In May, 1281, the flotilla from Korea appeared off Tsushima. Unfortunately, the annals of medieval Japan are singularly reticent as to the details of battles. There are no materials for constructing a story of the events that occurred on the Tsushima shores, more than six centuries ago. We do not even know what force the defenders of the island mustered. But that they were much more numerous than on the previous occasion, seven years before, is certain. Already, in 1280, Tokimune had obtained from Buddhist sources information of the Mongol preparations—preparations so extensive that the felling of timber to make ships inspired a Chinese poem in which the green hills were depicted as mourning for their trees—and he would not have failed to garrison strongly a position so cardinal as the midchannel island of Tsushima. It was not reduced. The enemy were able to effect a lodgement, but could not overrun the island or put its defenders to the sword, as had been done in 1274. The Korean ships remained at Tsushima awaiting the arrival of the Chinese flotilla. They lost three thousand men from sickness during this interval, and were talking of retreat when the van of the southern armada hove in sight. A junction was effected off the coast of Iki island, and the garrison of this little place having been destroyed on June 10th, the combined forces stood over towards Kyushu and landed at various places along the coast of Chikuzen, making Hakozaki Bay their base.
Such a choice of locality was bad, for it was precisely along the shores of this bay that the Japanese had erected fortifications. They were not very formidable fortifications, it is true. The bushi of these days knew nothing about bastions, curtains, glacis, or cognate refinements of military engineering. They simply built a stone wall to block the foe's advance, and did not even adopt the precaution of protecting their flanks. But neither did they fall into the error of acting entirely on the defensive. On the contrary, they attacked alike on shore and at sea. Their boats were much smaller than those of the invaders, but the advantage in dash and daring was all on the side of the Japanese. So furious were their onsets, and so deadly was the execution they wrought with their trenchant swords at close quarters, that the enemy were fain to lash their ships together and lay planks between them for purposes of speedy concentration. It is most improbable that either the Korean or the Chinese elements of the invading army had any heart for the work, whereas on the side of the defenders there are records of whole families volunteering to serve at the front. During fifty-three days the campaign continued; that is to say, from June 23rd, when the first landing was effected, until August 14th, when a tornado swept off the face of the sea the main part of the Yuan armada.
No account has been preserved, either traditionally or historically, of the incidents or phases of the long fight. We know that the invaders occupied the island of Hirado and landed in Hizen a strong force intended to turn the flank of the Hakozaki Bay parapet. We know, inferentially, that they never succeeded in turning it. We know that, after nearly two months of incessant combat, the Yuan armies had made no sensible impression on the Japanese resistance or established any footing upon Japanese soil. We know that, on August the 14th and 15th, there burst on the shores of Kyushu a tempest which shattered nearly the whole of the Chinese flotilla. And we know that the brunt of the loss fell on the Chinese contingent, some twelve thousand of whom were made slaves. But no such momentous chapter of history has ever been traced in rougher outlines. The annalist is compelled to confine himself to marshalling general results. It was certainly a stupendous disaster for the Yuan arms. Yet Kublai was not content; he would have essayed the task again had not trouble nearer home diverted his attention from Japan. The Island Empire had thus the honour of being practically the only state in the Orient that did not present tribute to the all-conquering Mongols.
But, by a strangely wayward fate, these victories over a foreign invader brought embarrassment to the Hojo rulers rather than renown. In the first place, there could not be any relaxation of the extraordinary preparations which such incidents dictated. Kublai's successor, Timur, lost no time in countermanding all measures for a renewed attack on Japan, and even adopted the plan of commissioning Buddhist priests to persuade the Bakufu of China's pacific intentions. One of these emissaries, Nei-issan (Chinese pronunciation, Ning I-shan), settled permanently in Japan, and his holy ministrations as a Zen-shu propagandist won universal respect. But the Bakufu did not relax their precautions, and for more than a score of years a heavy burden of expense had to be borne on this account.
Further, when the wave of invasion broke on the shores of Kyushu, the Court in Kyoto set the example of appealing to the assistance of heaven. Prayers were offered, liturgies were chanted, and incense was burned at many temples and shrines throughout the empire. Several of the priests did not hesitate to assert that their supplications had elicited signs and portents indicating supernatural aid. Rich rewards were bestowed in recognition of these services, whereas, on the contrary, the recompense given to the soldiers who had fought so gallantly and doggedly to beat off a foreign foe was comparatively petty. Means of recompensing them were scant. When Yoritomo overthrew the Taira, the estates of the latter were divided among his followers and co-operators. After the Shokyu disturbance, the property of the Court nobles served a similar purpose. But the repulse of the Mongols brought no access of wealth to the victors, and for the first time military merit had to go unrequited while substantial grants were made to the servants of religion. The Bakufu, fully conscious of this dangerous discrepancy, saw no resource except to order that strict surveys should be made of many of the great estates, with a view to their delimitation and reduction, if possible. This, however, was a slow progress, and the umbrage that it caused was more than commensurate with the results that accrued. Thus, to the Bakufu the consequences of a war which should have strengthened allegiance and gratitude were, on the contrary, injurious and weakening.