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[and] it was a sample of what must occur throughout the peninsula, since Admiral Yi had rendered reinforcement from Japan impossible.