yang.” As in duty bound they all
went through the formality of demurring at this but the king was firm
and ordered the seals to be handed to the prince. Among these officials
there were two who looked with disfavor upon this. They were Pak
P‘ăng-yŭn and Sŭng Sam-mun. The former stepped forward as if to give the
seals to the prince, but when they were once in his hands he made a dash
for the door and tried to throw himself into a lotus pond. Sŭng Sam-mun
caught him by the garments and whispered in his ear, “Wait, all this
will be righted, but we must live to see it done.” So the young king
Tan-jong stepped down from the throne. The usurper is known by his
posthumous title Se-jo Hye-jang Tă-wang.

After King Tan-jong had abdicated he was held under strict surveillance
in the palace and was practically a prisoner. It is said the people
congregated at the Great Bell in the center of the city and wailed over
this fulfillment of their worst fears.

But the dethroned king was not left entirely without help. Six of the
officials conspired to assassinate the usurper at a dinner given to a
Chinese envoy, but someone betrayed them to him and they were seized,
tortured with red-hot irons, decapitated and dismembered. These six men
were Pak P‘ăng-yŭn, Sŭng Sam-mun, Yi Gă, Ha Wi-ji, Yu Sŭng-wŭn and Yu
Eung-bu. Their wives, parents and children perished with them.

Chöng In-ji, one of the new king’s creatures, memorialized the throne as
follows:—“All this difficulty arose about the ex-king. He should
therefore be put to death.” This was rather more than the king dared to
do but the unfortunate boy was banished to Yong-wŭl in Kang-wŭn
Province. His brother Yu was also banished at the same time. The
banished king lived beside a mountain stream and is said to have sung
this plaintive song to it:

        A long, long road, a long good-bye.
        I know not which way to turn.
        I sit beside the stream and its waters, like me, mourn.
        And together we weep without ceasing.

At last when the time seemed ripe, another of Tan-jong’s uncles
memorialized the throne urging that the banished boy be put to death so
that there might be no more cause for conspiracy on the part of any of
the officials. With apparent reluctance the king gave orders that Gen.
Wang Pang-yŭn be detailed to go and administer poison to the boy. When
that official arrived at the place of banishment his hardihood failed
him and instead of giving the boy the poison he prostrated himself
before him. The ex-king exclaimed, “What brings you here?” but before
answer could be given a man named Kong Sang came up behind the banished
king and strangled him with a cord. The story runs that as the murderer
turned to leave the room blood burst from his ears, eyes, nose and mouth
and that he fell dead beside the body of his victim.

The few palace women who remained in the suite of the banished king
threw themselves into the stream and perished. The body of the young
king would have remained unburied had not a man named Om Heung-do taken
pity on the murdered boy and buried him in Tong-eul-ji. The night the
boy was murdered the usurper dreamed that the dead mother of his victim
came from the grave, and, standing beside his couch, pronounced the
following malediction: “You have stolen the throne and killed my son.
Your’s too shall die.” It is said that when he awoke he found that the
prophecy had already been fulfilled. He therefore dug up the bones of
this prophetess of evil and scattered them upon the water of the river.

Tradition says that the next seven magistrates who were appointed to the
district where this foul murder was perpetrated died on the very night
of their arrival. The eighth made it his first duty to go to the grave
of the murdered king and sacrifice before it and write an elegy upon
him. From that time there was no more trouble.

In spite of the way in which King Se-jo obtained the throne he is not
held in ill repute among the people of Korea. The unpardonable crime
which attended his usurpation of the throne augured ill for the reign,
but the truth is there have been few kings of the dynasty who have done
so much for the advancement of the interests of the people as this same
Se-jo. Tradition says that when a boy he was looked upon with wonder
because of his skill with the bow, and he used to climb the mountains
blindfold where others dared not follow with open eyes. One story tells
how once, when he went to China with the embassy, eight elephants that
stood before the palace gate knelt as he approached, thus foretelling
his future greatness. He was a temperate man and hated luxury and
effeminacy. He would not use gold upon his table and when his little son
asked for a silver cup it was refused him.

He took up the policy of reform at the very point where his father, King
Se-jong, had laid it down five years before. He established pleasant
relations with the people of the Liu Kiu islands and of the wild
northern tribes, by treating their envoys with special attention. Those
who were obstinately unfriendly he crushed with a heavy hand. Among the
latter was an able chieftain, Yi man-su, who had formerly lived in Seoul
and had married a Korean woman but later had fled back to the Yŭ-in
tribes and raised the standard of revolt. The Korean generals were in
some trepidation on this account but Gen. Sin Suk-ju marched against him
and soon drove him back to his retreat.

By giving rank to a man of the Keum-ju tribe in Manchuria without the
previous permission of the Emperor the king came near getting into
serious trouble with his suzerain, but as it was a first offense it was
overlooked. The Emperor sent word however that a repetition of the
offense would bring down upon the king serious trouble.

The power of the central government was but weakly felt along the
northern border and so the king paid special attention to that portion
of the country, founding prefectures all along the north-eastern border.
It was doubtless because of this active policy that the Yŭ-jin tribe
came the following year and swore allegiance to Cho-sŭn. Among the
reforms which were effected during the early part of this reign the
following suffice to show the energy and wisdom of this king Se-jo.
Fruit trees were planted in the palace enclosure so that the people
might not be burdened with the duty of providing the king’s table with
fruit. Mulberry trees were planted in all available places in the
grounds of the different government offices, and even in the palace,
where the queen engaged in weaving, together with the palace women.
Dress reform was carried on to the extent of shortening the skirts of
women’s dresses so that they could be more easily distinguished from men
in the street. A school was founded for the study of the Chinese
vernacular. The criminal court was ordered to present the king each
month with a written account of its proceedings. The king saw in person
every official who came up to Seoul from the country on business. A
hospital was founded for the dispensing of medicine for indigestion.

These were but the beginning of his reforms. He punished at one time
over a hundred prefects who had been oppressing the people. The palace
inclosure was sown with grain when there was prospect of scarcity. In
this reign we find the first reference to the Kuk-cho Po-gam or the
official annals of the dynasty. The great bell which hangs in the center
of the city of Seoul today was cast in his reign and hung at first
outside the South Gate. A medical government bureau was founded and
medical works were published. The king was actively interested in
military matters and called together all the soldiers who could wield a
bow of 120 pounds weight. This was with a view to the invasion of the
territory of the troublesome wild tribes of the north. A census of the
people was taken for the purpose of making army estimates, and during
the whole reign the soldiers were practiced in sham fights both in the
palace enclosure and outside the city walls. His attitude toward
Buddhism was one of distinct hostility. One of his earliest edicts was
that no monk should attend or pray at a funeral. He invented the use of
the split bamboo as a sign between himself and the general upon the
field. He kept half and the general kept the other half and if it was
necessary to send a messenger he would take the piece of wood, which, if
it fitted the piece in the hands of the receiver of the message, showed
that the messenger was properly accredited. He seems to have been much
concerned for the welfare of the people for we find that in the fourth
year of his reign he caused the publication of a book on weaving and had
it extensively distributed among the people, together with another on
military matters and another still on women’s manners.

King Se-jo was the first of the descendants of the great T‘ă-jo to
observe carefully the precept laid down by the founder of the
dynasty—namely, to take good care of the army; this is evinced by the
fact that at one time he distributed large quantities of medicine among
the soldiers on the northern border and made generous gifts of land to
the troops, thus fostering the military spirit among the people. As a
result we see them successful on every side. The tribe of Ol-yang-hap
was destroyed, the tribes of I-man-ju, Ol-jok-heup and Yan-ba-a-gan came
and swore allegiance.

In his fifth year he codified the laws and published them. He also
extended his medical work and published a book on veterinary surgery,
and he published works on astronomy, geology, music, writing, the signs
of the times, agriculture, live-stock, foreign relations and arithmetic.
In other words this versatile man was actively interested in military,
political, social, scientific and artistic matters and caused books to
be written about these subjects for the enlightenment of the people.

It is said that in 1465 he caused the erection of a monastery in Seoul
but he made the Buddha a standing one rather than a sitting one.
Evidently he had little faith in the inanity of the sleepy sitting
Buddha, who with folded hands let the years slip by unheeded. He wanted
something more lifelike. So he set the Buddha on his legs. This image
was carried through the streets at periodic intervals accompanied by a
crowd of musicians and monks. A Japanese envoy was horrified at what he
called sacrilege and foretold that it could not endure. He was right,
not because the Buddha had gotten on its feet but because the people of
Korea had begun to cast off the shackles of Buddhism and, following in
the wake of the court, were learning to take advantage of their
emancipation. This making of a standing Buddha and the occasional
festivals seem to have been more by way of sport than through any
serious intentions on the king and this in itself accounts for the
speedy downfall of the custom. Its novelty, which was all it had to
recommend it, soon wore off.

In 1467 he ordered the two monks Sin Mi and Chuk Hŭn to cut wooden
blocks for a book to be called the Tă-jang-gyŭng. The love of
exaggeration in the Korean temperament finds play in the statement that
this book contained 8,888,900 pages. The historian evidently did not
have his abacus at hand, for he continues by saying that each of the
fifty volumes contained 7,078 pages, while the above figure would
require 167,778 pages to the volume.

The last year of King Se-jo’s reign, 1468, witnessed a serious
disturbance in Ham-gyŭng Province. A man named Yi Si-ă gathered about
him a strong body of soldiers and sent word to Seoul that it was simply
with a view to defending his district from the incursions of the
northern barbarians. The provincial general went in person to
investigate, but he was murdered by the followers of Yi Si-ă who were
aided by a courtezan who occupied the general’s room with him and who at
dead of night opened the window and gave ingress to the revolutionists.
A messenger, Sŭl Kyŭng-sin was then sent to Seoul to say that the
general had been killed because he had been conspiring against the king.
At the same time the king was asked to make Yi Si-ă the general of the
northeast. This man told the king that the three Prime Ministers were
implicated in the plot against him. The king was suspicious but did not
dare to let matters progress without investigation. He put the Prime
Ministers in prison and at the same time raised a large army to go and
oppose the too ambitious Yi. Generals Yi Chun, Cho Sŭk-mun and Hŭ Chŭng
were put in charge. The last of these three was one of the great
soldiers of Korea. Tradition says that he was of gigantic stature, that
he ate a bag of rice a day and drank wine by the bucketful. A doughty
man indeed, at least by the trencher. But his feats on the battlefield
were commensurate with his gastronomic prowess for we are told that the
sight of his face struck fear into the stoutest enemy.

This army found the enemy before Ham-heung whose governor they had
killed. The royal forces soon had the enemy on the run and at last
brought them to bay on Man-nyang Mountain which projects into the sea
and is impregnable from the land side. The royal forces took boat and
stormed it from the sea while part of the force engaged the enemy from
the landward side. The head of Yi Si-ă was taken and forwarded to Seoul.
In this fight it is said that Gen. Hŭ Chŭng found his sword too small,
so throwing it aside he tore up by the roots a pine tree twelve inches
in girth (?) and swept all before him with this titanic weapon. Of
course the king then set free the three Prime Ministers and confessed
his mistake.

The emperor called upon Korea to help in the castigation of the Keum-ju
tribe beyond the Ya-lu, so the king sent a large force and accomplished
it without the help of Chinese arms. Having destroyed the tribe the
Korean general cut a broad space on the side of a great pine and there
inscribed the fact of the victory. The emperor was highly pleased and
sent handsome presents to the generals engaged.

This same year the king resigned in favor of his son and retired to a
separate palace to prosecute a line of study in which he was greatly
interested, namely the art of estimating distances by the eye, a subject
of importance to all military engineers and one in which Napoleon
Bonaparte is said to have been an adept. But before the end of the year
he died.

His successor, Prince Hă-yang, is known by his posthumous title Ye-jong
Yang-do Tă-wang. He was so young at the time that his mother acted as
regent. During the single year 1469 that this king reigned the Great
Bell was brought into the city and hung at the central spot called
Chong-no or “Bell Street.” He also made the law that the palace gates
should never be opened at night unless the one so ordering showed the
royal signet or token, called the _su-gŭl_. This was a round piece of
ivory half an inch thick and three inches in diameter with the word
_sun-jun_ on one side and the king’s private mark on the other. To it
are appended straps of deer skin and it is used when the king wishes to
accredit a man to a certain work. The mere showing of this is accepted
as the royal command. It is commonly called also the _pyo-sin_ “The Sign
to be Believed.”

This reign saw the division of the city into north, east, south, west
and central districts. It also saw the promulgation of the Kyŭng-guk
Tă-jŭn or “The Great Laws for Governing the Country.” The system had
been inaugurated at the beginning of the dynasty but now for the first
time it was definitely adopted and written out in full for the guidance
of the official classes. It dealt with the minute divisions of
communities, each having an overseer.

This same year 1469 the young king died and his mother calling the
Ministers together, nominated to the throne Prince Cha-san the cousin of
the deceased king. As he was only thirteen years old the Queen Mother
acted as regent during the first years of his reign. His posthumous
title is Sŭng-jong Kang-jŭng Tă-wang.

Under the regency of the Queen Mother the first act was the abrogation
of the law requiring the people to wear the _ho-pă_ or wooden
identification tag, which King T‘ă-jong had promulgated. It had become a
mere matter of form and was found quite useless for the purpose
intended, namely a preventative against the evasion of the taxes.

This reign was marked by increased activity in the field of foreign
relations. First an envoy came from Quelpart with a gift of pearls.
Another came from the town of Ku-ju Si-so in the province of Kwan-sŭ
(Japan) and still another, Chöng Sŭng-hong from the town of Wŭn-jung on
the islands of Tsushima. One embassy from the Liu Kiu Islands came with
a gift of monkeys. The Japanese on the island of Sal-ma sent an envoy
who presented gifts of red pepper, incense and white silk. He asked for
Buddhist books but was refused. Envoys came also from the northern
tribes swearing allegiance to Cho-săn.

In 1472 all the sorceresses, fortune-tellers and Buddhist monks were
driven from Seoul and forbidden to enter it again. In the following year
an envoy arrived from Japan saying “When Se-jo was king I painted his
portrait and carried it to Japan, but at night a great light would
stream from the picture’s face. So I brought it back and have left it at
Che-p‘o in Chŭl-la Province.” The king immediately sent word to the
governor to build an altar and burn the picture thereon, as it had been
defiled by being carried to Japan.

Special attention was given by King Sŭng-jong to the matter of
government examinations. He sent to the provinces and commanded the
governors to hold preliminary examinations and to send the successful
men up to Seoul to attend the grand examinations held on the third day
of the third moon and the ninth of the ninth moon. Three men were to be
sent up from each of the provinces except Kyŭng-sang, Chŭl-la and
Ch‘ung-ch‘ŭng Provinces from which five each were allowed to come. This
shows that then as today the largest part of the population of Korea was
in the south.

An important change was effected in the matter of criminal procedure.
The king commanded that all men of scholarly rank who offended against
the laws should be arraigned not before the common tribunal of justice
but before the college of scholars. Thus another barrier was built up
between the common people and the nobility. King Sŭng-jong was also a
patron of letters, for besides publishing a work called Che-wang
Myŭng-gan or “The King’s clear Mirror,” and the O-ye-eui or “Five Rules
of Conduct,” he also built a library and collected in it all the
different books that could be found. He was the determined foe of
Buddhism and, having driven out the monks, he now proceeded against the
Buddhist convents in Seoul. He broke them up and made them remove to the
country. There were twenty-three of these convents in Seoul at the time.

The Queen Mother retired from the regency in 1477 and the king, assuming
his full authority, continued the work of demolishing Buddhistic
influence. He sequestered a monastery at Yong-san and made a school of
it, after throwing out the image of Buddha. He seems to have been also a
moral reformer, for he made a law against dancing-girls and commanded
that boys be taught to dance and to take the place of those unfortunate
women. It had been the custom on the king’s birth-day to have prayers
offered in Buddhist temples for the safety and peace of the kingdom, but
now this was abrogated, for the king said, “What does Buddha know? It is
a worthless custom and must be stopped.” More than this, he compelled
the monks in the country to refund to a man large sums of money which
had been paid for prayers which were intended to ward off harm from the
man’s son. The boy died and the father sued the monks for breach of
contract, and the king upheld the claim.

In 1478 the queen died and a concubine named Yun was raised to the
position of royal consort. This was destined to bring dire disaster to
the realm. She was a woman of jealous disposition and violent temper and
her hatred of the other concubines led her into trouble. On one occasion
her passions overcame her and in an angry altercation with the king she
scratched his face severely. The king desired to treat her offense
leniently but he was overruled by the officials and the woman was driven
from the palace. She had one son who is commonly known by his posthumous
title Prince Yŭn-san. When the disgraced woman was dying she charged
this son to avenge her disgrace, when he should come to the throne; for
he was the heir apparent.

The reign saw many reforms of a social character. It was decreed that
grave-plots must not be allowed to interfere with the making of fields.
This indicates that during the years of prosperity the population had
been rapidly increasing and that it was found necessary to increase the
area of arable land in like proportion. The people were reaping the
reward of many years of peace and good government. Nothing could show
more plainly the relation between King Sŭng-jong and the people than the
custom he inaugurated of helping those to marry who were too poor to do
so.

The only books he caused to be published were four; on marriage,
funerals, ancestor worship and “On Reaching Manhood.” He seems to have
been an ardent Confucianist for among other things he ordered that
widows should not be allowed to re-marry. This striking feature of
Korean life dates from the days of this king. Before this there had been
a certain amount of sentiment against the practice but it had been
common even among ladies of the higher classes up to this time. His
refusal to give books to the Japanese envoys would also lead us to
believe that he was an active Confucianist.

All these years we hear of no dealings with China on the part of
Cho-sŭn, but at this point we are told that the wild tribe of Yŭ-jin was
harrassing the people of northern China and the Emperor sent a message
to Korea calling upon her to combine with China in an attack upon this
obnoxious tribe. The military policy of his predecessors now stood the
King in good stead, for he was able to put a strong army in the field
immediately and the tribe of Yŭ-jin was speedily chastised. The Emperor
was highly pleased and sent the King a present of silk, gold thread and
cotton cloth.

In the latter years of his reign the King had the Kuk-cho Po-gam written
up to date, and he successfully withstood an invasion of the wild tribes
of the north. One of his last acts was to order that all impurity and
obscenity should be dropped from the songs and poems.

In 1482 the King built two forts on the Ya-lu near the town of Kang-gye
because of threatened outbreaks of tribes living on the further side. In
1484 he built the Ch‘ang-gyŭng Palace east of what is now known as the
“Old Palace.” In this same year the great historical work called the
Tong-guk T‘ong-gam or “Complete Mirror of the Eastern Kingdom,” probably
the most celebrated of Korean histories, was published. It brought the
annals of the peninsula down to the beginning of the present dynasty.
Its author was Sŭ Sa-ga, better known by his pseudonym Sŭ Ko-gan. He was
a thorough master of Korean history.

A little glimpse of this King’s disposition is given in a memorial
addressed to him in 1486 when, after a certain royal tomb had been
struck by lightning he, in terror, asked his officials to mention his
faults that he might mend them and so ward off the judgment of Heaven.
One official brought four charges against him. (1) Love of money; (2)
The selling of offices; (3) Cruel beating of criminals; (4)
Unwillingness to be reproved. Two years later he ordered a remeasurement
of the fields in Ham-gyŭng Province as he believed there was much
taxable property there that was yielding no revenue.

The year 1489 was marked by a terrible scourge of cholera and one of the
officials advised that the King pray to Buddha to stop it. The King
promptly banished him. This man apparently thought that because the
King’s mother was an ardent Buddhist this advice would not meet with
punishment. But in this case even filial duty did not stand in the way
of stern opposition to Buddhism. Soon a still more striking example was
given. The Queen Mother had a Buddha made and placed in a monastery
outside the East Gate, called Chöng-ok-wŭn. A man named Yi Pyŭk, passing
by, asked what they were doing with the image and when he learned that
the Queen Mother had ordered it set up he struck it and broke it in
pieces. He finished the good work by burning the fragments. It can be
imagined how angry the Queen Mother was and how she urged the King to
destroy the contumacious subject, but in reply the King said “Instead of
death he deserves a gift”, and there the matter dropped.

In 1490 one Kwŭn Chu memorialized the throne declaring that the musical
instruments in use were those made by the corrupt Sin-don and that they
were destructive of good manners. At his advice the instruments were
destroyed and others were made. The style of music also was changed and
it became purer and more serious. At this time the instrument of war
called the _so-ni_, a kind of catapult, was invented.

The years 1491 and 1492 were occupied in border wars in Ham-gyung
province, Gen. Hŭ Chŭng at last succeeding in clearing the northern
borders of the enemy. The King died in 1494.



                              Chapter III.

Consternation upon the accession of Prince Yŭn-san.... his character....
    avenges his mother’s disgrace.... reign of terror.... concubines of
    former King killed.... sporting proclivities.... noble women
    dishonored.... carnival of crime.... plot against the King....
    prisons opened.... King banished.... royal proclamation.... a sad
    parting.... abuses corrected.... revolt of Japanese residents in the
    south.... diplomatic relations with Japan severed.... reforms....
    money for army made from Buddhist image.... literature.... mistake
    in a Chinese history.... puritan simplicity.... color of clothes....
    military activity.... Japanese pirates captured.... the first
    compass.... caste.... a Korean-Chinese dictionary.... an extreme
    Confucianist.... a dangerous regency.... evil advisers.... good men
    murdered.... Japanese return to the southern ports ... omens ... a
    Buddhist regent.... conscription.... invasions north and south....
    signal victory over the Japanese.... rebellion.


It was in 1494 that Korea had the misfortune to come under the baneful
rule of Prince Yŭn-san. As we have seen, he was the son of the discarded
Queen. He inherited her evil disposition and he had sworn to her that he
would avenge the stigma that had been cast upon her name. He was twenty
years old when the load of empire was placed upon his unworthy
shoulders.

No sooner had his accession been ratified by the Emperor than the Prime
Minister resigned his position and hastened away to his country home.
When asked his reason for such precipitation he replied, “Look at the
pupil of his eye; with such a King it is difficult to keep the head on
the shoulders. So I have come to the country.” Many tales are told
illustrative of his character. Some time before the last King’s death,
while he was walking in the palace grounds with his son, a tame deer had
come and rubbed its nose on his arm. The youth in wanton cruelty had
brutally kicked the animal and was sharply reprimanded for it by his
father. Now that he had become King he sent for the harmless beast and
drove a spear through it with his own hand. Beholding this vindictive
act, and rightly gauging the evil mind that lay behind it, a high
official, Pak Yŏng, immediately left the court and retired to the
country. The next act of this King was to behead his old tutor, Cho
Chi-sŭ, whom he had learned to hate when a boy, because the faithful
instructor had tried to curb his wild excesses.

The year 1496 began with a demand for more revenue from Chŭl-la
Province, and a consequent remeasurement of the land under cultivation.
It is said that his mother, dying, had left a napkin, dyed with her
blood, and had said, “When my son becomes King, give this to him and
tell him not to forget his vow to avenge my death.” In pursuance of this
injunction the young King now gathered together all the men in any way
connected with the banishment and death of his mother, all those who
recorded the facts, all the messengers who carried the hateful commands.
In all there were several hundred people. These he decapitated and
dismembered. He also dug up the bodies of those who had been implicated
but had died in the interval, broke their bones in pieces and flung them
into the river or ground them to powder and scattered them to the winds.
The King wanted to have his mother’s picture hung in the ancestral
temple and when he proposed it all the officials assented to it but
three, who said. “She was a criminal and died a felon’s death; her
picture cannot hang in the ancestral hall.” The King in a rage ordered
their instant execution. Their families like wise perished and their
houses were razed to the ground.

We have seen that Kim Chong-jik, the Prime Minister, had fled to the
country. His enemies now accused him to the King asserting that he had
said that, as King Se-jo had killed King Tan-jong, how could the son of
the former become King. This story was believed and Kim and many of his
friends were seized and beheaded. This was the signal for an exodus of
the better class of the people from the city. The schools were all
closed and a deadly silence reigned for the most part. No one knew who
was to be taken next. As the years passed the reign of terror did not
abate. Debauchery, oppression and theft were the daily practices of the
court and the people were ground to the very lowest point. So much so,
in fact, that in 1504 the people printed placards in the native
character declaring the baseness of the King, and posted them throughout
the city. “These must be the friends of the people whom I have banished”
said the King. So he brought them back from exile and beheaded, poisoned
or beat them all to death. The people of the eight provinces besought
the King to do away with the native script which had brought such
disaster.

Two concubines of the deceased King were still living and when they were
accused to the King of having brought about his mother’s death, he sent
for them and killed them on the spot. For this he was blamed by the
widow of the dead King; so the wretch went into her apartments, ran at
her and butted her with his head, knocking her to the ground. She said
they might kill her if they wished; she did not care. Having stolen the
beautiful wife of Whang Yun-hŭn the King could not induce her to smile
upon him. So he said, “It is because her husband is still living.” He
therefore sent and had the man killed.

The King placed dancing girls in all the 369 prefectures of the country
and reserved three hundred of the fairest for the palace. For these he
built sumptuous pavilions and a hospital for their treatment when ill. A
special office was erected for the care of the dogs, falcons, nets and
other instruments of the chase. The royal stables were in Chong-dong
where the United States Legation now stands. Agents were sent into all
the provinces to hunt for fair women and swift horses. Others were sent
to wring from the people special taxes. The King thought the officials
were blaming him behind his back, so he gave each of them a wooden tag
on which was written, “The mouth is the avenue to misery. The tongue is
a sword which may pierce the body. Watch the mouth and guard well the
tongue; so shalt thou dwell in safety.” He changed the Confucian temple
into a play-house, drove out all the students from the dormitories and
put diviners and sorceresses in their places. When his grandmother died
he did not assume mourning, but as two of the officials dared to do so
he killed them. He wiped out the three districts of Ko-yang, P‘a-ju and
Yang-ju to make a hunting ground and forbade anyone to settle there.
Those who disobeyed were killed. This hunting park was then stocked with
all manner of wild beasts. He stole the people’s boats to use in sport
on the palace ponds and restricted the people to the use of a single
ferry-boat on the river. This lessened the traffic to such an extent
that the people of Seoul suffered severely and many inn-keepers were
ruined. An aged eunuch remonstrated, but the King caught up a bow and
shot him through. He taxed the people of the south a bolt of cotton a
head, and they paid it only by taking the cotton out of their clothes
and weaving it. He invited the wives of the courtiers to a feast and had
each of them wear upon the breast the name of her husband. Of these he
dishonored whom he would and gave the husbands official position. His
uncle’s wife was enticed into his net, in consequence of which she
committed suicide.

Such were a few of the acts of this depraved monarch. We need not
multiply details of his execrable career. It was one long carnival of
murder, lust and oppression. The people were simply the instrument by
which the spendthrift King could fill his coffers.

It was in the twelfth year of his reign, 1506, that the people were
brought to the limit of their patience. Three men. Song Heui-an, Pak
Wŭn-jong and Yu Sun-jong, conferred together and agreed that unless
there was a change the destruction of the kingdom was inevitable. They
determined to drive the corrupt King from the throne and put in his
place Prince Chin-sŭng, the second son of King Song-jong. One dark night
they met at the Hun-yŭn-wŭn, near the East Gate, with a number of others
who had been let into the dangerous secret. Not a light was to be seen,
and they prepared to act. With a small band of picked soldiers whom they
knew to be faithful they formed a line in front of the palace. The two
Prime Ministers came out and joined them and soon a crowd of people
gathered. Powerful men with iron bars soon forced an entrance and six of
the King’s favorites were seized and beheaded. As a next move the
prisons were all opened and crowds of innocent people were liberated.
They thirsted for revenge and, finding weapons as best they could,
joined the revolutionists. It soon appeared that there was to be no
resistance for even the King’s friends were aghast at his enormities.
The revolutionists proceeded to the Kyöng-bok Palace where the King’s
step-mother lived, the one whom he had treated so brutally, and said to
her, “The King is a wild debauchee. The people are scattered. The
ancestral temple has been desecrated. The people desire to make your son
King.” She modestly replied, “How can my son become King? The King’s son
is old enough to assume the crown.” At this there was a general cry of
dissent and all demanded that she comply and let her son become King. At
last she consented and the youth was brought out. The assembled
multitude bowed before him and swore fealty to him. They then crowned
him and brought him to the palace. The deposed King was banished with
his son to Kyo-dong Island. The honorary posthumous title was never
conferred upon him but he is known as Yŭn-san-ju, or “Lord of Yŭn-san.”

Throughout the country there was universal holiday. The first
proclamation of this new King who is known by his posthumous title
Chung-jong Kong-eui Tă-wang, gave the keynote of his reign. “The most
important thing in any country is the common people. If the people
prosper the country prospers, if they suffer the country suffers. The
late King was cruel and lawless, and so by the people’s will I have
become King. I have ordered the discontinuance of the evil customs that
have prevailed and I shall do all in my power for the people. Let
everyone rejoice.”

But a sad event marred the happiness of the new King. His queen’s father
had been on intimate terms with the deposed King and had been killed
upon the day of his banishment. The officials therefore insisted that
the Queen be put away and that another be selected. She was innocent of
any crime, and the King said, “She is the wife of my youth and I cannot
put her away.” But they insisted until finally he was forced to comply
and he tearfully parted from her.

One of his first acts was to do away with the “Dog and Falcon Bureau”
which had in charge the implements of the chase. He abolished the “Woman
Bureau” which looked after the procuring of concubines for the King. He
gave back to their owners many houses that they had been despoiled of.
He revived the law by which a written report of the proceedings of the
criminal court should be submitted to him every ten days.

Years before this in the days of King Sŭ-jong Japanese had been
permitted to settle in the three harbors, namely Ch’e-p’o, Yum-p’o and
Pu-san-p’o. They were now having a difficult time. The prefects were
oppressing them sadly, forcing them to work without wages and stealing
their fish or game. This they could not endure; so two of their number,
Ko-jo-mo and Ko-su-jang passed over to the islands of Tsushima and
raised an expedition against the oppressive prefects. Two hundred boat
loads of them crossed the straits and fell upon Fusan, killed its
prefect, attacked Ch’è Harbor and took its prefect alive. They carried
fire and sword into all that region. They ravaged the prefectures of
Ung-ch’ŭn and Tong-nă. The King sent a strong force by land and sea who
cut off the retreat of the invaders and then attacked them. Three
thousand were soon put _hors de combat_ and many hundreds were chased
into the sea where they were drowned. From this time, 1512, until 1572
diplomatic relations with Japan were practically suspended, though an
occasional envoy came. A small number of Japanese boats were however
allowed to come to the three harbors for the purpose of trade. Access to
the court was strictly denied them.

King Chung-jong was as active in matters of reform as had been his
father or grandfather. He put an end to the cruel custom of houghing
robbers. He limited the number of blows that could be administered in
the cross-examination of criminals. He published 2940 volumes of the
Sam-gang-hăng-sil and circulated them among the people as well as
another work on filial piety. He made a foundling asylum, or at least
made provision for the support of abandoned children. The custom of
punishing by striking the legs with short, thick clubs was done away,
for this process was almost sure to shatter the bone.

In the seventh year of his reign, 1512, he turned his attention to the
army and sent out an edict that arms should all be put in good order and
should be ready for use at an instant’s warning. We are not told whether
this was because of any expedition that he was contemplating or any
hostile invasion that he feared. Whichever it was it was unrealized, for
the army under his rule engaged in no offensive or defensive warfare. It
was probably with a view simply of carrying out the policy so wisely
begun by his ancestors of keeping the army in good order. He sent down
to the town of Kyöng-ju in the province of Kyŭng-sang, which had once
been the site of the capital of Sil-la, and brought up a great copper
Buddha and broke it up in order to use the metal in making new arms for
the soldiers. It was the common belief that if anyone prayed to this
image barrenness might be cured. The people cried out against its being
broken up, but the King said “Do not fear. I will take the blame.”
Nothing could show us more clearly the position that Buddhism held at
this time. It had reached its low water mark in Korea, and while it can
scarcely be said to have strengthened its position up to the present
time, it is very doubtful whether an emergency could arise so great as
to induce a King of Korea in these days to break up an image of Buddha.

The reign of this king was marked by severe disturbances at different
times. In his thirteenth year, 1518, there were severe earthquake shocks
extending over a period of four days and causing much loss of life and
property.

During his reign literature was on the increase. He ordered the
publication of various books and established a headquarters for books at
Seoul, a sort of central depot or depository. The only relations that he
had with outside countries was the reception of a Japanese envoy who
brought a gift of mirrors. They were considered very valuable.

In 1518 a historical work came from China in which it was asserted that
king T’ă-jo was not the son of Whang-jo but of Yi Im-in, a traitor, and
that he had founded the new kingdom as a result of treachery. The king
sent an envoy immediately to the court of China asking that the mistake
be corrected. The Emperor replied that it would be done in the next
edition.

The king’s teacher, Cho Kwang-jo, called “The Confucius of Korea,” told
his master that Buddhism and sorcery were alike useless and urged him to
do away with the headquarters of the diviners and sorcerers. It was done
and the teacher was given the title of “Guardian of Public Morals.” We
are told that this reign was the golden age of Korean morals. The people
revolting from the excesses of the deposed king took on a puritan
simplicity. Men and women walked on opposite sides of the street. If any
article was dropped in the road no one would touch it, but would leave
it for the owner to recover. No one had to lock his doors at night. When
the wild Ya-in of the north ravaged the border and one advised that a
force be sent disguised as laborers to chastise them, the king decided
that it was beneath his dignity to have recourse to trickery, and so
sent the troops openly. The important decennial examination called the
Hyŭn-yang-gwa was now established.

At this time white clothes were not largely worn. That custom did not
come in till about 1800. Blue, red and black predominated. The king now
established the custom of wearing very light blue at the time of
ancestral worship.

This reign saw some notable advances along certain lines. Bows were made
which were shot by putting the feet against the bow and drawing the
string with both hands. They were to be used by women in defending walls
while the men might be away. A small powerful bow was made which shot
metal arrows called “needle arrows.” They carried four times as far as
the ordinary bow, and an arrow from one of them would penetrate three
men. A kind of bomb was also invented. It was probably projected from a
catapult of some kind. A spring trap was made whose arrow weighed a
hundred and twenty pounds.

In 1521 a Japanese So I-jön sent an envoy named Song-gong Pu-su-choa
with a curious gift of three stones that resembled mirrors. The king,
however, declined to accept them. The following year a Japanese named
Teung Wŭn-jung went to the Chinese district of Yŭng-p’a and ravaged, and
on his way home landed with his booty on the coast of Whang-hă Province
in Korea. He was there captured by a Korean and his whole company were
sent to China much to the delight of the Emperor.

In 1524 P‘yŭng-yang was decimated by the cholera. It is said that there
were 7700 deaths. The following year the envoy to Nanking, Yi Sun,
brought back with him the first compass ever seen in Korea. In 1532 a
royal concubine desired to have her son become king instead of the Crown
Prince. In order to accomplish the destruction of the latter she took a
dead rat, wrote his name on its belly and put it under the Prince’s
room. This is a common way of attempting to do an enemy to death by
witchery. She was discovered in the act and she and her son were put to
death. Some three years later a great mock naval battle was fought on
the river and the king went out and witnessed it.

The year 1536 beheld an important event in the bringing of the official
history of the dynasty up to date. In the next year an important law was
made, the one which commanded that the people of the upper class should
be distinguished from the lower class by a difference in the clothes.
Heretofore the style had been the same for both classes, but from this
time on the lower class was not allowed to wear the long flowing sleeves
which until recent years have distinguished the Korean gentleman.

In 1541 Chu Se-bung a noted scholar of Kyŭng-sang Province founded a
school at P‘ung-geui in honor of a noted sage An Yu who had lived there
during the Koryŭ dynasty. In digging the foundations he had found a bar
of copper of three hundred pounds weight. With the profits of the sale
he bought books for the school library.

The last recorded act of this monarch casts into the shade all his other
work and tells us more by implication about the condition of the people
than any other words could do. That act was the making of the Ok-pyŭn or
Korean-Chinese dictionary, arranged in the order of the Chinese
radicals. This important publication shows first a great advance all
along the line of literature. The demand for such a work argues a
constant pressure along literary lines that finally made it an absolute
necessity. In the second place it showed that the native character,
whatever may be said to the contrary, had taken a firm hold upon the
people and had begun to bring forth substantial fruit. A standard for
transliterating Chinese characters was demanded and the demand could
have sprung from nothing less than a large and constant use of the
native character. The publication of this work marks an era in the
literary life of the peninsula. It fixed the native character firmly
upon the people and made it a factor that can neither be ignored nor
evaded. The Chinese character is still a favorite in Korea but it will
go out before the native phonetic character as surely as the Latin
tongue went out from England before the English.

It was in 1544 that King Chung-jong closed his long and eventful career.
Forty years upon the throne had seen the country lifted out of the mire
into which it had been trodden by his predecessor, and brought to the
highest point of morals, of literature and of general culture that it
has ever reached. He was succeeded by his son Yi-ho who is known by his
posthumous title In-jong Yŭng-jŭng Tă-wang.

The career of this monarch affords another illustration of what
Confucianism in its extremer moods can do. When his father died he
fasted six days and became so weak that he could hardly stand even with
the aid of a staff. He continued to refuse sufficient food and mourned
continually for his father. He would sit on the bare ground all night
long even in winter, asking Heaven to kill him or else give him back his
father. He refused medicine saying that his trouble was one that drugs
could not reach. Seeing that his end was approaching he asked that his
half brother Prince Kyön-wŭn be made king after him. When he died the
whole land resounded with wailing. It is said that in a single day the
news travelled by the sound of wailing caught up from village to
village, even to the limits of the kingdom. The new king is called
Myŭng-jong Kong-hön Tă-wang.

This king at his accession was a lad twelve years old and consequently
the regency devolved upon his mother. This was most unfortunate for she
was a wholly unscrupulous woman and ere the king was old enough to
assume the duties of his high office inflicted serious injuries upon the
state. She had a brother, Yun Wŭn-hyŭng, who was her equal in daring and
intrigue. Yun Im the uncle of the deceased king In-jong was holding
office at this time. He was a faithful and honest man. Being the brother
of the late king’s mother he formed a natural as well as moral
antithesis to the brother of the new king’s mother. Yun Wŭn-hyŭng had a
younger brother Yun Wŭn-no who was his equal in chicanery. They could
not but be enemies and so the elder banished the younger to Hă-nam in
the south.

From the time when King Chung-jong died the two rival leaders Yun
Wŭn-hyŭng and Yun Im, the trickster and the statesman, had been wooing
fortune for the premiership. The people called Yun Im the “Big Yun” and
Yun Wŭn-hyŭng the “Little Yun.” The people are not seldom the best
judges of their rulers. During the short reign of King In-jong the
friends of Yun Im had been in power and they had sedulously kept all
evil-minded men, including Yun Wŭn-hyŭng, out of office. For this reason
it was that when the latter came into power he found himself at the head
of a crowd of malcontents who thirsted first for the sweets of office
and secondly for the sweets of revenge. Before King In-jong died “Little
Yun” had poisoned the mind of the incoming king’s mother against “Big
Yun” by asserting that he and his friends were conspiring to prevent the
accession of her son. The Queen Mother, as soon as she came to the
regency sent word to “Little Yun” to put “Big Yun” and his associates to
death. He called the Chief of Police and gave orders to that effect but
that careful individual said that the men he was ordered to kill were
honest men and that he would have nothing to do with it. “Little Yun”
then sought audience with the boy king and urged the matter, the Queen
Mother adding her voice to his arguments. The courtiers said that it was
mere hearsay and so long as the new king had ascended the throne without
any attempt at sedition the matter ought to be dropped; whereupon the
Queen Mother flew into a passion and screamed, “Do you want my son to
sit here and be murdered? I will have those men killed like snakes in
the fire.” She then ordered the courtiers to retire, and the bowl of
poison was sent to “Big Yun” and his friends. A relative of the king,
whom the Regent believed they intended to make king instead of her son,
fled to Sŭ-gwang Monastery and hid in a cave behind it, but he was
tracked down and seized. They brought him to Seoul and killed him by
searing his body all over with red hot irons. “Little Yun” was now the
royal favorite, or at least the Regent’s favorite, and the men who had
opposed the appointment of himself and his friends to official position
were banished right and left or else killed.

We will remember that the Japanese settlers had been driven from the
three southern ports during the reign of King Chung-jong. An envoy now
came saying that the Japanese settlers were not to blame for that
uprising but that it was done by a band of ruffians from the islands,
and they asked to be allowed to resume the old friendly relations.
Consent was given but on condition that twice a year tribute should be
brought to Fusan from Tsushima. The Japanese who headed this embassy was
called So-i Jön-sa. This occurred in the year 1548. The same year saw
the famous books Kang-mok Chŭn-p‘yŭng and Sok-kang-mok, dealing with
Chinese history, and the military works Pal-myŭng Kang-eui, and Mu-gyŭng
Ch‘ong-yo copied in Korea and disseminated throughout the country. These
are among the best known works in Korea today. The common people
execrated the favorite Yun Wŭn-kyŭng and chafed under the regency of the
Queen Mother. They went so far as to put out posters stating that “We
are ruled by a woman, and her creatures are fattening off the revenues
of the land. It means the destruction of the kingdom.” So far from
learning a lesson from this, the Regent said, “It is because we did not
make thorough work with the followers of ‘Big Yun’.” She therefore
seized and killed above seventy more of them, all good and honest men.

It is generally believed that the hardships endured by the people during
this reign, because of famines, pestilences and other calamities, were a
forerunner of the terrible cataclysm that swept over the land during the
following reign, in the great Japanese invasion. These calamities had
begun in the very first year of the reign when a pestilence swept the
province of Ham-gyŭng. The same year an enormous mass of rock became
detached from the side of Sam-gak mountain back of Seoul and fell with
such a tremendous crash that it was heard and felt in all the adjoining
prefectures. This was followed by disastrous floods in various parts of
the country whereby thousands of people perished and vast amounts of
property were destroyed. In the city of P‘yŭng-yang alone 720 houses
fell and 209 lives were lost.

It was in 1550 that an astronomical instrument was made, called the
Sŭn-gi-ok-hyŭng or “Heaven Measure.” We are not told the exact nature of
the instrument, but it implies a considerable degree of intellectual
activity and an inclination toward scientific pursuits that is rare in
Korea.

The Queen Mother, as seems to have been common with women of high degree
in Korea, became a confirmed Buddhist. This tendency became so strong
that in 1552 she had a law made requiring government sanction for a man
to enter the priesthood, and special examinations were also required. A
monk named Po U, an unscrupulous but capable man, exercised immense
influence at the palace. The courtiers besought the king to drive him
away but as yet the Regent was too strong.

The following year the custom of filling the ranks of the army by
conscription was inaugurated. All men over fifteen years of age were
supposed to give two or three years’ service. But it was not a success.
The military spirit has never been really strong in Korea since the
downfall of ancient Ko-kuryŭ. The profession of arms has always been
looked down upon as an inferior calling and so long as a living could be
gained some other way the army has been shunned. The law of conscription
was soon modified so that the payment of a modest sum, three hundred and
fifty cash a year, bought exemption from service. Later the sum was
raised to 10,000 cash and even to 20,000 in some cases, but this
included a large “squeeze” on the part of the officials.

The Queen Mother’s power came to an end in 1554 when the king reached
his twenty-first year. From that point matters began to mend. The
ex-Regent and her minions lost a large part of their power, but other
difficulties came up which took the place of those which were thus
overcome. The wild tribe of Kol-gan-bul crossed the northern border and
harried the border towns. When sixty of them had been caught and
beheaded the remainder retired. A Japanese marauding band, returning
from the coast of China laden with booty, landed on the Korean coast and
were there captured and sent to Nanking. The next year seventy
boat-loads of Japanese landed on the Chul-la coast and killed several
prefects but the governor called about him a band of soldiers and routed
the invaders. A hundred and twenty Japanese were killed and all their
arms were captured.

One of the most signal victories the Koreans ever scored over the
pirates occurred in 1556. A thousand or more of these unwelcome
neighbors landed at Tal-yang in Chŭl-la Province and besieged the town.
Government troops were sent against them but were driven back with great
loss. The O-ran, Ma-do and Ka-ri harbor forts were besieged and taken
and the towns of Chang-heung and Kang-jin were swept by the remorseless
foe. Kim Pin the admiral of Chul-la Province, and the prefect of
Kwang-ju were both badly defeated in their attempts to check this
hostile advance.

Yi Yun-gyŭng, the prefect of Chŭn-ju raised a force of 2000 men and
marched toward the seat of war. An experienced general warned him that
he could do nothing but he replied “Then let my head pay the price.” He
gave a written promise that if any of his men deserted he would forfeit
his life, so great was his confidence in the quality of his soldiers.
Pushing rapidly forward he first encountered the Japanese at Hyang-gyo
where he threw up breastworks. He was to have been reinforced by his
brother but the latter sent, warning him that it was a hopeless case and
urging him to retreat. He replied by decapitating the messenger and
attacking the enemy single-handed. He warned his men that the first one
to retreat would lose his head.

The leader of the Japanese rode a powerful white horse and bore in his
hand a yellow flag, and he kept beating his sword against the flagstaff
with terrible clamor. Gen. Yi began the attack not by shooting at the
Japanese themselves but by shooting fire arrows into their camp and
among their baggage. When this was seen to be well ablaze he ordered a
charge and singling out the conspicuous Japanese leader soon laid him
low with one of the famous “needle arrows.” The enemy was soon in full
retreat but their progress was stopped by a high ledge of rocks and
there they were brought to bay. It is said that 1800 Japanese perished
at this point. This is but another sample of what Korean soldiery can do
when properly led. The brilliant young leader was made governor of the
province. The Japanese who escaped made their way across the straits
into the island of Quelpart, where they demanded arms of the prefect,
for they had cast away theirs in their precipitate flight. Instead of
complying the prefect attacked them, brandishing an enormous
battle-club. The victory was complete and the plain was strewed with the
dead bodies of the foe.

When the king heard of these victories he praised the troops and
remitted all the revenue from the prefectures where the Japanese had
created the disturbance.

A serious rebellion occupied public attention in the year 1563. A
butcher of Yang-ju named Im Ko-jung gathered about him a band of
desperate highwaymen and began to plunder and burn in that and the
neighboring prefectures. Government troops chased them into Ku-wŭl
Mountains where they were tracked with difficulty owing to the fact that
they wore their shoes reversed in order to deceive their pursuers. But
the army surrounded the whole mountain and, gradually working their way
up, at last brought the offenders to bay and cut them down.

In 1566 the Queen Mother died, and no sooner was it announced than the
monk who had been such a favorite with her was banished to Quelpart and
there beaten to death. This done, the officials demanded the death of
Yun Wŭn-hyŭng. The King refused to kill his uncle but deprived him of
all official position and drove him away from the capital.



                              Chapter IV.

King Sŭn-Jo takes the throne.... a memorable reign.... reforms....
    northern invasion.... a prophecy.... mourning costume.... rise of
    the political parties.... party strife.... literature.... border
    war.... condition of affairs in Korea.... charge of effeminacy
    untrue.... condition of Japan.... Japanese envoy.... Hideyoshi....
    his demands refused.... second envoy.... delay.... Korea’s condition
    acceded to.... renegades executed.... conspiracy.... a coward
    envoy.... Hideyoshi’s ultimatum.... Korea refuses.... Tairano....
    the King’s answer to Hideyoshi.... the King informs the Emperor....
    preparations for war.... generals commissioned.... the army of
    invasion.... lands on Korean soil.... Japanese firearms.... the
    cowardly provincial general.... the fall of Tong-nă.... a faithful
    defender.... cowardly officers.... the Japanese move northward.... a
    martinet.


In 1568, as King Myŭng-jong lay dying, his Queen summoned the officials
to consult about the succession but ere they arrived the King expired.
They asked her to nominate a successor and she named Prince Hă-sŭng a
youth of seventeen, second cousin to the deceased King. He is known by
his posthumous title Sŭn-jo So-gyŭng Tă-wang. The Queen who nominated
him acted as regent until he should reach his majority.

This reign is perhaps the most memorable of any in this dynasty, for in
it occurred the great Japanese invasion which brought the land to the
verge of destruction and which has ever since colored the Korean
conception of the Japanese.

The first years of the reign were spent in correcting the abuses brought
about by “Little Yun” and in removing from office all those who had been
connected in any way with him. The whole kingdom was canvassed for wise
and scholarly men to put in the places of those who had been removed.
Books intended for the instruction and elevation of the people were
published and distributed far and wide.

The wild Ya-in across the Ya-lu were crossing that river and taking
possession of fields in Korea proper, near the town of Kang-gye. The
King sent a force under Gen. Kim Tong-yung to dislodge them. The
intruders were chased across the river and into a narrow defile where
they turned on their pursuers. Taken thus by surprise the Korean forces
were thrown into confusion and were put to flight, but not till after
their general had fallen. A second expedition chased the intruders to
their villages, and burned them out.

In the following year the Prime Minister Yi Chun-gyŭng died, but before
he expired he gave voice to a prophecy which has become historic. He
said:—“Since I have begun to examine men’s minds I find that opposing
factions will arise and that in their train great evils will follow. The
king should studiously avoid showing favoritism to either of these
factions. The first symptom of the rise of such factions should be met
with stern resistance.”

In the year 1572, the relations with the Japanese were as follows:—Since
the seventh year of King Chöng-jong, when the Japanese in the three
ports revolted, there had been little communication between the two
countries, but a few Japanese had been allowed to live in the three
settlements by sufferance. But now the Japanese sent a friendly message
asking that the old relations be resumed. The prefect of Fusan added his
influence in favour of granting the request, and the Japanese were
allowed to resume operations at Fusan alone, three _li_ below the
prefecture, which means about half way down the bay from the present
village of Fusan. From that time the former relations seem to have been
renewed, but no envoys went from Korea to Japan. It was decreed by the
Korean government that should a Japanese land anywhere upon the coast
except at Fusan he should be dealt with as a pirate. Officials were set
to watch the Japanese and see to it that they did not overstep the
strict regulations.

It had not been customary for the people to assume mourning on the death
of a royal personage, but when the Queen Regent died in 1575 the custom
was begun, and each citizen wore a white hat, belt, and shoes.

This year, 1575, was signalized by another event of far-reaching
importance and one which exerted a powerful influence over all
subsequent Korean history. It was the formation of the great political
parties. At first there were only two, but soon they split into four,
which are known as the No-ron, So-ron, Nam-in, and Puk-in. These mean
“The Old Men’s Party,” “The Young Men’s Party,” “The Southerners,” and
“The Northerners.” These terms are not at all descriptive of the
composition of the various parties but arose from trivial circumstances.
These parties have never represented any principles whatever. They have
never had any “platforms,” but have been, and are, simply political
clans each bent upon securing the royal favour and the offices and
emoluments that go therewith. The story of their rise shows how
frivolous were the causes which called them into being, and the
remainder of these annals will show how they have cursed the country.

During the palmy days of the odious “Little Yun” of the preceding reign,
a man by the name of Sim Eni-gyŭm happening to see a blanket in the
reception room of the universally hated favorite, asked to whom it
belonged. When he was told that it belonged to one Kim Hyo-wŭn, he
exclaimed “He is called a good man, but if so how can he sleep in the
house of such a man as Little Yun.” So he opposed this Kim with all his
might and was opposed by him in like manner. The matter grew into a
family feud and kept on increasing until at the time of which we are
writing two hostile clans had arisen, the one called Sŭ-in or
“Westerners,” because their leader lived in the western part of Seoul.
The other was at first called Tong-in or “Easterners,” perhaps because
their leader lived in the eastern part of the city. The two men through
whom the quarrel first arose had now left the field of active politics
and the Sŭ-in and Tong-in parties were led respectively by Pak Sun and
Hŭ Yŭp. It is said that from this time impartiality in the distribution
of offices was a thing unknown in Korea. A Sŭ-in would help a Sŭ-in and
a Tong-in would help a Tong-in, right or wrong.

The long fight was immediately begun. A slave in Whang-hă province was
accused of murder and was held in prison waiting the decision of Pak
Sun, the leader of the party in power. He did not believe the man guilty
and delay followed. Hŭ Yŭp, the leader of the opposition, took advantage
of this and accused his rival of neglect of duty. Then followed a
running fire of charge and counter-charge between the leaders and
between their partisans. The Tong-in, or So-ron as it soon came to be
called, won in this first encounter and two of the opposing faction were
banished. The Prime Minister urged that this fight was utterly useless
and would cause endless trouble. The king agreed and determined to stamp
out the cause of the disturbance; so he banished the two men Kim and Sim
who had originated the factions. This had no effect however upon the now
thoroughly organized parties and affairs kept going from bad to worse.

In 1579 Păk In-gŭl said to the king, “All the people have taken sides in
this senseless war and even though a man be a criminal there are plenty
who will defend him. This means the ultimate destruction of the kingdom,
and the King should act as a peacemaker between the factions.” Others
urged the same point before the king, but they were unaware that it was
beyond the power of any king to lay the evil spirit of factional strife.
In the fifteenth year of his reign the king threw himself into the cause
of literature. He believed that neglect of the classics was the cause of
the factional strife in his kingdom. He ordered the publication of the
“Religion in the Mind,” “Picture of the Good and Evil Will,” and “The
Legacy of Kim Si-seup.” He called together a large congress of scholars,
and in company with them threw himself into the study of the classics.

The year 1583 beheld a fierce invasion on the part of the northern
savages under Pon-ho. The prefecture of Kyöng-wŭn, in Ham-gyŭng
Province, was taken by them, but Sil-Yip, the prefect of On-sŭng, went
to its succour, and after a desperate fight before the town, broke the
back of the invasion, drove the marauders back across the Tu-man and
burned their villages.

[Illustration: _THE HAN RIVER._]

A novel method was adopted for raising recruits for the army on the
border. A law was made that sons of concubines, who had always been
excluded from official position, might again become eligible by giving a
certain amount of rice or by going themselves and giving three years’
time to border guard duty along the Ya-lu or Tu-man. Two chieftains, Yul
Po-ri and Yi T’ang-ga, advanced by separate roads upon Kyöng-sŭng with
10,000 mounted followers, but the little garrison of 100 men fought so
stubbornly that the siege was raised and the two chieftains marched on
to attack Pang-wŭn. Fortunately government troops arrived just in time
to drive the invaders back.

The Minister of War was working faithfully forwarding troops as fast as
they could be gotten ready, but the opposition made charges against him
on the ground of the neglect of some trifling technicality and he
forthwith laid down his portfolio and retired in disgust. When the king
asked the Prime Minister about it, that careful individual, fearing to
compromise himself, would give no definite answer and the king
consequently said, “If my Prime Minister will not tell me the facts in
the case it is time he retired,” so he too lost footing and fell from
royal favor.

Having reached now the threshold of the great Japanese invasion of Korea
it will be necessary for us to pause and examine the state of affairs in
Japan and institute a comparison between that country and Korea in order
to discover if possible the causes of Japan’s early success and
subsequent defeat.

Korea and Japan may be said to have been at two opposite poles.
Beginning with Korea, we notice, first, that her relations with the Ming
dynasty were eminently peaceful. Unlike the Mongols of an earlier date
and the Manchus of a later date the Mings did not have their origin in
the north, and therefore were brought less into contact with Korea along
her northern border. They belonged to central China and were not a horde
of brutal pillagers as were the Mongols and Manchus. Hence it was that
so long as Korea was friendly and held her own way quietly the Ming
emperors concerned themselves very little about her. To this day Korea
looks back to the Ming dynasty as her true patron and realizes that the
Manchu supremacy is an alien one. Korea had been strongly unified by the
statesmanship of the first kings of the Cho-sŭn dynasty, the present
one, and had been ruled so well as a general thing that there was no
sense of insecurity and no particular fear from the outside except such
as arose from the occasional irruption of a northern tribe or a
piratical raid of a few boatloads of Japanese. The only need of a
standing army was to guard herself from such attacks. The arts of peace
flourished, the country was peaceful, there is little reason to believe
that she was sunken, as many have averred, into a state of shameful
effeminacy. In fact there is much to indicate the opposite, for almost
up to the very year in which the invasion occurred the policy of reform
instituted by king Se-jong was adhered to and the rulers, however
unwarlike they may have been, surely did much for the sake of
literature, art and public morals. You will scarcely find in the annals
of history that the kings who ruled during times of great public
degeneracy, when luxury sapped the vital power of the nation, spent
their time in giving to the people treatises on moral, scientific,
social and literary topics as these kings unquestionably did even up to
the day when the Japanese cataclysm swept the country. It had not been a
hundred years since an unworthy king had been driven from the throne by
his disgusted people and been refused the posthumous title. That king
was succeeded by one who made the land even puritanic in the severity of
its morals, who fostered the arts and sciences as hardly any other had
done and who crowned his work by publishing the Ok-pyŭn, which marked an
era in the literary life of the people. He had been followed in turn by
a king who continued the work of progress and among other things caused
the construction of a complicated astronomical instrument. The following
reign was the one in which the invasion occurred. No candid reader can
believe that the country was steeped in such absolute degeneracy as the
Japanese annalists would have us believe, and which other writers who
had not access to the Korean annals have described. But some may say
that the good work of Korean kings does not necessarily argue a good
people. This again is a mistake, for there could scarcely be found a
people that has taken their cue more directly from the court than have
the Korean people. When the kings have been lax the people have followed
the example and when the kings have been true men the people have been
brought back to honest living. The refutation of this calumny then needs
but a careful perusal of the Korean annals; not those which have been
written under government sanction and are therefore unreliable but those
which, like these, have been drawn from the private and popular
histories of the dynasty and are presumably reliable. For centuries
Korea had been at peace, except for insignificant uprisings on the
border, and the arts of peace had gradually taken the place of martial
prowess. A man is not an object of contempt simply because he is not a
warrior. If he is, then let us go back to the peat-smoke of our
ancestral hovels.

Having shown this reason for Korea’s inability to hold the Japanese in
check to have been a false one it will be necessary to account for it in
some other way. This can easily be done. The reason was three-fold. In
the first place the Korean people, having no use for a large standing
army, had not been trained in large numbers to military life. Secondly
the Japanese were armed with firearms while the Koreans had absolutely
none. The first firearm that was ever seen in Korea was given the king
by a Japanese envoy just at the outbreak of the invasion, as we shall
see. This alone would account for Korea’s inability to cope with the
islanders. In the third place the rise of the political parties had
brought in a spirit of jealousy which made it impossible for any man to
reach celebrity without calling down upon himself the hatred of the
opposing party and his consequent ruin. This we deem the main cause of
Korea’s weakness. The following pages will show whether this view is
upheld by facts or not. It was the mutual jealousies of opposing parties
that proved the bane of the land and not the supineness and effeminacy
of the people.

We must now glance at Japan and see of what stuff the invaders were
made. Unlike the Korean people, the Japanese had never been welded into
a homogeneous mass. Feudalism was the most marked feature of Japanese
life. It has been but thirty years since Japan became a unit. It was
feudalism and its consequent spirit of liberty (for feudalism is liberty
in embryo) that made possible Japan’s phenomenal development during the
past three decades. Her feudalism is therefore not to be decried, but
one of its necessary evils was a state of almost continual civil war.
For two centuries preceding the invasion of Korea Japan had been one
great battlefield. War was the great occupation of the people. While
Korea had been busy producing Japan had been busy destroying and when at
last Hideyoshi, the great Shogun, found himself the virtual ruler of a
temporarily quiet kingdom he had on hand an enormous army which must
either be given occupation or must be disbanded. The latter he dared not
do and the former he could not do without finding a field of operation
abroad. But we are anticipating.

It is well known that the government of Japan was not administered by
the emperor in person but by an official called the Taiko, or Kwan-băk
as the Koreans say. For about two centuries this office had been in the
hands of a family named Wŭn. Hideyoshi had been a retainer in the family
of the Taiko. Being a bold and successful fighter he won his way to a
generalship and from this point of vantage killed the Taiko and assumed
that title himself. It had been the dream of his life to strike at
China. He had tried it once unsuccessfully by boat, attacking her at
Chŭl-gang. He now changed his plan and decided to make Korea a stepping
stone to the conquest of the Ming empire. His initial move was based on
his statement “Year after year our envoys have gone to Korea but they
never send one in return.”

In pursuance of this policy a Japanese envoy named Yasuhiro appeared at
the Korean court in 1587 bearing a harshly worded and insulting letter
demanding that the king send an envoy to Japan. The only notice taken of
this demand was a polite note in which the king stated that as the
journey by sea was a long one and the Koreans were not good sailors he
would have to be excused from complying with the demand. When Yasuhiro
placed this missive in the hands of his master he was promptly ordered
into the hands of the executioner.

The opening of the year 1588 found Korea still suffering from outbreaks
of the far northern border and Gen. Yi Il took a small force of men,
crossed the Tu-man River on the ice and attacked the Chin-do tribe.
Being successful in this he took 2000 men, crossed the same river at
four different points simultaneously and attacked the Si-jun tribe by
night, burning 200 houses and killing 300 people.

In the spring of this year there arrived from Japan a second envoy, or
rather three envoys, Yoshitoshi, Tairano Tsuginobu and a monk Gensho. Of
these Yoshitoshi was the chief. He is described by the Koreans as being
a young man, but coarse and violent and of such a fierce nature that the
other members of his suite dared come into his presence only on their
knees. They dared not look him in the face. Yoshitoshi and his suite
were comfortably quartered at the Tong-p‘ŭng-gwan near the present
Japanese settlement in Seoul, and having renewed the demand that Korea
send an envoy to Japan, he waited month after month hoping that the king
would accede to the demand and fearing to go back without success lest
he should meet the same fate that Yasuhiro the former envoy had
suffered.

At last the king announced that he would send an envoy to Japan on one
condition, namely that the Japanese government seize and send back to
Korea a number of Korean renegades who, under the leadership of one Sa
Wha-dong, had run away to Japan and had since led marauding bands of
Japanese against the southern seaboard of Korea. To this condition the
Japanese envoy gladly consented and Tairano was despatched to Japan to
carry it out. But it was not till the seventh moon of the following
year, 1589, that the pirate Sa Wha-dong and three Japanese freebooters
together with certain other Koreans were brought back from Japan and
delivered up to justice. With them came a letter from the Japanese
government saying “We are not responsible for the evil deeds of these
men. The Korean Sa Wha-dong is the cause of this trouble; so we send
them all to you and you must mete out to them such punishment as you see
fit.” The culprits were immediately decapitated outside the West Gate.
This seems to have thawed somewhat the reserve of the king and
Yoshitoshi was called to the palace for the first time, where he was
presented by the king with a handsome steed while he in turn gave the
king a peacock and some firearms, the first that had ever been seen in
Korea.

Late in the year a dangerous conspiracy was discovered, the prime mover
being Chöng Yo-rip of Chŭl-la Province. He had arranged a plan by which
he and several friends of his in Whang-hă Province should rise
simultaneously and overthrow the government. A certain monk in Ku wŭl
mountain in Whang-hă Province discovered that a certain man, Cho Ku, was
working diligently among the people, taking names, sending numerous
letters and in other ways acting in a suspicious manner. He believed the
man was a traitor and told the prefect of An-ak to be on the lookout.
The latter arrested the man and examined him. It was then elicited that
a widespread rebellion was being gotten up. When the news was told the
king secretly he called together his officials and asked “What sort of a
man is this Chöng Yo-rip?” Some said they did not know but the Prime
Minister said that he was a good scholar and an exemplary man. The king
then threw upon the floor the letter telling about the plot and
exclaimed “Read that and see what sort of a man he is.”

The traitor Chöng had gotten wind of the discovery and had fled with his
son to Chi-nan Mountain in Chŭl-la Province but he was pursued and
surrounded. Rather than be taken he cut his own throat and expired. His
son and his nephew were taken back to Seoul and executed. The nephew
under torture affirmed that the Prime Minister and a large number of
other officials were privy to the plot. This was the more easily
believed because the Prime Minister had insisted that Chöng was a good
man. So he and two others were banished. It is affirmed on good
authority that the Prime Minister and the other who suffered were
innocent of the charge, and that it was simply one of the deplorable
results of party jealousy and strife. We here have a striking instance
of the cause of Korea’s weakness.

All momentous events in Korea are believed to be foretold in some way.
It is said that in this year 1589 a good man named Cho Hön went to the
monastery at Kom-san and when rice was set before him said “Whoever eats
with me will die next year, for the Japanese are coming with 200,000
men. Those here who do not eat with me will live.” Three only are said
to have taken up the challenge and eaten with him.

In the third moon of the following year 1590 the king redeemed his
promise by sending to Japan three envoys, Whang Yun-gil, Kim Sŭng-il and
Ho Sŭng. They were accompanied by the Japanese envoy who had waited a
year for them. Whang Yun-gil was chief of the Korean embassy, but he was
a weak, timid man who hardly dared speak when a Japanese addressed him.
The other members of the embassy realizing how such action would bring
Korea into contempt at the Japanese court, tried to stir him up and make
him speak out fearlessly, but to no avail. After wasting a year at the
Japanese court the embassy returned, accompanied by Tairano who was
charged with an important mission to the king but the minute this
embassy landed at Tong-ăn Whang Yun-gil the cowardly envoy sent a letter
post haste to Seoul saying that war with Japan was certain. When they
all arrived at Seoul the king called them into audience and questioned
them about their experiences in Japan. His first question was “Did you
see Hideyoshi? How did he look?” Whang replied “His eyes flashed fire.
He is a fearsome man.” but Kim Sŭng il said “There is nothing fearsome
about him. His eyes are like rats’ eyes.”

The important letter of which Tairano was the bearer was now handed to
the King and it lay bare the mind of Hideyoshi. It read as follows:—

“Our country consists of sixty-six kingdoms. They all revolted from the
Emperor but for four years I fought them and succeeded in bringing them
all to their knees until even the remote islands lay mastered in my
hand. When my mother conceived me it was by a beam of sunlight that
entered her bosom in a dream. After my birth a fortune teller said that
all the land the sun shone on would be mine when I became a man, and
that my fame would spread beyond the four seas. I have never fought
without conquering and when I strike I always win. Man cannot outlive
his hundred years, so why should I sit chafing on this island? I will
make a leap and land in China and lay my laws upon her. I shall go by
way of Korea and if your soldiers will join me in this invasion you will
have shown your neighborly spirit. I am determined that my name shall
pervade the three kingdoms.”

At a feast given in honor of the Japanese embassy, Hyŭn So, the Japanese
monk who seems to have accompanied Tairano to the Korean court,
whispered to Whang Yun-gil and said, “The reason why Hideyoshi wants to
attack China is because the Emperor refuses to receive a Japanese envoy.
If Korea leaves us but a clear road to China we will ask nothing else.
No troops need be given.” To this Whang replied. “That can never be.
China is our Mother Country and we cannot so desert her as to give a
road to an invading army.” The monk returned to the attack but this time
from another standpoint. “Long ago the Mongol hordes desired to invade
Japan and you gave them a road through Korea for that purpose. Now when
we seek revenge you should do the same by us.” This was considered too
preposterous a thing to be even discussed and the matter suddenly
dropped and the Japanese envoys started straight back to their own
country. It was this envoy Tairano who while on his way up from Fusan
insulted the aged governor of Tă-gu by saying, “For ten years I have
followed war and thus my beard is gray; why should you grow old?” Also
calling for a Korean spear he said, “Your spears are too long,” meaning
that only cowards use long spears. He it was also who threw the basket
of oranges to the dancing girls and, when they scrambled for them,
uttered his ironical criticism. “Your nation is doomed. You have no
manners.”

When this embassy went back to Japan he carried an answer to Hideyoshi’s
letter, in which the King said:—

“Two letters have already passed between us and the matter has been
sufficiently discussed. What talk is this of our joining you against
China? From the earliest times we have followed law and right. From
within and from without all lands are subject to China. If you have
desired to send your envoys to China how much more should we. When we
have been fortunate China has rejoiced and when we have been unfortunate
she has helped us. The relations which subsist between us are those of
parent and child. This you well know. Can we desert both emperor and
parent and join with you? You doubtless will be angry at this and it is
because you have not been admitted to the court of China. Why is it that
you are not willing to admit the suzerainty of the emperor instead of
harboring such hostile intents against him? This truly passes our
comprehension.”

The emperor hearing a rumor of a Korean Japanese alliance sent and
enquired about it but the king replied through an envoy telling the
facts of the case exactly as they had occurred. It was well understood
in Korea that an invasion was all but inevitable and active preparations
were going on all the year in view of this contingency. Three able men
were sent as the governors of Kyŭng-sang, Chŭl-la and Ch‘ung-chŭng
Provinces respectively, namely Kim Su, Yi Kwang, and Yun Sŭng-gak. They
were so energetic in repairing fortresses and accumulating arms that the
people complained loudly. Someone told the king that Yi Sun-sin, a man
as yet unknown, had in him the making of the greatest general in the
world, and for this reason the king made him admiral of all the naval
forces of the kingdom.



                               Chapter V.

The army of invasion.... lands on Korean soil.... Japanese fire-arms....
    fall of Fusan.... a cowardly provincial governor.... the fall of
    Tong-nă.... a faithful defender.... cowardly officers.... the
    Japanese move northward.... a martinet.... braver soldiers than
    leaders.... the news reaches Seoul.... the three roads guarded.... a
    comical predicament.... a good shot.... Cho-ryŭng (Pass) left
    undefended.... an army disbands for lack of leaders.... Gen. Yi Il’s
    fiasco.... Gen. Sil Yip wants to fight in the plain....
    reconnoitering.... the Korean army in a trap.... overwhelming
    defeat.


We have now arrived at the year 1592 A.D. the two hundredth anniversary
of the founding of the dynasty, the year that was destined to see the
country swept by the Japanese hordes. The Koreans call it the Im-jim
year and the mere pronunciation of that word today brings up in the
Korean’s mind the tales of horror and suffering which his mother told
him when a boy, and which have determined the whole attitude of the
Korean mind toward Japan.

Before spring opened the king took an inventory of all the arms that
were available, and appointed Gen. Sil Yip to the command of the forces
in Kang-Wŭn and Ham-gyŭng Provinces, and Gen. Yi Il to the command of
those in the south. In the third moon the officials worshiped at the
tomb of King T‘ă-jo the founder of the dynasty. Korean tradition says
that wailings were heard proceeding from this tomb for three or four
days preceding the landing of the Japanese.

Hideyoshi had gotten together an enormous force from all parts of the
kingdom and the expedition rendezvoused at the islands of Iki. They were
led by thirty-six generals, the general-in-chief being Hideyi.

As to the numbers in the invading army the Korean account agrees so well
with the Japanese that there can be little doubt of its correctness. The
Korean accounts say that the regular army consisted of 160,000 men, that
there was a “body-guard” of 80,000 men, perhaps meaning the personal
body-guard of Hideyoshi, and that there were 1500 heavy armed cavalry.
This says nothing about a reserve force of 60,000 men which is mentioned
by some authorities, and from this we conclude that these did not come
with the main army but waited and came later as reinforcements. The best
Japanese accounts make the total 250,000 while the Korean records say
241,500. Either of these numbers is approximately correct, but the
Japanese accounts divide the estimate differently, saying that the main
army was 150,000 while Hideyoshi’s personal command was 100,000. But
this discrepancy is of course unessential.

As to armament we find that this army was provided with 5000 battle
axes, 100,000 long swords, 100,000 spears, 100,000 short swords, 500,000
daggers, 300,000 firearms large and small, and that there were in the
whole army 50,000 horses.

The flotilla which brought this immense army to the shores of Korea
consisted of between three and four thousand boats. This gives us an
intimation as to the capacity of the boats used in those days. According
to this enumeration each boat carried sixty men. They were probably
undecked, or at most but partially decked, boats of about forty or fifty
feet in length by ten in breadth.

We learn from Japanese sources that the whole fleet did not weigh anchor
from Iki at the same time. Kato, who was in command of one division of
the army, managed to give the rest of the fleet the slip and was away
with his command by night, while his rival Konishi was compelled to wait
several days longer at anchor because of adverse winds. These two men,
Kato and Konishi figure so prominently in the first years of the war
that a word of description is necessary. Kato was an old warrior who had
fought for many years beside the great commander. He was an ardent
Buddhist and a firm believer in the old regime. Konishi on the other
hand was a young and brilliant general who had gained his place not so
much by long and faithful service as by his uncommon skill in military
affairs. He was a convert to Roman Catholicism, having been baptized by
the Portugese missionaries in 1584. He seems to have been a personal
favorite with the great Taiko. It is in the Korean accounts that we find
the statement that Hideyi was made the General-in-chief of all the army
of invasion. From the Japanese accounts which naturally would be
supposed to be more reliable in this matter it would seem that Kato and
Konishi divided between them the honor of supreme command. But we must
remember that Hideyoshi was an old soldier and well acquainted with the
natural jealousies that spring up between officers in an army, and it is
almost inconceivable that he should have put this army in joint command
of two men whom he must have known to be bitter enemies and who would
doubtless work at cross purposes in the peninsula. We incline therefore
to the opinion that the Koreans were right and that there was a nominal
head in the person of Hideyi, but it is quite true that the brunt of the
work fell upon the two rivals, Kato and Konishi.

When day broke on the morning of the thirteenth of the fourth moon of
1592 a dense fog rested on the sea and hid from the eyes of the Koreans
the vast fleet that was working across the straits. Curiously enough,
the commander of the Korean forces in Fusan happened to be hunting that
day on Deer Island at the entrance to the harbor. He was the first to
descry the invading host. Hastening back to the fortifications he
prepared for the worst. Before many hours had passed the Japanese host
had landed, surrounded the fort and poured in upon its doomed defenders
such a destructive fire that it is said the bullets fell like rain. The
garrison fought till their arrows were gone and then fell at their post,
not one escaping.

It would be difficult to overestimate the immense advantage which the
Japanese enjoyed in the possession of firearms, a weapon with which the
Koreans were not acquainted and to whose natural destructiveness as a
machine of war must be added the terror which it naturally inspired. It
was Cortez and the Mexican over again, only in somewhat lesser degree.
What seemed to the Japanese and what has passed down in history as
cowardice can scarcely be called by so strong a term when we consider
that bows and arrows were pitted against muskets and men who were
trained in their use.

Without delay the invaders marched around the bay to the ancient city of
Tong-nă, the remains of whose ancient fortress still greet the eye and
interest the imagination of the traveller. Its prefect, Song Sang-hyŭn,
hurriedly gathered all the town-people and what soldiers he could find.
Gen. Yi Kak, the commander of all the forces in the province, was
approaching from the north; but, hearing of the fate of the garrison of
Fusan, he halted abruptly and said “As commander of all the provincial
forces I must not risk my life in actual battle but must stand outside
where I can direct affairs.” So he turned about and put six miles
between his precious person and the beleaguered town of Tong-nă,
encamping at So-san. The next day the Japanese completed the investment
of the town and prepared to storm the fortress. The brave prefect took
up his position in the upper storey of the great gate of the fortress
where, in accordance with the Korean custom, he beat upon a great drum
and urged on his soldiers in the fight. For eight hours the gallant
defenders fought before the enemy effected an entrance over their dead
bodies. Seeing that all was lost, the prefect called for his official
robes and seated himself in state in the upper gateway. The ruthless
Japanese rushed in and seized him by his garments and attempted to make
him bow before them, but the first one received such a kick in the
stomach that he rolled over on the floor. An instant later the prefect
was struck down by their swords. Just before the enemy entered he had
bitten his finger till the blood came and with it he wrote on his fan
“The duty of a subject to his King comes before that of a son to his
father, so here I die without seeing you again.” This he delivered to a
trusty servant to give to his father. To his trusty friend, Sin Yŭ-go,
he said, “There is no need of your staying here to die, make good your
escape while you can.”

But Sin replied, “I have enjoyed pleasures with you and now I prefer to
suffer with you.” So the two died together. The Japanese general in
command was so impressed with the bravery of this prefect Song Sang-hyŭn
that he had his body decently buried and erected over his grave a wooden
monument on which he wrote “A Loyal Subject,” an epitaph than which none
could be more grateful to a true Korean gentleman. Tradition, which
delights to embellish such accounts, avers that for two years a red
light could be seen glimmering at night above the gate where this man
met his end.

When Gen. Yi Kak, the cautious, and Gen. Pak Hong who was with him,
heard of the fall of Tong-nă, they took to their heels and consequently
their forces did likewise. And here it should be noted that cowardice
evinced itself almost exclusively in the generals and other officers. We
shall find that in almost every instance the soldiers stood by their
officers to the last man.

As the forces of the Japanese moved northward the prefects fled to right
and left. The governor of the province, Kim Su, hearing of the battle at
Tong-nă, advanced toward that place with all the forces at his command,
but his determination seems to have wavered, perhaps on account of the
growing rumors of the prowess of the Japanese; for before he came in
sight of the invading army he turned to the west and south, alarming all
the prefects as he went; and so it is said that this whole portion of
the province was practically depopulated.

When the Japanese arrived at Yŭng-san they found it empty. They swarmed
over Chak-wŭn Pass like ants and filled the plain beyond. Pak Chin the
prefect of Mi-ryang burned all the provisions and arms and fled to the
mountains. Not so with Sŏ Yi-wŭn the prefect of Kim-hă. He stayed inside
his fortress and defied the invaders. The latter could not effect an
entrance until they went and cut down a large field of barley in the
neighborhood, which they tied in bundles and heaped against the wall
till they were able to scale it. Having done his best and failed the
prefect made good his escape. U Pok-yong, prefect of Yong-gung, as in
duty bound, called in his retainers and started to join the banner of
his chief, Yi Kak, whose whereabouts at that time was rather uncertain
as we have already seen. During a halt for dinner two hundred soldiers
from the town of Ha-yang passed them on their way to join the forces of
the governor. U Pok-yong seems to have had so large an opinion of
himself that he was enraged because these soldiers did not dismount when
they passed him. They were of course ignorant of his rank, but he had
them all seized and executed and sent a note to the governor saying that
he had destroyed a band of two hundred robbers. For this meritorious
service he was elevated to the rank of district-general.

Meanwhile Gen. Yi Kak, the provincial general, was flying from place to
place in momentary fear of encountering the enemy. His troops were
disgusted at this, for they had made some rude guns that would throw
pebbles and they thought if they could have a fair chance at the
Japanese they could give them a whipping.

On the seventeenth, four days after the landing of the Japanese, the
startling news reached Seoul. The city was thrown into a sort of panic.
The ministers hastened to the palace to consult about ways and means for
defense. Yi Il was the highest actual field officer in the country. He
was of the third military rank but the two above him were simply the
minister and vice-minister of war and always stayed with the king. Gen.
Yi Il may then be said to have been the General-in-chief of all the
armies of Korea at the time.

There were three main roads leading up from the south to the capital,
any one of which might be chosen by the Japanese. The most direct of
these was the central one leading over the mountain chain at the
celebrated Cho-ryŭng (Pass). Another to the east crossed the mountains
at Chuk-nyŭng (Pass) and a third to the west led through the center of
Ch’ung-ch’ŭng province. To guard these three approaches the king ordered
Gen. Yi Il to go south by the middle road and station a garrison at
Cho-ryŭng, the most important strategic point in the Japanese line of
march. Gen. Pyŭn Keui was to be stationed in charge of this garrison.
The eastern road was to be guarded by Gen. Yu Keuk-nyang and Pyŭn
Eung-sŏng was made prefect of the important southern town of Kyŏng-ju.
All these men were ordered to start for their respective posts
immediately. At a late hour of that same day came the news of the fall
of Fusan, for someone from the summit of a neighboring hill had seen the
red banners of the Japanese swarming over the walls into the doomed
town.

These generals who had been ordered to start in such hot haste were
practically without forces. When the military rolls were looked up it
was found that the army was mostly on paper and that a large majority of
the men were either “sick” or were “in mourning.” So the whole force
that Gen. Yi Il could muster amounted to just three hundred men. Even
these could not be mustered at an hour’s notice, and so in order to obey
the king’s command, the unfortunate general had to start off alone,
trusting that this pitiful handful of men would follow him. The sight of
the General-in-chief of the armies of Korea starting out alone to meet
the mighty army of invasion would be comical were it not so pathetic. Of
course the intention was to gather troops as he went, and we shall see
that he did succeed in getting together at least the semblance of an
army.

The Prime Minister Yu Sŭng-nyong was made Minister of War and charged
with the duty of gathering a competent force to cope with the dreaded
Japanese. Sil Yip was also appointed Vice-minister of War. He seems to
have been specially trusted by the king for the latter gave him a
splendid sword and sent him south with the injunction to kill anyone who
should prove unfaithful, even though it be Gen. Yi Il himself. Here we
see another grievous mistake, in thus giving a man an independent
command over the head of the General-in-chief. It well illustrates a
defect that has brought disaster to many an army—namely the confusing of
authority. As Sil Yip came out from this audience with the king he
slipped on the stone steps and his court hat fell from his head. The
attendants looked upon this with dismay for it was considered an omen of
ill-success. The general went south only eighty li and stopped at
Yong-in.

Kim Sŭng-il whom we will remember as the man who accompanied the
cowardly envoy Whang Yun-gil to Japan and who had so severely censured
him for his craven conduct, was now made commander of all the forces in
the western part of Kyŭng-sang Province. He started for his post
immediately and in a few days arrived at the important town of Chin-ju,
just as the Japanese were approaching. His escort had become somewhat
scattered, but he was not going to take a backward step even to save his
life. Dismounting he seated himself in the official chair having with
him only a corporal and a dozen soldiers. It was a common custom for the
Japanese to wear hideous masks for the purpose of terrifying the
Koreans. On this occasion, when the van of the Japanese army entered the
town it was led by a burly fellow wearing an extremely large and
extremely ugly mask. The corporal strung his bow and let fly a shaft
which pierced the mask and laid its wearer low. His followers beat a
hasty retreat supposing that no one would be shooting arrows about like
that unless there was a considerable force of soldiers in the immediate
vicinity. We are not told as to the fate of the bold general. In this
part of the province the prefects seem to have been made of better stuff
than those further south, for they sent to each other urging the
necessity of standing at their posts and offering whatever resistance
they could to the advance of the enemy.

By this time Gen. Yi Il had collected a considerable force, had crossed
the great Cho-ryŭng (Pass) and was stationed at Sŭng-ju, in the very
path of the invading army. It did not take long to measure his calibre,
for no sooner did the rumor of the approach of the Japanese reach him
than he turned and fled up the pass. This was bad enough, but his next
act was little less than traitorous; he made no attempt to block the
pass, even though a mere handful of men could have held it against
thousands. It was his one great opportunity to distinguish himself and
that he did not improve it speaks as poorly for his generalship as it
does for his patriotism.

Meanwhile an equally reprehensible event was happening in the south.
Governor Kim Su, who had turned aside from meeting the enemy had sent
letters to all the prefects ordering them to have soldiers from all the
districts rendezvous at Tă-gu and await in camp the arrival of generals
from Seoul. The order was obeyed and a large force was congregated at
the appointed place; but day after day passed and no generals came. The
Japanese were sweeping northward and would soon be upon them. Under the
circumstances it should cause little surprise that the camp broke up,
each man returning to his own district. This is but one of many cases
which go to show that in almost every instance the blame rested not on
the soldiers but on the generals and other officers. The soldiers were
always willing to go where the generals would lead them.

When Gen. Yi Il fled in panic over Cho-ryŭng and left it undefended his
followers naturally objected to remaining under the command of a man who
was not only no commander but was a coward to boot. So at last the
doughty general found himself stranded in the town of Sang-ju without a
soldier at his back. He had hoped to find some troops there under the
command of the prefect, Kwŭn Chong-gil. When he found that there were
none he flew into a rage and was about to decapitate the prefect, but
let him off on condition that he find some troops immediately. This the
poor fellow tried to do, but as the whole population was a farming one
not a man could be found who had ever borne arms or who knew anything
about fighting. Nevertheless, to save his head, he got together some
nine hundred raw recruits. At this juncture a messenger came post haste
from Ka-ryŭng saying that the Japanese were coming and were already
near. Gen. Yi replied: “You lie, this is only a scheme to get me to
leave, so that I will not levy any more troops here. Off with his head.”
So off it came. That very night the Japanese encamped at Chang-ch‘ŭn-li
a few miles away, but Gen. Yi knew nothing about it, as he had no
pickets out. The next morning Japanese scouts were seen on the opposite
bank of the river reconnoitering. The Koreans saw these scouts but as
one man had been beheaded for telling of the approach of the Japanese no
one dared to tell the general, and it was not till he heard the firing
of guns that he became aware of the proximity of the foe. Then he rushed
out and formed up his little garrison as best he could behind the
fortifications. Ere long his attention was called to several columns of
smoke arising from the town. He sent some of his aides to discover the
cause but they fell into the hands of the Japanese and were immediately
cut down. When Gen. Yi learned of this he was genuinely alarmed, and his
anxiety was added to by seeing two long files of Japanese deploying to
right and left and rapidly inclosing him and his forces. There was only
one thing to do. Mounting his steed he fled by the only way that was not
already blocked. Being hotly pursued he abandoned his horse and the
greater part of his clothing and fled into the mountains where he
managed to elude his pursuers. In a day or so he appeared at the town of
Mun-gyŭng where he wrote a letter telling of his defeat and sent it to
Seoul. Hearing that Gen. Sil Yip was at Ch‘ung-ju he hastened to that
point and joined him.

Gen. Sil Yip had some time since arrived at his post in Ch‘ung-ju and
had prosecuted his work of collecting soldiers with such zeal that he
had mustered a force of some eight thousand men. It was his intention to
push straight for Cho-ryŭng, the key to the whole situation, but when he
heard of the flight and defeat of Gen. Yi Il he fell back to his strong
position in Ch‘ung-ju. One of his lieutenants, Kim Yŭ-mul, expostulated
with him and said, “We cannot cope with them except in such a place as
Cho-ryŭng where the roughness of the land will be of material aid to
us,” but the general replied, “No, they are infantry and we are cavalry.
If we can once get them into the plain we can use our battle-flails on
them with deadly effect.” One of his captains told him that the Japanese
had already crossed the Cho-ryŭng, and that night he left the camp
secretly and went on a long tour of inspection in order to ascertain
whether this was true. When he came back he ordered the instant
execution of the captain. This midnight expedition speaks well for his
courage and his loyalty.

A few days after the fugitive general, Yi Il, joined the forces of Gen.
Sil Yip, the Japanese forces approached. In order to carry out his pet
scheme of fighting the Japanese in an open plain where his soldiers
could make good use of their battle-flails, Gen. Sil selected a spot
that seemed to him most suitable. It was a great amphitheater made by
high mountains. Along the other side, like the chord of an arc, flowed
the river T‘an-geum da. The only approaches to this plain were two
narrow passages at either end where the mountains came down to the river
bank. In this death trap, then, Gen. Sil drew up his entire command and
awaited the coming of the invaders. It is easy to imagine the glee with
which the Japanese saw this arrangement, for it meant the extermination
of the only army that lay between them and Seoul. Strong detachments
were sent to block the passage at the ends of the plain while the main
body scaled the mountains and came down upon the doomed army as if from
the sky. The spears and swords of the descending legions flashed like
fire while the roar of the musketry made the very earth to tremble. The
result was an almost instantaneous stampede. The Koreans made for the
two narrow exits but found them heavily guarded by the Japanese. They
were now literally between “the devil and the deep blue sea,” for they
had the appalling spectacle of the hideously masked Japanese on the one
hand and the deep waters of the river on the other. The whole army was
driven into the river or mercilessly cut down by the swords of the
Japanese. Gen. Sil Yip himself made a brave stand and killed with his
own hand seventeen of the enemy before he fell. Out of the whole army
only a handful escaped, and among them we are almost sorry to say was
the coward Yi Il who managed to get across the river.



                              Chapter VI.

News of defeat reaches Seoul.... panic.... divided councils.... lack of
    troops.... general exodus.... indescribable confusion.... straw
    shoes at a premium.... Princes sent away.... the king leaves
    Seoul.... Yi Hang-bok attends the Queen.... riotous citizens....
    slaves burn the deeds.... palaces in flames.... royal party
    dwindles.... drenching rain.... the king goes without dinner....
    welcome relief.... Japanese approach Seoul.... the race between Kato
    and Konishi.... no resistance.... the Han left undefended.... an
    empty victory.... Hideyi’s quarters.... the Japanese in Seoul....
    the king orders the Im-jin River guarded.... the king enters
    P‘yŭng-yang.... a coward.... the Im-jin guarded.... the Japanese
    impetus checked.


Meanwhile the city of Seoul was waiting breathless for news of a victory
by Gen. Sil Yip. The terrors of the horde of half-savage soldiers from
the islands of Japan had passed from mouth to mouth and all, from the
king to the humblest coolie, knew that Gen. Sil Yip alone stood between
them and that dreaded host. One morning a naked soldier was seen
approaching the South Gate on a run. He bore the marks of battle and as
he passed under the great arch of the gate a hundred hands were
stretched out to greet him and a hundred voices demanded news of the
battle. He cried, “I am one of the followers of Sil Yip and I come to
tell the city that yesterday he fell at the hand of the Japanese. I have
escaped with my life and I am come to tell you that flight is your only
hope.” The people were fearfully agitated. The evil news spread from
mouth to mouth and a great wailing arose from the multitude that
thronged the streets.

It was the last day of the fourth moon and that night the king, not
knowing at what moment the enemy might be thundering at his gates, took
up his quarters in a secluded part of the palace, “The Old Palace” as it
is now called, and gathered about him all his courtiers and officers and
held a great council. The only question was, “Where shall we go?”

Yi San-ha the Minister of War said “The Court should remove to
P‘yŭng-yang,” but Yi Hang-bok, an official who was destined to figure
prominently in the war, said, “It will not be enough to go to
P‘yŭng-yang. We must send and ask aid of China.” On the other hand Kim
Kwi-yŭng and a host of other officials said, “No, the king should stay
right here and defend his capital.” The king himself, after listening to
all that had to be said, agreed with the majority that it would be best
to stay and defend the city. He said, “The ancestral temple with all the
tablets of my illustrious ancestors is here. How can I go and leave
them? Let the Minister of War immediately detail troops to man the
walls.” But it was just here that difficulty arose and it showed clearly
why the Minister of War had counselled flight. The city wall has thirty
thousand battlements and each battlement has three embrasures, but in
the whole city there were only seven thousand troops. This was not a
tenth part the number that would be required to man the walls. This lack
of soldiers was due to the fact that in the long centuries of peace it
had become customary for the government to receive a money equivalent in
place of military service. As a result only the very poorest of the poor
were enrolled in the army, and the service consequently suffered. This
bad custom, while it argues corrupt practices among the officials, does
not prove the absence of courage or faithfulness among the people, and
we shall find that the people were as a rule true to their duty when
they were properly led.

To add to the difficulty of the situation, on that very night there was
an overwhelming exodus of the people. High and low, rich and poor, young
and old, thronged out of the city by every gate and made for some place
of fancied safety in the country. The very warders of the gates fled and
left them wide open. The great bell at Chong-no remained silent that
night for lack of someone to ring it. Very many took refuge in the
palace enclosure and men and women, horses and cattle and goods of all
kinds were mixed together in indescribable confusion. Wailing and
shouting and crying on all sides added to the confusion. The king could
do nothing to quiet the disturbance, so he sat down in his private
apartments attended by two eunuchs. Meanwhile the lawless element among
the people was trying to make capital out of the confusion, and all
night long the palace was being looted by these vicious characters,
while palace women fled half naked and screaming with terror from room
to room.

The king’s relatives all gathered at his doors and begged with tears and
imprecations that he would not go and leave them. An order went forth
from the palace that all the straw shoes and sandals that could be found
should be brought in. When the officials saw these they said to the king
“This great pile of straw shoes looks as if flight was being prepared
for. We had better take them and burn them all and then shut the city
gates so that the people cannot escape and leave the place undefended.”
This advice was probably not followed, for by this time the king himself
began to see that flight would be the only possible plan, and it was
probably at his order that the shoes had been prepared.

Minister Yu Sŭng-nyŭng said, “Let us send the two Princes to the
provinces where they will be safe and let the different governors be
instructed to collect troops and send them on as fast as possible.” This
seemed sound advice and the king’s oldest son, by a concubine, for the
Queen had borne no sons, was sent to the province of Ham-gyŭng, and
Prince Sun-wha went into Kang-wŭn Province.

When night came the king, who saw that it was useless to attempt to hold
the city, sent to the keeper of the Ancestral Temple and ordered him to
send the ancestral tablets on toward P‘yŭng-yang. All night long the
preparations for departure were pushed and just at day break the king
called for his horse and, mounting, rode out the New Gate attended by
his personal following, a host of the officials and a crowd of terrified
citizens who well knew that his going meant perfect anarchy. The Queen
was aided in making her escape by Yi Hang-bok who under cover of the
darkness led her by the light of a torch to the palace gate. She asked
his name and being told she said, “I have to thank you, and I am sorry
to have put you to this trouble.” It is said that he had all along felt
sure the Japanese would enter Seoul and that he had sat for days in his
house refusing food and drink. At the end of that time he roused himself
and called for food. Having eaten he prepared for a long journey and
then went to the palace. One of his favorite concubines followed him and
asked what they were to do at home, but he did not answer. She plucked
him by the sleeve but he drew his sword and cut the sleeve off leaving
it in her hands. He felt that his first duty was at the palace. We have
seen that he did good work there in looking after the welfare of the
Queen. He secured her a chair at the palace gate and they joined the
royal cavalcade on its way northward.

As the king and his escort passed through “Peking Pass” day was breaking
in the east and a last look at the city showed it to be on fire in many
places. The populace had thrown off all restraint and had looted the
treasure houses and the store houses. In one of the latter were kept all
the deeds of the government slaves. Each slave was deeded property, the
same as real estate, and the deeds of the government slaves were
deposited in the Chang-yé-wŭn. At that time there was nominally no lower
middle class at all. Society was composed of the upper class and their
retainers. Almost every man in the lower stratum of society was
nominally the slave of some nobleman though in many places it was a
nominal serfdom only. At the same time the master had the right to sell
them at will and they were in duty bound to assume mourning at his
death. It was this class of people, then, that arose and burned the
store-house which contained the deeds and thereby secured liberty.
Another building contained deeds of all private slaves. This too was
made an objective point the moment the restraint of government was taken
off. They also saw the royal granary in flames where the rice, cloth and
money were stored. The king’s private treasure house inside the palace
grounds was also burning. The Kyŭng-bok Palace, the Chang-dŭk Palace and
the Chang-gyŭng Palace were all in flames. It must have been a
depressing sight to the king and his court but there was no time to
waste in mourning over the desolation in Seoul. No one knew at what
moment the enemy might appear over the southern hills; and so the royal
party pressed on toward the north. When they arrived at Sŭk-ta-ri in the
district of Ko-yang it was raining furiously and by the time they
arrived at Pyŭk-je-yŭk the entire party were dripping wet.

Up to this point the cavalcade had kept together very well but there
were many among them who had not intended to keep on with the royal
party and there were probably many more whose good intentions were so
dampened by the elements that they gave it up. From this point on the
royal escort was much reduced. The king here dismounted, entered a
hostelry and sat down and began to beat upon the ground with his whip
and to weep. As the Ministers gathered around him he said, “What shall
we do in this terrible haste?” Yi Hang-bok answered, “When we get to
Eui-ju, if we find it impossible to stop there we must push on into
China and seek aid from the Emperor.” The king was pleased with this and
said, “That is just what I want to do.” But Yu Sŭng-nyŭng said, “Not so,
for if the king leaves Korean soil the dynasty will be at an end and
Korea will be lost. The soldiers of Ham-gyŭng Province are still to be
heard from and those from Kang-wŭn Province as well; so there is no call
for such talk as this about leaving Korean soil.” He likewise
administered a sharp reproof to Yi Hang-bok who confessed himself to
have been too hasty.

After a short rest they took the road again, ever goaded on by the dread
of pursuit, and as they passed He-eum-nyŭng the rain came down again in
torrents. The palace women were riding horses that were small and weak
and they could go but slowly. The riders went along with their hands
over their faces, weeping and wailing loudly. By the time they reached
the Im-jin River it was dark, and a more wretched company can hardly be
imagined. The horses were up to their knees in mud and were well-nigh
exhausted. All were nearly famished. It was pitchy dark and the party
had become scattered. The case looked about as hopeless as it well
could; but Yi Hang-bok was a man of tremendous energy, and he realised
the gravity of the situation. So halting the cavalcade he dismounted and
managed after great exertions to collect the entire party once more. It
was so dark that it was impossible to think of crossing the river by
ferry, until someone thought of the happy plan of setting fire to some
of the buildings on the bluff beside the stream. By this baleful light
the sorry and bedraggled multitude somehow effected a crossing and from
that point on the fear of pursuit was greatly lessened. By this time
food and rest had become imperative both for man and beast. Those who
had been accustomed to no greater hardship than lolling on divans in
palaces found a ride of thirty miles in the mud and rain, without rest
or nourishment, a severe test. When the cavalcade came at midnight to
the hostlery of Tong-pa-yŭk in the prefecture of P’a-ju they found that
the prefect Hŭ-jin and the prefect of Chang-dan, Ku Hyo-yŭn, had
provided an excellent supper for the king and the Ministers, but before
these worthies could get settled in the apartments provided for them,
the grooms and coolies and others, rendered desperate by hunger, rushed
into the kitchen to find what had been provided for them, and finding
that they had been forgotten they began to help themselves to the food
that had been prepared for the royal table. An attempt was made to stop
them but they were in no mood to be stopped. The result was that the
king and his Ministers went hungry. His Majesty asked for a cup of wine
but none could be found. He asked for a cup of tea but that too had
disappeared. One of the servants of the party happened to have a cake of
Chinese sugar tucked under his head-band. This he drew out and it was
dissolved in some warm water and formed the repast of the king that
night.

In the morning when it became time to resume the journey it was found to
the dismay of all that the coolies had decamped and left the royal party
high and dry. But even while they were discussing this sorry plight the
governor of Whang-hă province and the prefect of Sö-heung appeared on
the scene with two hundred soldiers and fifty or sixty horses. They had
come expressly to escort the king northward, and truly they came in the
very nick of time. They had with them a few measures of barley and this
was doled out to the hungry people. As soon as possible a start was made
and at noon they arrived at Cho-hyŭn-ch’an forty li from Sŭng-do where
they found plenty of food, as the governor had ordered it to be
prepared. This was the second day of the fifth moon. That night they
entered the welcome gates of Song-do, which, almost exactly two
centuries before, had witnessed the overthrow of the Koryŭ dynasty. This
was the first time the royal party could really breathe freely, for they
could be easily warned of the approach of the enemy, now that soldiers
were on the lookout. So it was decided that they should rest a day at
this place.

The king came out and seated himself in the upper story of the South
Gate and all the people gathered before him. He said to them “Now that
this war is upon us, if there is anything that you would say, say on.”
Without hesitation they replied, “This war has been caused by Yi San-han
(one of the Ministers), and by Kim Kong-yang,” (the father of a favorite
concubine). The people were very angry with them. They also said, “You
should recall the Minister Chöng.” This man had been banished because of
factional rivalry. To the latter proposition the king readily assented,
glad probably to find some way to please the populace.

It was on this day, the third of the fifth moon, that the Japanese
entered Seoul.

It will be necessary for us to pause here and note the method of the
Japanese approach to the capital. A glance at the map of Korea shows
that there are three great highways leading up from Fusan to Seoul. One
is the main or middle road leading by Yang-san, Mi-ryang, Ch’ŭng-do,
Tă-gu and soon up the valley of the Nak-tong River, over the great
Cho-ryŭng (Pass). The division led by Konishi came up the peninsula at
double-quick by this road. It was before this division that Gen. Yi Il
had fled. A second road is to the east of this, proceeding by way of
Choa-p‘yŭng, Ul-san, Kyöng-ju, Yong-jin, Sil-yăng, Kun-wi, Pi-on and
Mun-gyŭng. Kato led the division which took this road, but his forces
joined those of Konishi below Cho-ryŭng and the two crossed it together.
The forces of both Kato and Konishi were in the battle which witnessed
the massacre of Sil Yip’s forces in the _cul de sac_ which we have
described. After this battle the two rival leaders again separated and
hastened toward Seoul by different routes. Konishi kept on by the main
road by way of Chuk-san, Yong-in, crossing the Han River just below
Han-gang and entering the city by the South Gate. Kato took a more
easterly road and came via Yŭ-ju and Yang-geun crossing the Han seventy
li above, at Yang-jin. But a third division under Kuroda and other
generals had branched off to the west at the very start. They proceeded
by way of Kim-hă and U-do and then, leaving Kyung-sang Province they
crossed over to Chi-re and Kim-san in Chŭl-la Province. Then crossing
the Ch’u-p’ung Pass they entered Ch’ung-ch’ŭng Province and then made
for Seoul by way of Yong-dong, Ch’ung-ju and so up by the main road.

The reason for the different divisions taking different routes may have
been because of the necessity of obtaining forage, but it was also in
part due to the jealousy which existed between Kato and Konishi, for
each of these men was desirous of getting to Seoul before the other.

This great triple army met with no real resistance on its way to Seoul.
The country was utterly unprepared for war, the principal lack being in
competent leaders rather than in number of troops. It was the first
quick, sharp stroke on the part of the Japanese which seems to have
paralysed the Koreans. The banners of the great host of the invaders
spread out over a thousand li and at intervals of twenty or thirty li
they built fortifications from which they signalled to each other at
night. The only aggressive move on the part of the Koreans up to this
time was the effort of Captain Wŭn Ho to prevent or at least delay the
passage of the Han by Kato’s forces, at Yang-jin, by destroying all the
boats. But the Japanese were not delayed long by this, for the
neighboring hill-sides furnished them with logs for rafts on which they
soon crossed and hastened on to anticipate the troops of Konishi in the
occupation of Seoul.

It was on the fourth day of the fifth moon that the eager forces of
Konishi swept down to the banks of the Han River opposite the town of
Han-gaug. This river is a real barrier to an army unprepared with
pontoon or other boats and the Japanese troops might have been held in
check for some considerable time. But the whole make-up of the Japanese
warrior was calculated to inspire terror, and no sooner did this
countless horde show itself on the opposite shore than Gen. Kim
Myŭng-wŭn, who had been put in charge of the river defenses, came to the
conclusion that he would have more than a mere river between himself and
that gruesome array. He therefore threw all his engines of defense into
the Han and fled with all his following to the Im-jin river, the next
natural barrier between the Japanese and the king. At first thought this
flight of Gen. Kim would seem to be an act of pure cowardice, but when
we remember that he had only a few hundred men under him while on the
opposite bank a hundred thousand men were clamoring for a passage
across, we cannot wonder that he found it necessary to retreat. He did
it in proper style by first destroying his military engines lest they
should fall into the hands of the enemy.

The king before leaving Seoul placed Gen. Yi Yang-wŭn in charge of the
city and its defenses, but when he learned of the flight of Gen. Kim
from the river he rightly judged that the city could not be held by any
such force as was at his command; so he in turn beat a retreat and went
north to the town of Yang-ju. The result was that when the Japanese
succeeded in crossing the river and pushed on to the gates of Seoul they
found only an undefended and half depopulated city of which to take
inglorious possession. It is said that only a few hours elapsed after
the entry of Konishi’s forces before those of Kato hastened in from the
east, disappointed and chagrined to find that they had been beaten in
the race; but they were probably consoled by the fact that long before
the goal had been reached the prize had taken wing.

Hideyi, the General-in-chief of the Japanese forces, took up his
quarters in the Ancestral Temple from which the tablets of the royal
line had been removed. This was looked upon by the Koreans as an act of
sacrilege and queer tales are told of how during that first night, while
the burning of the city was going on, a Japanese soldier would drop dead
every few minutes without visible cause. It is for this reason, as some
say, that Hideyi removed to the Nam-pyul-gung, known as the place where
Chinese embassies have been lodged, and now the site of the Imperial
Altar.

Before many days had elapsed the people found out that the coming of the
Japanese did not mean universal slaughter as they had supposed, and
gradually they returned to their homes in the city. They reopened their
shops and so long as they attended to their own affairs they were
unmolested by the Japanese. Indeed they adapted themselves readily to
the new order of things and drove a lucrative trade with the invaders.
The latter were strict in the watch of the city and no one could go out
or come in without showing a passport. When the Japanese had exhausted
the supplies in Seoul they pushed out into the country and laid the
surrounding villages under contribution. Koreans were even found who
would tell them where they could go with the hope of finding booty, and
acted as guides to them. Among the more loyal citizens a plot was gotten
up to assassinate the guard, but it was betrayed to the enemy and the
plotters were seized and burned to death after indescribable tortures.
It is said so many perished in that holocaust that their collected bones
made a huge mound.

When Gen. Kim Myŭng-wŭn fled from the defenses of the Han and came to
the Im-jin he immediately sent a letter to the king at Song-do telling
him of the arrival of the Japanese, his own retreat and the entry of the
Japanese into Seoul. The king did not censure him, for retreat was the
only way open to him; so a messenger was dispatched ordering him to make
haste and get together as many soldiers of Kyŭng-geui and Whang-hă
Provinces as possible and make a firm stand at the Im-jin River. Gen.
Sin Kil was sent to aid in this work. No sooner were these orders given
than the royal party resumed their journey northward in haste, and at
night they reached the village of Keum-gyo in Keum-ch’ŭn district. Here
the escort of the king bivouacked in the open air. It was discovered
with dismay that the ancestral tablets had been overlooked in the haste
attendant upon the departure from Song-do. So one of the king’s
relatives started back after them and succeeded in bringing the precious
relics on.

On the seventh of the moon the royal party crossed the Tă-dong River and
entered the gates of P’yŭng-yang. Here there was food and drink in
plenty and all the other luxuries of life. For the first time since the
flight began the king enjoyed a season of real rest. The royal cortège
was escorted into the city by the governor, Song Wŭn-siu, who came out
with three thousand troops and met him on the way.

Two days later a messenger was seen approaching at a rapid pace. He was
swiftly ferried across the river and hurried into the king’s presence
where he said, “Yi Yang-wŭn, the defender of Seoul has fled, and the
city is in the possession of the enemy.” The king exclaimed, “This is
bad news indeed, we must appoint someone whose work it shall be to
continually attempt to retake the capital.” He thereupon appointed Gen.
Yu Hong to that arduous and dangerous position. He was to go with three
thousand men and do what he could to stop the progress of the Japanese
and if possible regain control of the capital. Gen. Yu received the
appointment with the worst possible grace. After the headlong flight
with all its hardships and privations, to be told that he must go back
with three thousand men and meet what he supposed was a blood-thirsty
horde of savages was too much for his patriotism; so he stayed in his
rooms and sulked. Two days passed and still he did not start. The king
called him up and said, “How is it that you let the time slip by like
this when you ought to be on the way to Seoul with troops?” The mighty
warrior replied, “I fear Your Majesty will have to excuse me from this
duty as I am suffering from a boil on my leg.” One of the courtiers, Yi
Han-guk took him to task saying, “How is it that after receiving such
favors at the hand of the king you shrink from this duty? You are a
coward and are afraid to go. You are like a sulky dancing-girl who
refuses either to dance or sing. You are not only not brave but you are
not even clever. Do you suppose you can impose on His Majesty with any
such story as this about a boil on your leg?” The king was immensely
pleased with this well merited rebuke and laughed long and loud at the
discomfitted general, but finally said, “Well, then, since our doughty
Gen. Yu cannot go let Gen. Han Eung-in go instead.” The next day Gen.
Han started south with 5000 troops picked from the northern border
guard, and in good time he arrived at the banks of the Im-jin River,
midway between Song-do and Seoul. This was the great strategic position
that must be held at any cost. It was the key to the north, the gate-way
to Whang-hă Province and to P‘yŭng-an Province beyond.

Now that the king and the court were in comparative safety, an attempt
was made to bring together the loose ends of things and make some sort
of headway against the Japanese. Gen. Yi Hang-bok who had so gallantly
escorted the Queen from the palace, the night of the exodus from Seoul
was made Minister of War. A council was called to discuss the demands
made by the people of Song-do in reference to the punishment of certain
officials whom they had accused. The result was that Yi San-ha was
banished to P‘yŭng-ha but the king refused to punish the father of his
favorite concubine.

We notice that the military prowess of the Japanese, their thorough
equipment and their martial spirit took Korea by surprise. It caused a
universal panic, and for the first few weeks it was impossible to get
the soldiers to stand up and fight the enemy, to say nothing of the
generals. The troops and the generals were mutually suspicious of each
other and neither seemed to have any faith in the courage or loyalty of
the other. But now the time had come when the impetuous sweep of the
Japanese was stopped, for the time being, by their occupation of Seoul.
The fall of the capital was looked upon by the king and the people as a
great calamity, but in reality it was the very thing that saved the king
from the necessity of crossing the border and perhaps it saved Peking
itself. If the Japanese had kept up that impetuous, overwhelming rush
with which they came up from Fusan to Seoul, and, instead of stopping at
the capital, had pushed straight for the Yalu River they would have
swept everything before them and would have been knocking at the gates
of Nanking before the sleepy celestials knew that Hideyoshi dreamed of
paying back in kind the haughty summons of Kublai Khan four hundred
years before. The stop at Seoul gave the Korean forces a breathing space
and an opportunity to get into shape to do better work than they had
done. The people came to see that instead of painted devils, as they had
at first appeared, the Japanese were flesh and blood like themselves and
the terror which their fierce aspect at first inspired gradually wore
off and in-so-far lessened the discrepancy between the two combatants.
On the side of the Japanese there was only one favorable factor, their
tremendous fighting power in battle. There they had it all their own
way. But on the other hand they were in a thickly populated and hostile
country, practically cut off from their base of supplies and dependent
entirely upon forage for their sustenance. Under these circumstances
their position was sure to become worse rather than better and the real
strength of the Koreans was sure to show itself. If a Korean regiment
was swept off in battle there were millions from which to recruit, while
every Japanese who fell caused just so much irreparable injury to the
invading army. We shall see that it was the abandonment of the “double
quick” that eventually drove the Japanese back across the straits.



                              Chapter VII.

Mutual jealousies.... first Korean victory.... successful general
    executed.... people disgusted.... another general executed....
    operations in the south.... troops mass in Kong-ju.... unfortunate
    engagement.... troops scattered.... naval engagement in the south
    under Admiral Yi Sun-sin.... a great Japanese defeat.... Japanese
    army cut off from reinforcements.... the tortoise boat.... another
    naval victory.... and another.... naval campaign closes.... Admiral
    Yi is decorated.... the fall of Yŭng-wŭn Fortress.... Japanese
    checked at the Im-jin River.... they seemingly prepare to
    retreat.... jealousies among the Koreans.... divided counsels....
    Koreans cross and attack.... defeated.... Korean army retreats....
    the Japanese cross.... Japanese jealousies.... they separate.... the
    news of defeat reaches the king.... a trifling Korean victory.... a
    great council.... the king decides to go to Ham-heung.


The wretched party strife among the Koreans was the cause of their
weakness. No sooner did a capable man arise than he became the target
for the hatred and jealousy of a hundred rivals, and no trickery or
subterfuge was left untried whereby to have him degraded and disgraced.
A particular incident will illustrate this. Gen. Sin Kak had been
associated with Gen. Kim Myŭng-wŭn in the defenses of the Han River, but
when Gen. Kim fled after throwing into the river the engines of defense,
there was nothing to do but fall back. Gen. Sin retreated to a place of
safety but immediately began collecting troops from Kyŭng-geui Province,
and he was also joined by a contingent from Ham-gyŭng Province. While
the Japanese held Seoul, large bands of them scoured the surrounding
country for booty. One of these bands was trying to make its way across
the hills to Ka-p’yŭng and Ch‘un-ch‘un, and had gotten as far as the Kye
Pass in the town of Yang-ju when they found themselves face to face with
the troops of Gen. Sin Kak. A fierce fight took place, in which the
Japanese, who were probably largely outnumbered, were severely defeated,
leaving sixty heads in the hands of the Koreans. This promised to be the
beginning of a series of such little engagements in which the Japanese
army would be gradually weakened without being able to draw the Koreans
into a large general engagement; the more so because the Japanese were
dependent upon forage for their supplies.

But note the sequel. While all Kyŭng-geui was ringing with the praises
of the successful general and the people were beginning to see that all
was not yet lost, a swift messenger was on his way southward from
P‘yŭng-yang bearing a sword and a letter ordering the instant execution
of the traitor Sin Kak. The alleged reason for this was as follows: When
Gen. Kim fled from the defenses of the Han, in order to cover his
infamy, he wrote a letter to the king accusing Gen. Sin Kak of having
deserted him in his hour of need. Gen. Yu Hong also recognised Gen. Sin
as a powerful rival and so added his prayers to those of Gen. Kim that
the traitor Sin be killed. The king knew no better than to comply with
this request, preferred as it was by two of his leading generals, and
the message of death was sent. But before the day was done came the news
of the defeat of the Japanese by the forces under this same Sin Kak. The
condemned “traitor” had stood up before a Japanese force and had taken
sixty heads. The king was filled with remorse and a swift messenger was
sent to stay the hand of the executioner. He took the road an hour after
the death messenger and arrived at the camp of Gen. Sin Kak an hour
after that loyal man had bowed his head to the axe of his royal master.
Who knows but the feet of the second messenger had been made heavy by
the gold of Sin Kak’s rivals? History is silent as to this but the
suspicion is inevitable. This wanton act was looked upon by the people
with horror and detestation, who saw their first successful champion cut
down in the very hour of his success.

But another sword, this time of pure justice, was also prepared for Gen.
Yi Kak who had fled from before the Japanese at Tong-nă. He made his
appearance at the Im-jin River, doubtless thinking himself safe from
criticism, but in this he was mistaken, for as he was the one who first
set the example of cowardice, he was arrested and put to death.

And now as the Japanese are revelling in Seoul and the king is resting
in P‘yŭng-yang and the Korean generals are busy massing troops at the
Im-jin to dispute the passage of the Japanese, let us turn southward and
witness some of the events that are transpiring there, for we must not
think that the provinces of Chŭl-la and Ch‘ung-ch’ŭng are at peace all
this time.

When the Japanese army separated soon after leaving Tong-nă one army
division under Kuroda swept like a whirlwind westward across the
north-western corner of Chul-la Province and through the entire length
of Ch‘ung-chŭng Province on its way to Seoul. Yi Kwang the governor of
Chŭl-la got together some 8000 men and hastened north to Kong-ju the
capital of Ch‘ung-chŭng Province. Finding there that the king had fled
from Seoul, he gave up all hope of effecting anything and, turning
about, made for the south again. But on the way he was met by Păk
Kwang-ön who upbraided him severely, urging that if the king had fled
northward all the more need of keeping on and offering him whatever
support was possible. The governor humbly confessed that he had been
hasty in his action, and turned about and went back to Kong-ju where he
joined the forces of the governors of Ch‘ung-ch‘ŭng and Kyŭng-sang
Provinces who had arrived at that place. There were also Gen. Yi Ok, the
military governor of Ch‘ung-ch’ŭng, and Gen. Kwak Yŭng, the military
governor of Chŭl-la. Each of the provinces had both a civil and a
military governor. These three civil and two military governors met,
then, in Kong-ju and joined forces. It is commonly reported that they
had between them 100,000 men, but probably about half that figure would
be nearer the truth. They formed a gallant array with their flaunting
banners, and the people of the adjoining districts caught up arms and
came and joined what seemed to them an invincible host. A Japanese force
was found to be intrenched on Puk-du-mun Mountain and Governor Yi Kwang
was for making an immediate attack, but one of his aides said, “We are
now so near Seoul there is no use in turning aside to attack so small a
force. We had better push on to the defense of the Im-jin River.” Păk
Kwang-ön who had upbraided the governor for retiring also said, “The
road is very narrow which leads up to this position of the Japanese and
the woods are very dense. We had better be cautious.” Being opposed thus
the second time was more than his temper could endure, so the governor
ordered Păk bound and whipped. The latter thinking that it was an
imputation on his bravery, after receiving a severe beating, seized his
weapons and rushed headlong up the slope and attacked the Japanese. Many
followed and the engagement became general. From morning till noon it
continued but the Japanese could not be driven out of their strong
position in the woods. The Koreans began to lose in the battle and
finally the Japanese, creeping down toward the Koreans in the underbrush
and grass, suddenly rushed out upon them and cut them down by scores.
Păk and several other notable men fell in the fight, but the main body
of the Korean troops under Governor Yi Kwang moved on to Kwang-gyo
Mountain near the town of Su-wŭn, only eighty li from Seoul. Expecting
that the day would be a busy one, Governor Yi had his soldiers fed very
early in the morning and when day broke, sure enough, there was the
Japanese force ready to engage him, and every few moments one or other
of the Japanese braves would rush out from the lines, brandish his
weapons and challenge the Koreans to come out and fight. So Gen. Sin Ik
of the province of Ch‘ung-ch‘ŭng advanced with his force and engaged the
enemy. In a few moments the superiority of the Japanese arms became
evident. The panic-stricken Koreans fled before them like sheep before
wolves. After an hour’s time this considerable army which was to have
succored the king was thoroughly scattered, but it is probable that many
of the soldiers figured later in the defense of the Im-jin River.

At the same time events were happening further south which were far more
creditable to the Korean arms and which were the forerunner of the final
expulsion of the Japanese from the peninsula.

A fleet of Japanese boats, bringing as is supposed the reserve of 60,000
men, arrived off the island of Ka-dok on the coast of Kyŭng-sang
Province. At that time Admiral Wŭn Kyun had charge of all matters along
the coast of that province. When he saw this vast fleet of ships his
heart sank and without more ado he prepared to scuttle his ships and
flee by land, but fortunately there was good advice at hand, for one of
his staff said, “Do not abandon all hope at once but send and ask Yi
Sun-sin the Admiral of Chŭl-la to come and aid you.” A swift messenger
was sent and the missive was placed in the hands of Admiral Yi. One of
his staff said “No, let him guard his own coast and we will look after
ours. Why should we go and help him?” But Admiral Yi said, “Is not
Kyŭng-sang Province as much the country of our king as Chŭl-la? How can
we refuse to go to his aid?” So eighty boats were gotten ready in haste
and sailed away co the island of Han-san where the two admirals met and
joined forces. The whole fleet sailed out of harbor together and made
for the island of Ok-po where the hostile fleet was moored. As soon as
the enemy hove in sight Admiral Yi Sun-sin made directly for them and
soon was grappling them. The Koreans had the advantage of the wind at
their backs for they shot fire arrows among the boats of the Japanese
and soon had twenty-six of them in flames. It is said the sea was
covered with the wreckage and with struggling human forms. So the
remaining ships of the enemy turned about and crowded on all sail in
flight, but Admiral Yi gave chase and cut down many more and scattered
the rest so that the expedition was an entire failure. This was the
first of this great admiral’s successes and it illustrates the fact that
the Korean warrior was not a coward when well led. The Japanese armies
in Korea were thus cut off from their source of supply and reinforcement
and thus a tremendous blow was dealt them. This victory may be said to
have been the decisive point in the war.

It is probable that the soldiers in the Japanese army had been
accustomed to short though sanguinary campaigns and had spent the
intervals of leisure at home. But now this vast army was quite cut off
from their home and were among strange scenes. It cannot be wondered at
therefore that after time discontent arose in spite of all successes, a
discontent which, combined with other causes, finally drove them back to
Japan.

Tradition says that about this time Admiral Yi had a dream in which a
robed man appeared and cried, “The Japanese are coming.” He arose,
assembled his fleet and sailed forth as far as the town of No-ryang
where he found a large fleet of the enemy. He used the same tactics as
before, burning twelve of them and chasing the rest away. The main
reason for his unparalleled successes on the sea was the possession of a
peculiar war vessel of his own invention and construction. It was called
the Kwi-sŭn or “Tortoise Boat,” from its resemblance to that animal.
There is no doubt that the tortoise furnished the model for the boat.
Its greatest peculiarity was a curved deck of iron plates like the back
of a tortoise, which completely sheltered the fighters and rowers
beneath. In front was a hideous crested head, erect, with wide open
mouth through which arrows and other missiles could be discharged. There
was another opening in the rear and six on either side for the same
purpose. On top of the curved deck there was a narrow walk from stem to
stern and another across the middle from side to side, but every other
part of the back bristled with iron pikes so that an enemy who should
endeavor to board her would find himself immediately impaled upon a
score of spear-heads. This deck, being of iron, rendered the ship
impervious to fire arrows and so the occupants could go into action with
as much security as one of our modern battle ships could go into
engagement with the wooden war vessels of a century ago. In addition to
this, she was built for speed and could easily overtake anything afloat.
This made her doubly formidable, for even flight could net avail the
enemy. She usually did more execution after the flight commenced than
before, for she could overtake and ram them one by one, probably better
than she could handle them when drawn up in line of battle. It is said
that the ribs of this remarkable ship lie in the sand today in the
village of Ko-sŭng on the coast of Kyŭng-sang Province. They are
believed to have been seen there by Lieut. Geo. C. Foulk, U. S. N., in
1884. The people of the town have an annual festival, when they launch a
fleet of boats and sail about the harbor in honor of the great Yi
Sun-sin and his “Tortoise Boat.”

[Illustration: _THE TOMB OF ADMIRAL YI SUN-SIN._]

In the engagement last described the Japanese in their flight were so
terrified by this craft, which pursued them and sank them one by one,
that they stamped their feet and cried out that it was more than of
human workmanship. And indeed it was almost more than the human of that
century, for it anticipated by nearly three hundred years the iron-clad
war ship. In this battle Admiral Yi was wounded in the shoulder but made
no sign. He urged on his men to the very last and finally when they drew
off, weary of slaughter, he bared his shoulder and ordered the bullet to
be cut out.

Having thus brilliantly begun, and perhaps fearing lest, if he should
delay, some jealous rival might induce the king to take off his head, he
pushed straight on to Tang-hang Harbor where he encountered another
fleet, among which was an immense three-decked ship, on which sat the
admiral of the fleet, clad in silk and wearing a golden head-piece. The
intrepid Yi made straight for this craft with his tortoise boat and when
near it called to one of his best marksmen to let fly a shaft at the man
in silks. The arrow flew straight to its mark and pierced the man’s
throat. Seeing the fall of their chief, the whole fleet showed their
rudders and made off as fast as they could go, but with the usual
result. The next day saw Admiral Yi in Pyŭk-hang Harbor where he lay at
anchor while he sent out ships to reconnoitre and find out the position
of the enemy. If anything was seen of the foe, guns were to be fired as
a signal. Ere long the signal shot was heard far out at sea. The fleet
put out in two long divergent lines “like a fish-trap,” as the Koreans
say, and soon on the horizon twenty-six hulls appeared rising and
sinking on the swell. As they neared they entered the two lines of the
Korean fleet and were surrounded. As the result of this fight every one
of the Japanese boats was burned and two hundred heads were taken as
trophies. This remarkable naval campaign closed with the destruction of
a few remaining Japanese boats that were overtaken near Yong-deung
Harbor.

The reputation of Admiral Yi Sun-sin spread over the whole south and his
praises were on every lip. His followers would go anywhere with him and
scarcely seemed to know what fear was. Soon the report of these splendid
victories came to the ears of the king, and though Admiral Yi was not
without detractors at court the king conferred upon him a lofty title.

In the fifth moon the Japanese resumed active operations in the north
and east. A powerful force were sent to the province of Kang-wŭn which
was straightway overrun. The governor, Kim Che-gap, hastily collected
all the soldiers that could be found, together with arms and ammunition,
and went to the almost impregnable fortress of Yŭng-wŭn. The natural
defenses of this place were unexcelled by any in Korea. On three sides
the approach was almost precipitous and a handful of men could hold an
army at bay. Here the governor collected provisions in abundance and dug
a well. Stones were piled on the top of the wall to be thrown down upon
anyone who should attempt to scale the height. The Japanese recognised
the strength of the position and tried to get the governor to surrender
without a struggle. A letter was sent up the steep slope and handed over
the wall. It said “You are doomed. Even if you hold out for two months
you will then be taken. You must come out and surrender at once.” The
only answer was the headless trunk of the Japanese messenger, rolled
down the precipice before the eyes of the invading army. The next day
the assault began. The besiegers swarmed up the sides of the slope, so
that, to use the Korean figure, the mountain-side was clothed with them.
The garrison though only 5000 strong found no difficulty in driving them
back. That night the Koreans, wearied by the labors of the day and
deeming it impossible that the Japanese should try to attack at night up
those steep slopes, failed to set a guard; and in the early morning,
before light, a little band of the enemy worked its way up the face of
the precipice until they reached the base of the wall. A few stones were
displaced until a small aperture was made and the little band effected
an entrance. They rushed into the camp with a terrific yell cutting down
the half-awakened and wholly terrified garrison. The gates were thrown
open and in an hour the victory was complete. Gov. Kim Che-gap refused
to do obeisance and was cut down.

And now all eyes were turned toward the Im-jin River where the king and
the people fondly hoped to be able to stop the invading host. Troops had
been coming continually and massing on the northern bank of the stream
at the point where the main road from Seoul to P‘yŭng-yang crosses it by
ferry. Its great strategic importance was due to the fact that it was
the only good place for a large force to cross. The troops massed here
were nominally under the command of Gen. Kim Myŭng-wŭn who had so
promptly deserted the defenses of the Han, upon the arrival of the
Japanese. The Koreans had everything in their favor. The southern bank
where the Japanese must embark is a high bluff pierced only by a narrow
gully which would allow of only a few hundred approaching the immediate
brink of the water at once and consequently the army would have to cross
little by little. The opposite bank, on the other hand, is a long flat
stretch of sand, an ideal place for drawing up a defensive force, and
every boat-load of the enemy would be the mark for a thousand arrows.

The Korean forces were numerous enough, they were brave enough and their
leaders were individually capable enough; but note the sequel. All the
boats had been brought over to the Korean side and so, when the Japanese
arrived on the southern bank and looked down the high bluff upon the
assembled hosts of the Koreans and marked the difficulty of embarkation,
the swiftness of the current and the utter absence of boats or craft of
any kind, they found themselves for the first time completely checked.
An hour’s resistance was all they had ever met before, but here was
evidently a serious obstacle.

For ten long days these great armies sat facing each other across the
waters of the Im-jin. They were ten days of exultation for the Koreans
and every day that passed raised the courage, or rather the
self-confidence, of the Koreans, who forgot that it was nature and not
they who held the foe in check. They did not dream for an instant that
the Japanese were about to make them the instruments of their own
destruction. When the eleventh morning broke something was seen to be
going on among the Japanese, a great running about and the carrying of
bundles from place to place. In a short time the reason became apparent.
The Japanese had given up further advance and were preparing to retreat
toward Seoul. Smoke and flame showed that they were burning their camp
and soon the whole force was seen to be on the move back toward the
south. To imagine the revulsion of feeling in the minds of the Koreans
we should have to realize the deep humiliation to which they had been
subjected, the heaps of slain they had seen, the losses in property, in
homes, in relatives, in friends which they had sustained at the hands of
the ruthless invaders. Instead of being pursued they were to pursue.
They would dog the footsteps of the retreating army, cut off the
stragglers, worry the life out of the “dwarfs,” as they called the
Japanese, and finally give them a farewell kick as they left the port of
Fusan on their ignominious homeward flight. Such must have been the
common thought and purpose of the Koreans, and the thirst for revenge
was simply unbearable. And here again comes to the front the fatal
weakness of the Koreans. We have before remarked that the rise of the
political parties lay at the bottom of the failure of the Korean arms
against the Japanese. It has already been illustrated in the case of
Gen. Sin Kak who was executed through jealousy on the very day of his
great victory. Here again it is to become apparent. While Gen. Kim
Myŭng-sŭn was nominally in charge of the defenses of the Im-jin he was
far from being in full command of the troops massed there. A number of
other generals were there and each held his own troops in hand and each
wished to distinguish himself and so step over the heads of the rest
into the good graces of the king. This would mean preferment and wealth.
There was absolutely no supreme command, there was no common plan, there
was nothing but mutual jealousy and suspicion. A young general, Sin
Kil-i, who knew nothing of war, was sure that the enemy had decamped,
and he wanted to cross immediately in pursuit. But this was so
manifestly absurd that even the common soldiers cried out, “You had
better examine carefully and see whether the enemy has actually gone.”
For answer the young general had a few heads struck off, which shows he
was something of a disciplinarian if nothing more. Then Gen. Yu
Keuk-yang expostulated with the young man, warning him that it was
surely a trick to lure them across, but the young fellow drew his sword
and made a lunge at the old general and charged him with cowardice. This
no one could endure, so the aged general said, “Coward, am I? Well I
speak only for the good of my king; but I will be the first to cross and
fall into this trap, and when you see me fall you will know that my
advice was sound.” So calling his soldiers he ordered them into the
boats and, throwing all caution to the winds and forgetting the best
interests of his king for a petty vindication of his own bravery, he
dashed across the river and up the heights. The young Sin Kil-i could do
no less than follow, and when he had gained the heights beyond he found
the words of the aged general true. A short distance away a half dozen
naked Japanese were dancing on the border of a wood, but when the
Koreans rushed at them a countless multitude of Japanese who had lain
concealed in the wood poured out, and in an instant the Koreans were
surrounded. The aged general having thus proved his claim to bravery, or
rather foolhardiness, sat down and said, “Now has come the time for me
to die.” And die he did. It was only of himself that he thought, and it
was this all-pervading selfishness, bred of party strife, that
neutralised every good quality in the Korean army. It was not because
they were not brave nor because luxury had sapped the vitality of the
noble classes but it was because no one would work with anyone else. It
was because they saw in war nothing but the chance of personal
advancement. And so each one deplored the successes and rejoiced in the
failures of every other.

When the old general fell, the Koreans found themselves again, as in the
battle in which Gen. Sin Yip fell, between the Japanese and the river.
Back they rushed only to find that some of the boats had drifted away
and others, being overcrowded, had sunk. Hundreds were driven into the
water while others, preferring a soldier’s death, presented their necks
to the swords of the Japanese.

But even yet all was not lost. A little wisdom and care might still have
left the day unwon by the Japanese. They had a few boats, to be sure,
but not enough to be of any use in the face of the still large Korean
force on the opposite bank. But here occurred the greatest mistake of
all. The generals on the northern bank, witnessing the terrible
slaughter of their confreres, and not stopping to reckon the chances
still remaining of successful defense, mounted their horses and gave
themselves to flight. This was not only cowardice. It was
thoughtlessness, carelessness in large part, and if there had been one
man in command of the whole defensive force who could witness the loss
of a large fraction of his force without losing his head, the Japanese
would still have been as far from the northern bank as ever. The moment
the soldiers saw the flight of their generals they raised a derisive
shout, “The generals are running away,” and forthwith they followed the
example, as they had a perfect right to do.

The Japanese leaders seeing the defenses of the river broken up by their
successful strategem, immediately crossed with their entire force which
Korean accounts reckon at about a quarter of a million. The Korean
accounts tell us but little about the rivalry of the two Japanese
leaders, Kato and Konishi, but among the Japanese it was notorious. It
was impossible for them to march together for any length of time. It was
this rivalry which had made them take different roads to Seoul and it
was now necessary for them to part again. This jealousy was another of
the potent causes of the final failure of the Japanese. Had these two
men worked together they could have marched straight on to the walls of
Nanking without meeting an enemy worthy of their steel. As it was they
separated and scattered over the country, dissipating their power and
thus frustrating the design of Hideyoshi—the conquest of China. They
cast lots as to their routes and fortune favored the younger man,
Konishi, who drew as his lot the straight path north where glory lay if
anywhere. Kato had to be content with a dash into the province of
Ham-gyŭng in the northeast. Another general, Kuroda, led a force into
the western part of Whang-hă Province. All this took place in the fifth
moon.

The king was resting secure in P‘yŭng-yang, trusting in the defense of
the Im-jin River, when a messenger rushed in breathless, announcing that
the Im-jin had been deserted and that the invaders were coming north by
leaps and bounds. The town was thrown into a panic of fright and, as the
Koreans truly put it, “No man had any color in his face.” Gen. Yi Il
came hurrying in from the seat of war disguised as a coolie and wearing
rough straw shoes. The king put him in command of the forces guarding
the fords of the Ta-dong River which flows by the walls of P‘yŭng-yang.

We must note in passing a trifling success on the part of Captain Wŭn-ho
who had been in charge of the ferry across the Han at Yö-ju. He had been
called away into Kang-wŭn Province but returned just in time to form an
ambush at Yö-ju and spring out upon a company of Japanese whom he
routed, securing some fifty heads. The Koreans say that from that time
the Japanese avoided the Yö-ju ferry.



                             Chapter VIII.

A great council.... the king decides to move to Ham-heung.... the news
    in China.... the king finds difficulty in leaving P‘yŭng-yang.... a
    parley in the channel of the Ta-dong.... the king leaves the
    city.... the Koreans reveal the position of the ford.... the
    Japanese enter P‘yŭng-yang.... the Crown Prince goes to Kang-wŭn
    Province.... the king pushes north.... Koreans in despair.... the
    indefatigable Yu Sŭng-nyong.... Song Ta-ŭp brings the queen to the
    king.... Kato pushes into Ham-gyŭng Province.... fight at the
    granaries.... Korean reverses.... a Korean betrays the two
    Princes.... a traitor punished.... brave defenders of Yŭn-an.... the
    king goes to Eui-ju.... conclave in the south.... “General of the
    Red Robe”.... his prowess.... he retires.... disaster at Köm-san....
    a long chase.... Japanese defeated at Keum-nyŭng.


On the second day of the sixth moon the king called a great council to
discuss the advisability of his staying longer in P‘yŭng-yang or of
moving further north. One said, “If someone is left to guard this city
it will be well for the king to move north,” but another said,
“P‘yŭng-yang is a natural fortress. We have 10,000 soldiers and plenty
of provisions. If the king goes a step from here it will mean the
destruction of the dynasty.” Another voice urged a different course; “We
have now lost half the kingdom. Only this province and that of Ham-gyŭng
remain to us. In the latter there are soldiers and provisions in
abundance and the king had better find there a retreat.” All applauded
this advice excepting Yun Tu-su who said, “No, this will not do. The
Japanese will surely visit that province too. Ham-heung is not nearly so
easy of defense as P‘yŭng-yang. If the king is to leave this place there
are just three courses open to him. First, he can retire to Yung-byŭn in
this province and call about him the border guard. If he cannot hold
that place he can go to Eui-ju on the border and ask speedy help from
China. If necessary he can go up the Yalu to Kang-gye, still on Korean
soil. And if worse comes to worst he can cross into Chinese territory
and find asylum at Kwan-jun-bo although it is sure that he could hold
out for a few months at Kang-gye before this would be necessary. I know
all about Ham-heung. Its walls are of great extent but they are not high
and it is open to attack from every side. Besides if he retreats
northward from that place he will find nothing but savage tribes. Here
he must stay.” But all cried out as with one voice that the king must go
to Ham-heung. Gen. Yi Hang-bok insisted upon the necessity of going
north to the Yalu and imploring aid from China even if it became
necessary for the king to find asylum on Chinese soil. But in spite of
all this advice the king on the sixth of the month sent the queen on
toward Ham-heung and gave orders to Yun To-su to hold P‘yŭng-yang
against the Japanese. His Majesty came out and seated himself in the
Ta-dong summerhouse and addressed the people saying, “I am about to
start for Ham-heung but I shall leave the Crown Prince here and you must
all aid him loyally.” At this the people raised a great outcry. It
looked as if they would all follow the king from the city. They did not
want the Prince to stay, they wanted the king.

By this time the rumors of these things had gone ahead into Liao-tung.

The form which the news assumed across the border was that the king had
fled north to P‘yŭng-yang, but that it was only a blind, as the Japanese
and Koreans had formed an agreement to invade China together and the
king had made a pretense of flight so as to keep the Chinese
unsuspecting until the Japanese should reach the Yalu. This report
caused a great deal of anxiety in the Chinese capital and the Emperor
sent Gen. In Se-dŭk, who was stationed in Liao-tung, to investigate. He
immediately set out for P‘yŭng-yang, and on his arrival sought an
audience with the king. It was granted, and the general, having learned
the exact state of affairs, started post haste back toward Nanking to
report to the Emperor.

On the eighth day of the sixth moon the van of the Japanese army arrived
on the southern bank of the Ta-dong River opposite P‘yŭng-yang, but
there were no boats and no way of crossing; so they went into camp to
await the arrival of the main body of the army. No Chik was ordered by
the king to take the Ancestral tablets and start north. The people were
enraged at this, for they thought it would mean the immediate pillage of
the city by the Japanese, and consequent hardships and dangers for
themselves. So the crowd armed itself with clubs and stones and as the
tablets were being carried out of the gate they struck the bearers down
and loudly insulted No Chik, who was in charge. They cried “In times of
peace you are ready enough to steal the government revenues, and it is
for this reason that all these troubles have arisen. You call upon us to
protect the city and then you run away yourself when danger approaches.”
Lashing themselves into a fury by their own words, they threw off their
clothes and prepared to strike down every man who should try to escape
from the city. Meanwhile the old people and children besieged the palace
with their prayers, saying, “We are all here to protect the city, and if
the king leaves it will be the same as handing us over to slaughter.” In
the eagerness of their importunity they even pressed into the outer
court yard and were stopped only by the statement that the king was not
about to leave. Yu Sŭng-nyong came out and sat before the crowd and
addressing an old man said, “You say that you desire to protect the city
and the king’s person and you say well, but how is it that you so far
forget your duty as to come in this bold manner into the king’s
apartments and raise this disturbance?” The people, partly because it
seemed evident the king was not about to leave, returned to their homes.

That night the Japanese caught a Korean and sent him across the river
with a letter to the king, in which they said “We wish to meet Yi
Tŭk-hyŭng and have a parley with him.” This seemed to be a proper thing
to do, so Yi entered a small boat and was sculled out to the middle of
the river where he met Konishi. Without wasting any words in mere
formalities the latter said, “The cause of all this trouble is that
Korea would not give a safe conduct to our envoys to Nanking, but if you
will now give us an open road into China all the trouble for you will be
at an end.” To this Yi replied, “If you will send this army back to
Japan we can confer about the matter, but we will listen to nothing so
long as you are on Korean soil.” Konishi continued, “We have no desire
to harm you. We have wished such a conference as this before, but have
not had a single opportunity until today.” But the only answer the
Korean made was, “Turn about and take your troops back to Japan.” The
Japanese general thereupon lost his temper and cried, “Our soldiers
always go ahead, and they know nothing about going backwards.” And so
the conference was broken up, each returning to his own side of the
stream.

The next day the king succeeded in getting away from the city and made
his way towards Yŭng-byŭn, generals Yun Tu-su, Kim Myŭng-wŭn and Yi
Wŭn-ik being left to guard the city and oppose the passage of the enemy.
The Japanese camped beside the Ta-dong and waited, as they had waited
beside the Im-jin, “for something to turn up.” They did not have to wait
as long as they did beside the Im-jin. The Korean generals, Kim
Myŭng-wŭn and Yun Tu-su were not without courage and skill, and they
conceived the scheme of crossing the river at night at the fords of
Neung-na-do a little above the city and falling upon the enemy with a
picked body of troops. It would be difficult to disprove that in the
face of such odds and such a vast disparity in equipment this plan
showed the highest courage not only in the generals but in the common
soldiers. The fact that the attempt failed and failed disastrously may
reflect upon the judgment of the leaders but it can never impeach their
bravery. The fording of the river, always a difficult and slow operation
at night, consumed more time than had been anticipated and by the time
the devoted men reached the Japanese outposts it was already dawn. They
were now in a desperate situation. There was nothing to do but to
retreat, but the retreat was itself a cause of disaster, for it revealed
to the foe the position of the fords; and thus it happened that a
miscalculation as to time made the Koreans the instrument of their own
destruction, even as they had been at the Im-jin.

The Japanese now knew that they had everything their own way. After a
hearty breakfast they shouldered their arms and made for the ford. They
swarmed across in such crowds that the defenders were driven back before
they had shot a dozen arrows. The two Korean generals, making a virtue
of necessity, opened the Ta-dong Gate on the river side of the town and
told the people to escape for their lives. The soldiers threw all their
heavier arms into the pond called P‘ung-wŭl-su and fled by way of the
Po-dong Gate. The Japanese did not pursue, but took quiet possession of
the town and settled down. Here again they made a grand mistake. Their
only hope lay in pushing on at full speed into China, for even now the
force that was to crush them was being collected, and every day of delay
was lessening their chances of success.

The king was at Pak-ch‘ŭn when the news of the fall of P‘yŭng-yang
reached him, and he was in feverish haste to get on to Eui-ju, saying
that if worst came to worst he would cross into Chinese territory. But
he added, “As I am told that by leaving Korean soil I shall abdicate my
royal right I wish the Crown Prince, in care of Gen. Ch‘oe Heung-wŭn, to
go to Yi-ch‘ŭn in Kang-wŭn Province and there gather about him an army
and hold the fortress as long as he can.” This order was immediately
carried out and the Prince started for Kang-wŭn Province, while the king
pushed on northward to Ka-san. He arrived at that place in the middle of
the night. It was pitchy dark and there were no lights and the rain was
falling in torrents. The royal escort had dwindled to less than twenty
men. Here the report was received that a Chinese force was to cross the
Ya-lu, and so the king stopped at Ka-san waiting their approach. Yu
Sŭng-nyong was hurrying from town to town trying to get together
provisions for the Chinese army that was coming to Korea’s aid, but as
fast as he got them together the people rose in revolt and stole them
all. Some days passed and still the expected army did not appear, so Yi
Tŭk-hyŭng was despatched as envoy to China to solicit aid from the
Emperor, and His Majesty called together his little court and said, “If
necessary I shall cross the Ya-lu and find asylum on Chinese soil. If
so, which of you will go with me?” For some moments there was a dead
silence and then Yi Hang-bok, the same who had aided the Queen in her
flight from the palace, spoke up and said, “I will go with you.” The
truth of the matter is that when the king left P‘yŭng-yang the courtiers
all gave up the kingdom for lost and were ready to desert the king the
moment there was a more favorable opening.

With tremendous toil Yu Sŭng-nyong succeeded in getting some provisions
together and transported them all to Chöng-ju, but when he arrived at
that place he found a crowd of people assembled in front of the royal
granary armed with clubs. He charged the mob and scattered it, caught
eight of the leaders and beheaded them on the spot. He then went to
Kwak-san and secured further supplies, and also at Kwi sŭng, and held
them in readiness for the Chinese army when it should appear.

We will remember that the king had fully determined to go across into
Ham-gyŭng Province, but at the last moment he had been dissuaded because
of the difficulties that might arise if he were compelled to retreat
further still. Being now urged to go on to Eui-ju he replied, “Yes, I
must do so, but what about the queen whom I sent forward into Ham-gyŭng
Province?” The brave Prefect of Un-san made answer, “I will go and bring
her to Your Majesty.” So he set out across the country to find the
queen, and all the records tell us is that he brought her faithfully to
him at Pak-ch‘ŭn. This short mention does this brave man scant justice,
for even in these days a journey across the northern part of the
peninsula is an arduous undertaking especially in summer. But not only
so; he was to find a queen, beset perhaps by enemies, and bring her
safely across that wilderness to the king, who by that time might be far
across the Chinese border, while the country behind him swarmed with a
half-savage enemy. This prefect, whose name is Song Ta-ŭp, must have
been a brave, energetic, tactful man whose will was as strong as his
patriotism was deep.

The Japanese were now settled in P‘yŭng-yang and as they were destined
to remain there some time it may be well for us to leave them there and
follow the fortunes of Kato, who, as we will remember, had branched off
eastward into Ham-gyŭng Province after casting lots. He pushed on
rapidly across the country toward Wŭn-sin, but as he was not on one of
the main thoroughfares of the country he found it difficult to keep to
the road; so he captured a Korean and forced him to act as guide.
Arriving at the town of Kok-san in the eastern part of Whang-hă Province
they crossed the mountains by the No-ri-hyŭn Pass and pushed on until
they struck the Seoul-Wünsan road not far from the latter place.

Gen. Han Keuk-sŭng was in charge of the government forces in Ham-gyŭng
Province. He advanced immediately to engage the Japanese, and a fierce
fight took place at the government storehouses at Ha-jong. At first the
Japanese had decidedly the worst of it but at last they retired to the
shelter of the granaries and barricaded themselves behind bags of rice
from which position they poured a destructive fire upon the Korean
troops who were drawn up four deep, and who therefore suffered the more
severely. Not being able to dislodge the enemy the Koreans decided to
withdraw and fortify the passes both in front and behind the Japanese,
supposing that in this way they would be entrapped. The Japanese learned
of this and when night came they knew they must make a bold strike for
liberty. So they scaled the mountains in the darkness and succeeded in
completely surrounding the defenders of one of the passes. When morning
came there was a heavy fog and the Koreans were utterly unsuspicious of
danger. Suddenly the surrounding party of Japanese opened fire on them
and it took but a few moments to have them on the run. It came on to
rain and the roads were heavy with mud. The Koreans who were entirely
unused to such a prolonged strain, fell exhausted along the way and were
butchered by the pursuing enemy. Gen. Han made his escape to Kyŭng-săng
but was there captured by the Japanese. The governor of the province, to
the disgust of the people, fled and hid among the hills, but the
populace arose and dragged him out and forced him to resume his duties.
Gen. Yi Hon also fled northward toward Kap-san, and the people
consequently seized him and took off his head. It was hard work for
generals in that province, for they had the Japanese on the one hand and
the people on the other. The people of the north are made of sterner
stuff than those of the south and the punishment they meted out to these
cravens is a good indication of their quality.

While these events were happening the two princes who had taken refuge
in this province fled northward and stopped not till they reached the
border town of Whe-ryŭng on the Tu-man River. As it proved, this was the
worst thing they could have done, for the _ajun_ or constable of that
district was either in the pay of the Japanese or was so terrified by
their approach that he was willing to go to any extreme to gain their
favor. So he seized the two young princes and carried them to the
Japanese camp. The latter received them gladly, unbound them, placed
them in their midst and carried them wherever they went. They were a
prize worth watching. To the traitor, Kuk Kyŭng-in, who had betrayed the
two princes, they gave a position equivalent to the governorship of the
province, and he was formally installed in that office. But justice soon
overtook him. A loyal general, Chöng Mun-bu, in the northern part of the
province, arranged a plan to effect the capture of the traitor. But in
some way the news got out and the pseudo-governor sent and seized Gen.
Chöng, intending to take his head off the next morning; but during the
night another loyal man named Sin Se-jun, gathered a band of men, armed
them as best he could and addressed them thus: “Our district has become
disloyal through the treachery of this villain. If we do not hasten to
make it right we will all have to suffer for it in the end. If you do
not agree with me, take your swords and strike me down.” They answered
as one man, “We will listen to you and obey you.” They immediately
sallied out, broke into the governor’s house and beat him to death. The
Japanese knew that it was Gen. Chöng who had originated the plot and
they searched for him everywhere, but he hid in private houses in
different places and so they failed to apprehend him.

Chi Tal-wŭn of Kyŭng-sang gathered a band of men and tried to make head
against the Japanese but not being a soldier he could make but little
impression; so Gen. Chöng was hunted up and put in command. There were
only two hundred soldiers in all, but soon they were joined by the
prefects of Chöng-sŭng and Kyŭng-wŭn and their contingents, and the
little army made its headquarters at Kyŭng-sŭng.

As the Japanese were overrunning the country, many events of interest
happened, many episodes that history will probably never record, scenes
of cruelty and rapine that are perhaps better left undiscovered; but a
few of the more important of these events are necessary to a correct
understanding of the way in which the Koreans met their fate at the
hands of the invaders.

When the Koreans fled from Seoul a high official by the name of Yi
Chong-ŭm fled to the walled town of Yŭn-an in Whang-hă Province. Its
prefect had fled, and when a Japanese force of 3000 men under Nagamasa
approached, the people besought this Yi to take charge of the defense of
the town. He consented and made proclamation, “The Japanese are all
about us and we are in jeopardy of our lives. All that wish to live must
now run away and the rest of us will remain and die together.” To this
they replied with one voice, “How can we let our leader die alone?” The
next day the Japanese arrived and invested the town, but on attempting
to storm it they were met by buckets of boiling water thrown down. on
their heads. They drew off, but renewed the attack at night. This time
they were met by piles of burning straw which again drove them back.
Again they came on, this time with broad planks over their heads to
protect them from the novel weapons of the Koreans, but these were not
proof against the huge stones which the defenders threw down upon them.
The fight lasted three days and finally the Japanese withdrew after
burning their dead.

In the seventh moon the king moved northward to Eui-ju. But we must turn
again to the south to witness another loyal attempt to stem the tide of
invasion. In the province of Chŭl-la there were men who longed to take
up arms in defense of their homes, but all the regular troops had been
drafted away northward and nothing could be done on regular lines. So Ko
Kyöng-myŭng and Kim Ch’ŭn-il of that province and Kwak Chă-u and Chöng
In-hong of Kyŭng-sang Province held a conference to devise ways and
means for prosecuting a geurilla campaign. These men had all been
connected with the army at some previous time and were not utterly
lacking in knowledge of military affairs. Kwak Chă-u was in the prime of
life and was appointed leader. Gathering the people of the countryside
to a great conclave, he addressed them thus, “The whole country is being
overrun by the Japanese and soon we will become their prey. Among our
young men there must be many hundreds who are able to bear arms. If we
take our stand at Chöng-jin on the river we shall be able to prevent the
Japanese from crossing and they will thus be held in check.” This brave
leader then turned his whole patrimony into ready money and spent it in
equipping his little army, which amounted to 5000 men.

A Japanese general attempted to enter this portion of the province but
was met all along the line of the river by a determined soldiery, and
was not able to affect a crossing. The Korean leader Kwak has become
famous in Korean story for his valiant deeds. He is said to have worn a
fiery red cloak and he was dubbed Hong-eui Tă-jang or “General of the
Red Robe.” His particular skill lay in rapid changes of base and he
appeared now at one point and now at another with such bewildering
rapidity that he earned the reputation of being able to transport
himself by magic to incredible distances in a moment of time. These
reports he did not contradict. The Japanese came to dread his approach
and the report that he was near, or a glimpse of the flaring red robe
was enough to send them scurrying off. From his central camp he sent out
spies in all directions who kept him informed of every move of the
enemy, and whenever the Japanese encamped the Koreans gathered on the
surrounding hills at night, each carrying a framework that supported
five torches, and so the Japanese supposed they were surrounded by great
numbers of Koreans, and anxiety kept them always awake. The best of the
Korean soldiers were detailed to watch mountain passes and look for
opportunities to cut off small bodies of the enemy’s forces. Traps of
various kinds were set, into which they occasionally fell, and they were
so harrassed and worried that at last they were compelled to withdraw
entirely from the three districts of Eui-ryŭng, Sam-ga and Hyŭp-chăn,
and quiet was restored.

But this useful man’s career was cut short in a manner similar to that
in which Gen. Yi Kak’s had been. We will remember, after the Japanese
had taken Tong-nă and were sweeping northward, that Kim Su, the governor
of Kyŭng-sang Province, not daring to meet them, turned to the west and
fled from their path. It was just about this time that the “General of
the Red Robe” was having his victories over the Japanese that had
pressed westward after the fall of Tong-nă. When this successful leader
heard of the craven flight of Gov. Kim Su he was filled with scorn and
with righteous indignation. He considered the cowardly governor to be
worse than the Japanese themselves. He sent the governor a message
naming seven valid reasons why he deserved execution. Kim Su replied,
“As for you, you are a robber yourself,” and he also sent a letter to
the king charging Gen. Kwak with disloyalty. At the same time Gen. Kwak
sent a letter to the king saying, “Gov. Kim ran away from his post of
duty, and when I upbraided him for it he called me a robber. I have
killed many of the ‘rats’ but as I have been called a robber I herewith
lay down my arms and retire.” Despatching this letter to the king, Gen.
Kwak dismissed all his followers and retired to a hermitage of Pi-p‘a
Mountain in Kyŭng-sang Province and “lived upon pine leaves for food.”
So the records say. Thereafter, though offered the governorship of
Ham-gyŭng or Chŭl-la province he refused to come out of his retreat. He
changed his name to Mang U-dang or, “House of Lost Passions,” and he
thus acquired great sanctity. Here is another instance in which the king
lost an able leader through mere wanton caprice. Wounded pride made the
famous leader forget country, king, kindred, honor—all.

Another attempt was made by Ko Kyŭng-myŭng, a native of Chang-heung in
Chul-la Province. Hearing that the king had fled to P‘yŭng-yang he,
together with Yu P‘ang-no, gathered a large force at Tam-yang. Sending
letters all over the province he succeeded in getting together 6000 men,
and made the central camp at Yŭn-san. The king, bring informed of this,
sent a gracious letter giving his sanction and urging the faithful men
to do all in their power for the people and the country. Gen. Kwak Nyŭng
was also sent from the north to coöperate with this army in their loyal
attempts.

Hearing that the Japanese had arrived at Köm-san, the Korean forces
advanced against them, but, for some reason not stated, when they
appeared before the town their number had dwindled to eight hundred.
Whether the rest had run away or whether a small detachment was deemed
sufficient is not known, but at any rate a blunder had been committed,
and when the Japanese saw the smallness of the attacking party they
sallied out and soon scattered the Korean forces under Gen. Kwak Nyŭng.
The other troops, seeing this, also took to their heels, but Gen. Ko
would not run away, though urged to do so by his lieutenants. He told
them to make good their escape, but that he would remain and meet his
fate. So they all stood and fought it out to the bitter end and fell
side by side. Gen. Ko’s son, learning of his father’s death burned for
revenge and so he collected a band of soldiers in the south, which he
named “The Band that Seeks Revenge.”

A more successful attempt was made by Chöng In-hong of Hyŭn-p‘ung in
Kyŭng-sang Province. He was joined by Kim Myön, Pak Song, Kwak Chun,
Kwak Il and Son In-gap. These men organized a force and drove the
Japanese out of Mu-gye and burned their supplies. Hearing that the enemy
had fled toward Cho-gye and knowing that a river intervened, they gave
chase. The Japanese came to the river but could find no boats to cross.
They spent so much time looking for a ford that when at last they found
one and were starting to cross, the pursuers came up. The ford was a bad
one, the bottom being composed of soft sand, something like quick-sand.
Soon the horses and men were floundering about in mid-stream. Chöng and
his men, who knew the ford, rushed in upon them, while so entangled, and
cut them down by hundreds. Those that escaped fled towards Song-ju, but
one of Chöng’s lieutenants took a thousand men and gave chase. Pressed
beyond endurance the Japanese turned and came on to fight. One huge
fellow on a magnificent charger came dashing out ahead of the rest,
brandishing his sword and yelling at the top of his voice. A hideous
gilt mask added to the picturesqueness of his appearance, but it did not
frighten the pursuers. Their leader aimed at the horse’s legs and soon
he came crashing to the ground, where he was speedily despatched. The
other Japanese thereupon turned and resumed their flight. Japanese
troops who were in force in Song-ju and Ko-ryŭng came out to intercept
the pursuers, but Chöng and his men formed an ambush and springing
suddenly upon the Japanese threw them into confusion and chased them as
far as Pyŭl Pass. In this flight the Japanese threw away their baggage,
weapons and all superfluous clothing. Chöng and his men chased them six
miles and then turned back.

The last adventure of this nature which we shall mention is that of Kim
Ch‘ŭn-il a man of Na-ju in Chŭl-la Province. Hearing of the king’s
flight he sat down and wept, but suddenly springing up he exclaimed, “I
might far better be trying to aid my sovereign than sit here bewailing
his misfortune.” In company with his friends Song Che-min and Yang
San-do, he got together a goodly band of men whose avowed purpose was
the succor of the king. Before commencing operations the leader
slaughtered horses and oxen and made each man taste the blood and take
an oath of allegiance to the cause in which they were embarked. Kim
addressed them in these words, “Of course this means death to us all. We
cannot expect to come out of it alive. We can only go forward. There
must be no retreat. If any one of you desires life more than the
accomplishment of the work in which we are engaged let him turn back
now.” They fortified Tok-san in Ch‘ung-ch‘ŭng Province. Koreans who had
sold themselves to the Japanese as spies came to this camp to gain
information, but were apprehended and put to death. The Japanese camp
was at Keum-nyŭng not far away. One moonless night Kim, by a forced
march came and surrounded this camp, and at a given signal his forces
descended like an avalanche upon the unsuspecting enemy. Those that
escaped the edge of the sword found safety in flight. In the seventh
moon this force, consisting of several thousand men, crossed the Han
River below Yang-wha-do intending to go and join the king, but instead
of doing so they entered the island of Kang-wha and fortified it. When
the king heard of these deeds of Kim Ch‘ŭn-il, he was highly pleased and
gave him the title of “Defender against Invaders.”

These incidents of Korean success against the Japanese cannot be taken
as typical cases for, as a rule, the Japanese went where they wished and
did what they wished, but they are inserted here rather to show that it
was no craven submission on the part of the Koreans; that there were
strong, brave and faithful men who were willing to cast their fortunes
and lives into the scales and strike as hard blows as they knew how for
their homes and for their king. It was of course a geurilla warfare and
it was only small detachments of the main army of the Japanese that they
could successfully withstand, but the utter pusilanimity of the Koreans,
as sometimes depicted, is not a true picture of them. Their worst fault
was that they were unprepared for war. This together with the strife of
parties was the reason why the Japanese for a time worked their will
upon the peninsula.



                              Chapter IX.

Attempts to secure aid from China.... divided counsels in Nanking.... an
    army sent.... a desperate envoy.... Gen. Suk Sŭng’s love for
    Korea.... the Emperor gives orders for the king’s entertainment....
    great Korean victory in the south.... Japanese army of reinforcement
    defeated and destroyed by Admiral Yi Sun-sin.... Gen. Yi honored....
    the back of the invasion broken.... a vainglorious Chinese
    general.... severely beaten.... the monks begin a Holy War.... a
    sharp answer.... various Korean forces.... a night adventure....
    Japanese reverses in the south.... China awakens.... a grand
    conference.... a truce.... the time expires.... a celebrated soldier
    tracked down.... attempt to retake Seoul.... brave defense of
    Chin-Ju ... the first mortar and bomb ... various Korean attempts
    ... Korean victory in Ham-gyŭng Province ... another in the south
    ... Japanese confined almost entirely to P‘yŭng-yang.


The efforts that Korea put forth before she obtained aid from China make
an entertaining story, and they show that China delayed it as long as
possible and then complied, not so much because she wished to help Korea
as because she desired to check the Japanese before they crossed the
Ya-lu and began ravaging the fruitful plains of the Liao-tung peninsula.
Before the Japanese ever landed in Korea the king had sent an envoy to
Nanking telling the Emperor that an invasion was next to certain; and
that envoy was still in Nanking. After the king’s flight to the north he
sent Min Mong-nyŭng and Yi Tŭk-hyŭng as special envoys to ask aid again.
On the arrival of these men with their urgent request there was a great
council of war in Nanking. Some of the leading generals said, “There is
no need for China to help those wild people. Let them fight it out
themselves.” It would appear that the policy by which China disclaimed
responsibility for Korea, when such responsibility involved sacrifice,
is several centuries old. Other generals said, “No, that will not do. We
must send troops and at least guard our own territory from invasion.”
But the Chinese General-in-chief, Sŭk Sŭng, said, “We must, without
fail, render Korea the assistance for which she asks. We must
immediately despatch 2000 troops, and the Emperor must appropriate
2,000,000 cash for their maintenance.” The upshot of it all was that
Gen. Nak Sang-ji took a small body of troops and marched eastward to the
banks of the Ya-lu where he went into camp without attempting to render
the Koreans any assistance.

In the seventh moon the king sent another envoy to Nanking on the same
errand but with the same lack of success. Then the king called to him
one of his most trusted officials and appointed him envoy to Nanking and
said, “The salvation of the kingdom lies in your hands. Go to Nanking
and leave no efforts untried whereby the Emperor may be induced to help
us.” Charged with this important mission, this envoy Chöng Kon-su
hastened to Nanking and, entering the enclosure of the war office, sat
in the courtyard for seven days weeping; but the officials all turned a
deaf ear to his entreaties, excepting the General-in-chief Sŭk Sŭng.
Indignant at the apathy of his colleagues and in spite of the fact that
his duty as general-in-chief demanded his presence in Nanking, he arose
and said, “If none of you gentlemen will go to the aid of Korea I will
go myself.” There were special and personal reasons for this man’s
interest in Korea. In years gone by a Korean merchant, while in Nanking,
had met in an inn a beautiful slave girl and upon inquiry had discovered
that she was of noble family but had sold herself into slavery to obtain
money wherewith to deliver her father from prison. The merchant was so
touched by the sacrifice which she had made—for it meant the sacrifice
of honor itself—that he gave all his patrimony and bought her and set
her free. In after years she became the wife of this same Gen. Sŭk Sŭng,
and thus it was that he was an ardent admirer of Korea and was
determined to see that Korea received aid in her present extremity.

At this point the king sent a message to the prefect of Liao-tung
saying, “The Japanese have come as far north as P‘yŭng-yang and I fear I
shall have to cross the Ya-lu and take refuge in your district.” This
the prefect immediately reported to the Emperor, who answered, “If the
king of Korea enters your district, provide him with a fine house, give
him food out of the imperial stores, each day four ounces of silver, a
pig, a sheep, vermicelli and rice. Give him also an escort of a hundred
men and let twenty women be detailed to wait upon him.”

We have now arrived at the threshold of the Chinese counter-invasion
which was destined to be one of the main causes of the Japanese retreat,
but before entering upon this narrative we must turn again to the south
and witness some events which did far more to effect the withdrawal of
the Japanese than did the coming of the Chinese armies.

The first of these was the utter defeat of a large body of Japanese who
were scouring the province of Chŭl-la. Entering the town of I-ch‘i they
were met by such a fierce attack on the part of Whang-jin the prefect of
Tong-bok that they turned back and, crossing the Ung-ch‘i Mountain
entered the prefecture of Chŭn-ju. Yö Pong-nam, the prefect of Na-ju,
and Whang Pŭk, a volunteer general, lay in ambush with a large body of
volunteer troops, and succeeded in driving the Japanese back, but the
next day the invading host came fiercely to the attack and the Koreans
had to give way. The Japanese in their exultation now thought they could
go back to I-ch‘i and avenge themselves for their defeat there. Gen.
Kwŭn Yŭl and the prefect of Whang-jin heard of this in time to fortify
one of the mountain passes. The Japanese attacked in a desperate manner,
creeping up the steep mountain sides on their hands and knees, shooting
as they advanced. All day long the fight continued and the Japanese were
utterly defeated. Their bodies were piled in heaps where they fell and
the records say that the ground was covered with one crimson matting of
leaves. This was one of the greatest land victories which the Koreans
scored against the Japanese. Retreating to the valley with their dead
the Japanese made two great heaps of bodies and buried them in trenches,
marking the spot with rough monuments of wood. This was probably one of
the bodies of troops for which the Japanese in P‘yŭng-yang were waiting,
before attempting the invasion of China.

But meanwhile events of far greater importance were occurring farther
south, where Admiral Yi Sun-sin with his wonderful “tortoise boat” was
watching for Japanese fleets.

It was in the eighth moon that his watchfulness was rewarded and he
beheld on the eastern horizon a vast fleet of Japanese boats bringing a
hundred thousand men to reinforce the army of invasion and enable it to
push on into China.

Admiral Yi and his lieutenant Yi Ok-keui met this powerful fleet in a
place called Kyön-nă-ryang among the islands off the southern coast of
Chŭl-la Province. The evident intention of the Japanese was to round the
southwestern corner of the peninsula and sail up the west coast to
P‘yŭng-yang. At first the wily admiral made as if he would betake
himself to flight and the Japanese, by giving chase, threw their own
line into disorder. When opposite Han-san Island, Admiral Yi suddenly
turned his iron-clad about and rammed the nearest of his pursuers, and
then engaged the others either singly or by the score, for his craft was
impervious to their weapons. His attending fleet followed and completed
the work, after he had disabled the enemy’s boats. Seventy-one of the
Japanese boats were sunk that day and it is said the very sea was red.
But soon a reinforcing fleet came up from An-gol Harbor near Han-san and
the Admiral found that his day’s work was not yet done. The attack
straightway began and soon the Japanese were in the same plight in which
their comrades had been put. Many, seeing how impossible it was to make
headway against this iron ship, beached their boats and fled by land; so
on that same day forty-eight ships more were burned. The few that
escaped during the fight sped eastward toward home. So ended, we may
well believe, one of the great naval battles of the world. It may truly
be called the Salamis of Korea. It signed the death-warrant of the
invasion. It frustrated the great motive of the invasion, the humbling
of China; and thenceforth, although the war dragged through many a long
year, it was carried on solely with a view to mitigating the
disappointment of Hideyoshi—a disappointment that must have been as keen
as his thirst for conquest was unquenchable.

When the king heard of these splendid achievements he heaped upon
Admiral Yi all the honors in his gift, and even those who hated him for
his successes were compelled to join in his praise. Konishi had heard
that an army was coming to reinforce him and he wrote an exultant letter
to the king saying, “A hundred thousand men are coming to reinforce me.
Where will you flee to then?” But before this letter reached its
destination there came the news of the crushing defeat in the south. The
whole success of the invasion depended upon forming a junction between
the army in P‘yŭng-yang and this army of reinforcement, but Admiral Yi
shattered the fleet, and the last hope of the invaders perished.

And now at last China bestirred herself and sent Gen. Cho Seung-hun with
5000 troops across the Ya-lu into Korea. This was a man whose vanity was
as great as his ignorance of the Japanese. He loudly boasted “Now that I
have come, no Japanese will be able to stand before me.” Penetrating as
far south as Ka-san he enquired whether the Japanese had fled from
P‘yŭng-yang, and being answered in the negative he exclaimed “Heaven is
indeed good to keep them there for me.”

Two of the Korean generals ventured to offer him some advice, saying
that it was now the rainy season and the roads were very bad, and that
it might be well to wait until his army could move with greater ease and
with better hopes of success. But he laughed and said, “I once took 3000
men and put to flight 100,000 Mongols. I care no more for these Japanese
than I do for mosquitoes or ants.” And so his troops floundered on
through the mud until they stood before P‘yŭng-yang on the nineteenth of
the eighth moon. And lo! the gates were wide open. The Chinese troops
marched straight up through the town to the governor’s residence, firing
their guns and calling on the enemy to appear. But not a Japanese was to
be seen. When the whole of the Chinese force had entered the city and
the streets were full, the Japanese, who lay hidden in every house,
poured a sudden and destructive fire into their ranks. The Chinese,
huddled together in small companies, were shot down like rabbits. Gen.
Sa Yu, the second in command of the Chinese, was killed and the boastful
Gen. Cho Seung-hun mounted his horse and fled the city, followed by as
many of his soldiers as could extricate themselves. Rain began to fall
and the roads were deep with mud. The Japanese followed the fugitives,
and the valley was strewed with the bodies of the slain. Out of 5000 men
who entered the city only two thousand escaped. Gen. Cho fled two
hundred _li_ to An-ju before he stopped. He there gave out that as there
had been much rain and the roads were heavy he was at a disadvantage in
attacking, and when his second, Gen. Sa Yu, fell he saw that nothing
could be done, and so had ordered a retreat. But the Koreans only
smiled, for they knew that a sixty mile ride over those roads by a
Chinese general meant more than an ordinary retreat. And so he returned
to Liaotung, this valiant man, and fearing punishment, averred that “We
whipped the Japanese but the Koreans turned against us and we had to
fall back.” The Chinese general Yang Sa-heun was sent to investigate
this charge but the king denied it and the truth was soon discovered.

And now a new element in this seething caldron of war rose to the
surface. It was an independent movement on the part of the Buddhist
monks throughout the country. Hyu Chŭng, known throughout the eight
provinces as “The great teacher of So-san,” was a man of great natural
ability as well as of great learning. His pupils were numbered by the
thousands and were found in every province. He called together two
thousand of them and appeared before the king at Eui-ju and said, “We
are of the common people but we are all the king’s servants and two
thousand of us have come to die for Your Majesty.” The king was much
pleased by this demonstration of loyalty and made Hyu Chŭng a Priest
General, and told him to go into camp at Pŭp-heung Monastery. He did so.
and from that point sent out a call to all the monasteries in the land.
In Chŭl-la Province was a warrior monk Ch’oe Yŭng, and at Diamond
Mountain another named Yu Chŭng. These came with over a thousand
followers and went into camp a few miles to the east of P’yŭng-yang.
They had no intention of engaging in actual battle but they acted as
spies, took charge of the commissariat and made themselves generally
useful. During battle they stood behind the troops and shouted
encouragement. Yu Chŭng, trusting to his priestly garb, went into
P’yŭng-yang to see the Japanese generals. Being ushered into the
presence of Kato, who had now joined the main army after his detour into
Ham-gyŭng Province, the monk found himself surrounded by flashing
weapons. But he was not in the least daunted, and looked about him with
a smiling face. Kato addressed him good-naturedly and asked, “What do
you consider the greatest treasure in your land?” Without a moment’s
hesitation the monk answered “Your head,” which piece of subtle flattery
made the Japanese general laugh long and loud.

Besides these there were other movements of a loyal nature throughout
the country. At Wha-sun in Chŭl-la Province there was a little band of
men under Ch‘oe Kyŭng-whe whose banner represented a falcon in flight.
Also in Ch‘ung-ch‘ŭng Province a celebrated scholar Cho Hön collected a
large band of men, but his efforts were frustrated by the cowardice and
jealousy of the governor of the province who imprisoned the parents of
many of his followers and so compelled them to desert.

Yi Wŭn-ik, the governor of P‘yŭng-an Province and Yi Pin, one of the
provincial generals, made a fortified camp at Sun-an, sixty _li_ to the
west of P‘yŭng-yang. At the same time generals Kim Eung-Sŭ and Pak
Myung-hyŭn, with a force of 10,000 men, made a line of fortified camps
along the west side of the town of P‘yŭng-yang. Kim Ok-ch‘u with a naval
force guarded the ford of the Ta-dong. These forces advanced
simultaneously and attacked the Japanese, cutting off all stragglers.
Suddenly the Japanese army made a sally from the city and the Koreans
were dispersed. When they again rendezvoused at their respective camps
it was found that Gen. Kim Eung-sŭ and his troops were nowhere to be
found. As it happened he was very near the wall of the town when the
sortie occurred and he was cut off from retreat. But in the dusk of
approaching night he was not discovered by the Japanese. A story is told
of a curious adventure which he had that night. One of the Japanese
generals in the town had found a beautiful dancing girl and had
compelled her to share his quarters. On this eventful evening she asked
him to let her go to the wall and see if she could find some one who
would carry a message to her brother. Permission was given and she
hastened to the wall and there called softly, “Where is my brother?”
Gen. Kim, as we have seen was immediately beneath the wall and he
answered, “Who is it that calls?” “Will you not help me escape from the
Japanese,” she pleaded. He immediately consented to help her and, taking
his life in his hands, he speedily scaled the wall and accompanied her
toward the Japanese general’s quarters. Her captor was a terrible
creature, so the story goes, who always slept sitting bolt upright at a
table with his eyes wide open and holding a long sword in each hand. His
face was fiery red. Gen. Kim, conducted by the dancing girl, came upon
him unawares and smote off his head at a stroke, but even after the head
fell the terrible figure rose and hurled one of the swords with such
tremendous force that it struck through one of the house-posts. The
Korean general concealed the head beneath his garments and fled, with
the girl at his heels. But now for the first time he seemed to become
aware of the extreme hazard of his position and fearing that he would
not be able to get by the guard, if accompanied by the girl, his
gallantry suddenly forsook him and he turned and smote off her head as
well. Thus unencumbered he succeeded in making his escape.

We must here digress again to describe the final conflict that put an
end to Japanese advances in the province of Chŭl-la. A general. Cho Hön,
in company with a monk warrior, Yung Kyu, advanced on the important town
of Ch‘ung-ju, then occupied by a strong Japanese garrison. They
approached the west gate and stormed it with stones and arrows. In a
short time the Japanese were compelled to retire and the Koreans began
to swarm into the town, vowing to make a complete slaughter of the hated
enemy, but at that moment a severe thunder shower arose and the darkness
was intense. So Gen. Cho recalled his troops and encamped outside the
gate. That night the Japanese burned their dead and fled out the north
gate, and when Gen. Cho led his troops into the city the next day he
scored only an empty triumph. He desired to push forward to the place
were the king had found refuge, and to that end he advanced as far north
as On-yang in Ch‘ung-ch‘ŭng Province: but learning there that a strong
body of Japanese had congregated at Yö-san in Chŭl-la Province, he
turned back to attack them. He made an arrangement by letter with Kwŭn
Yŭl, the provincial general of Chŭl-la, to make a simultaneous attack
upon the Japanese position from different sides. But when Gen. Cho
arrived before the Japanese camp with his little band of 700 men Gen.
Kwŭn was nowhere to be found. The Japanese laughed when they saw this
little array and came on to the attack, but were each time driven back.
But at last the Koreans had spent all their arrows, it was late in the
day and they were fatigued and half famished. Gen. Cho, however, had no
thought of retreat and kept urging on his men. If he had at this crisis
withdrawn his remaining soldiers, the victory would virtually have been
his for the Japanese had lost many more men than he; but he was too
stubborn to give an inch. The Japanese came on to a last grand charge.
Gen. Cho’s aides advised him to withdraw but he peremptorily refused. At
last every weapon was gone and the men fought with their bare fists,
falling where they stood. The slain of the Japanese outnumbered those of
the Koreans and although they were victorious their victory crippled
them. It took the survivors four days to burn their dead and when it was
done they broke camp and went southward. The Japanese never regained the
ground lost by this retreat and it was a sample of what must occur
throughout the peninsula, since Admiral Yi had rendered reinforcement
from Japan impossible.

We return now to the north, the real scene of war. In the ninth moon the
Chinese general, Sim Yu-gyŭng, whose name will figure largely in these
annals from this point on, was sent from China to investigate the
condition of affairs in Korea with a view to the sending of a large
Chinese force, for by this time China had become alive to the interests
at stake, namely her own interests. This general crossed the Ya-lu and
came southward by An-ju as far as Sun-an. From that point he sent a
communication to the Japanese in P‘yŭng-yang saying, “I have come by
order of the Emperor of China to inquire what Korea has done to merit
such treatment as this at your hands. You are trampling Korea under foot
and we would know why.” The Japanese general, Konishi, answered this by
requesting that the Chinese general meet him at Kang-bok Mountain ten
_li_ north of P‘yŭng-yang, and have a conference with him. To this Gen.
Sim agreed and, taking with him three followers, he repaired to the
appointed place. Konishi accompanied by Kuroda and Gensho came to the
rendezvous with a great array of soldiers and weapons, Gen. Sim walked
into their midst alone, having left his horse outside the enclosure. He
immediately addressed them as follows; “I brought with me a million
soldiers and left them in camp beyond the Ya-lu. You, Gensho, are a
monk. Why do you come to kill and destroy?” Gensho answered, “For many a
year Japan has had no dealings with China. We asked from Korea a safe
conduct for our envoy to Nanking but it was refused and we were
compelled to come and take it by force. What cause have you to blame us
for this?” To this Gen. Sim replied, “If you wish to go to China to pay
your respects to the Emperor there will be no difficulty at all. I can
arrange it without the least trouble,” Konishi said nothing, but handed
his sword to Gen. Sim in token of amity and after they had conferred
together for some time it was arranged that Gen. Sim go to Nanking and
represent that Japan wished to become a vassal of China. Fifty days was
agreed upon for the general to make the trip to Nanking and return with
the answer, and a truce was called for that time. A line was drawn round
P‘yŭng-yang ten _li_ from the wall and the Japanese agreed to stay
within that limit while the Koreans promised not to cross that line.
Gen. Sim was sent upon his way with every mark of esteem on the part of
the Japanese who accompanied him a short distance on the road.

The Japanese lived up to the terms of the truce, never crossing the line
once, but the fifty days expired and still Gen. Sim did not appear. They
then informed the Koreans that in the twelfth moon their “horses would
drink the water of the Ya-lu.”

During these fifty days of truce what was going on in other parts of the
peninsula? Cho Ung a soldier of Ch‘ung-ch‘ŭng Province was a man of
marvelous skill. With a band of 500 men he succeeded so well in cutting
off small foraging bands of Japanese that they were at their wits end to
get him put out of the way. One foggy day when the mist was so thick
that one could not see his hand before his face the Japanese learned
that this dreaded man was on the road. They followed him swiftly and
silently and at last got an opportunity to shoot him in the back. He
fell from his horse but rose and fled on foot. But they soon overtook
him and, having first cut his hands off, they despatched him.

The governor of Kyŭng-geui Province was Sim Tă. He had found asylum in
the town of Sang-nyŭng, two hundred _li_ north of Seoul. Having gotten
together a considerable body of soldiers he formed the daring plan of
wresting Seoul from the hands of the Japanese. For this purpose it was
necessary that he should have accomplices in that city who should rise
at the appointed time and join in the attack. Through treachery or
otherwise the Japanese became aware of the plot and sending a strong
body of troops to Sang-nyŭng they seized the governor and put him to
death.

Gen. Kim Si-min had charge of the defense of the walled town of Chin-ju
in Kyŭng-sang Province. The Japanese invested the town with a very large
force. Within, the garrison amounted to only three thousand men. These
were placed on the walls in the most advantageous manner by Gen. Kim who
was specially skilled in the defense of a walled town. All the soldiers
were strictly commanded not to fire a single shot until the Japanese
were close up to the wall. The Japanese advanced in three divisions,
10,000 strong. A thousand of these were musketeers. The roar of the
musketry was deafening but the walls were as silent as if deserted. Not
a man was to be seen. On the following day the assault began in earnest.
The Japanese discarded the muskets and used fire arrows. Soon all the
houses outside the wall were in ashes. Gen. Kim went up into the south
gate and there sat and listened to some flute playing with a view to
making the Japanese think the defending force was so large as to make
solicitude unnecessary. This made the Japanese very careful. They made
elaborate preparations for the assault. Cutting down bamboos and pine
trees they made ladders about eight feet wide and as high as the wall.
They also prepared straw mats to protect their heads from missiles from
above. But the defenders had also made careful preparations. They had
bundles of straw with little packages of powder fastened in them, to
cast down on the attacking party. Piles of stones and kettles of hot
water were also in readiness. As the assault might take place at night,
planks bristling with nails were thrown over the wall. This proved a
wise precaution for in fact the attack was made that very night. It
raged fiercely for a time, but so many of the Japanese were lamed by the
spikes in the planks and so many were burned by the bundles of straw,
that at last they had to withdraw, leaving heaps of dead behind. More
than half the attacking force were killed and the rest beat a hasty
retreat.

In the ninth moon Gen. Pak Chin of Kyŭng-sang Province took 10,000
soldiers and went to attack the walled town of Kyöng-ju which was held
by the Japanese. It is said that he made use of a species of missile
called “The Flying Thunderbolt.” It was projected from a kind of mortar
made of bell metal and having a bore of some twelve or fourteen inches.
The mortar was about eight feet long. The records say that this thing
could project _itself_ through the air for a distance of forty paces. It
doubtless means that a projectile of some kind could be cast that
distance from this mortar. The records go on to say that the “Flying
Thunder-bolt” was thrown over the wall of the town and, when the
Japanese flocked around it to see what it might be, it exploded with a
terrific noise, instantly killing twenty men or more. This struck the
Japanese dumb with terror and so worked upon their superstitious natures
that they decamped in haste and evacuated the city. The inventor of this
weapon was Yi Yang-son, and it is said that the secret of its
construction died with him. It appears that we have here the inventor of
the mortar and bomb. The length of the gun compared with its calibre,
the distance the projectile was carried with the poor powder then in use
and the explosion of the shell all point to this as being the first
veritable mortar in use in the east if not in the world. It is said that
one of these mortars lies today in a storehouse in the fortress of
Nam-han.

All through the country the people were rising and arming against the
invaders. A list of their leaders will show how widespread was the
movement. In the province of Chŭl-la were Generals Kim Ch’ŭn-il, Ko
Kyung-myŭng and Ch’oé Kyăng-whe: in Kyŭng sang Province Generals Kwak
Chă-o, Kwŭn Eung-su, Kim Myön. Chöng In-hong, Kim Hă, Nyu Wan-gă, Yi
Tă-geui and Chang Sa-jin; in Ch’ung-ch’ŭng Province Generals Cho Heun,
Yŭng Kyu (monk), Kim Hong-min, Yi San-gyŭm, Cho Tún-gong, Cho Ung and Yi
Pong; in Kyŭng-geui Province Generals U Sung-jun, Chăng Suk-ha, Ch’oé
Heul, Yi No, Yi San-whi, Nam On-gyŭng, Kim T’ak, Yu Ta-jin, Yi Chil,
Hong Kye-nam and Wang Ok; in Ham-gyŭng Province Generals Chöng Nam-bu,
and Ko Kyŭng-min; in P’yŭng-an Province Generals Cho Ho-ik and the monk
Yu Chŭng. The country was filled with little bands of fifty or a hundred
men each, and all were fighting separately. Perhaps it was better so,
for it may have prevented jealousies and personal enmities that
otherwise would have ruined the whole scheme.

Chöng Mun-bu was the “Military inspector of the north” and it was his
business to investigate annually the condition of things in the province
of Ham-gyŭng and to superintend the annual fair on the border at
Whe-ryŭng in the tenth moon of each year. He was caught by the Japanese
on the road and was held captive, but made his escape by night and found
a place of hiding in the house of a certain sorceress or fortune-teller
in Yong-sŭng. After five days of flight he reached the town of
Kyöng-sung where he found the leaders Ch’oé Pa-ch’ŭn and Chi Tal-wŭn at
the house of a wealthy patriot Yi Pung-su who had given large sums of
money to raise and equip soldiers. The common people entered heartily
into the plan and a force of 10,000 men, indifferently armed and
drilled, was put into the field. This force surrounded the town of
Kil-ju where the Japanese were encamped, and after a desperate fight the
Japanese were totally defeated, leaving 600 heads in the hands of the
victors. A few days later a similar engagement took place with a like
result, sixty more heads being taken.

And so it was throughout the country. The Japanese were being worn away
by constant attrition; here a dozen, there a score and yonder a hundred,
until the army in P‘yŭng-yang, by no means a large one, was practically
all that was left of the Japanese in the peninsula.

Kwŭn Yŭl, the governor of Chŭl-la Province, said to the provincial
general, “If you will remain in Yi-hyŭn and guard the province I will
take 20,000 men and move northward to the capital.” He advanced as far
as Su-wŭn. The Japanese tried to draw him into a general engagement but
he avoided it and kept up a geurilla warfare, cutting off large numbers
of stragglers from the Japanese camp. By this means he accomplished the
important work of opening up a way to the north, which had been closed;
so that from now on messengers passed freely from the southern provinces
to the king.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

                           Transcriber’s Note

The use of digital editions is greatly enhanced through the use of text
search features. That usefulness can be stymied by variations,
intentional or not, in spelling. The decision was taken here to attempt
to regularize spelling where printer or editorial errors were made, and
to a great extent where there seemed to be gratuitous variations.

For errors in the English text, corrections were made where they could
be reasonably attributed to the printer or editor, or where the same
English word appears as expected elsewhere.

On the other hand, the romanization of Korean words was changing even as
this text was being written in the early 20th century. The author notes
(p. iv) that a system of his own was adopted during the preparation of
this text, but a more official system issued by the Royal Asiatic
Society was employed later. The result, as he says, is that there are
inconsistencies in the spelling of proper names. Since it is impossible
to distinquish between printer lapses and this variability, Korean names
are given here as they appeared in the text.

Exceptions are made where common names (e.g., ‘Ko-gu-ryŭ’) very
occasionally appear without a diacritical mark. These are corrected
without further comment. Where the quality of the source text is
suspect, the most common version of a given name is used. The system in
use seems to solely employ the breve ‘ŭ’, except for the occasional ‘oé’
or ‘ö’. The chapter summaries tend to not use the diacritical marks
found in the text.

Another exception is made for the (presumable) misprinting of proper
names, which, according to the author’s Preface, have no hyphen between
the patronymic and the following given names, which are hyphenated.
Where this rule is violated (e.g., Keum Su-ro on p. 51), the hyphen is
removed. Where a hyphen occurs at the end of a line, it is retained or
removed depending on the preponderance of other instances of the same
word.

There is no mention by the author regarding the use of the special
characters ʻ and ʼ within Korean names. More modern romanization schemes
utilize the apostrophe (ʼ) to indicate aspirated consonants (pʼ, tʼ, kʼ,
and Chʼ). In this text, however, though the place-name ‘Pʻyŭng-yang’ can
be found much more frequently than ‘Pʼyŭng-yang’, there seems to be no
rhyme nor reason to the variations. The former appears most frequently
in the first hundred pages, which may imply that it is related to the
scheme employed. But both will occasionally appear in different words on
the same page. Just the same, every attempt was made to follow the text,
using ʻ and ʼ.

The author consistently uses the word ‘geurilla’, where modern usage
would have us using ‘guerrilla’ or 'guerilla', and that has been honored
here. The author uses ‘allegience’ and ‘allegiance’ interchangeably, and
both are retained. ‘Buddhism’ appears twice (pp. 113 & 163) as
‘Budhism’, and has been corrected in both places. The word ‘strategem’
appears as ‘stratagem’ only once, in the description of Chapter XII. The
word ‘emissary’ or ‘emissaries’ is misspelled twice, as ‘emmisaries’ and
again as ‘emmisary’. Both are noted and retained.

The transition from p. 257 to 258 is corrupted. At the top of p. 258, a
passage from mid-paragraph on p. 257 (‘these acts ... coolness to spring
up between them.’) is repeated. This has been removed. The final phrase
on p. 257 (‘Here, too, he was....’) is not taken up on the following
page, which is indicated here with a bracketed ellipsis.

The following table summarizes the substantive changes that were made.
It is a lengthy list, so most punctuation errors, such as missing full
stops or comma/full stop errors, have been corrected with no further
notice.





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