The Imjin War (58 page)

The reason for Hideyoshi’s recalcitrance was that he had decided to keep the
San Felipe
’s valuable cargo, first to reconstruct his earthquake-shattered castle at Fushimi and second to help fund his planned reinvasion of Korea. He thus sent his representative Mashita Nagamori south to Shikoku to seize the vessel and imprison its passengers and crew. It was a heavy financial blow for the Spanish in Manila, for their livelihood depended on the annual galleon carrying Oriental silks and ceramics and spices to Mexico to be sold for silver coins. And more was to come. On December 8 the Kyoto residence of the Spanish Franciscans was surrounded and six priests and several Japanese converts taken prisoner. One month later they were sentenced to death. “Inasmuch as these men came from the Luzones,” read Hideyoshi’s edict, “from the island of Manila, in the capacity of ambassadors, and were allowed to remain in the city of Miaco [Kyoto], preaching the Christian religion, which in former years I have strictly forbidden: I order that they be executed together with the Japanese who embraced their religion.”
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Hideyoshi’s reasons for issuing this edict remain a matter for speculation. According to the most straightforward account, when Mashita Nagamori arrived on Shikoku to take possession of the
San Felipe
, the ship’s pilot showed him a map of the far-flung possessions of King Philip II, presumably to impress on him that Spain was a major power and not to be trifled with. How had Spain managed to conquer so many lands? Mashita asked. The pilot’s reply was horribly ill-judged. First the priests go in, he said, and convert the people to their religion. Then the soldiers follow and subdue them. This assertion of Christian missionaries serving as a fifth column, preparing foreign lands for conquest from within, confirmed what for the Japanese was a longstanding suspicion and prompted Hideyoshi to act. He initially intended to launch a wholesale pogrom and execute everyone professing the faith, but was eventually persuaded to confine his edict to the newly arrived Franciscans in Kyoto, excluding the Jesuits mainly because they were essential intermediaries in the trade with Macao.

The Jesuits would later claim that the Franciscans brought this trouble on themselves with their strident, impolitic behavior. There seems to be some truth in this. The Jesuits, having been active in
Japan since 1549, were more familiar with the country and its ways. They possessed excellent linguistic skills, which allowed them clearer communication and understanding and, thanks to their focus on the upper classes (they reasoned that if they converted the elite the poor would naturally follow), ties with powerful daimyo that they were able to use to their advantage. The Franciscans, on the other hand, were newcomers to Japan. They did not know much about the language and society and, ministering mainly to the lower classes, had few influential Japanese friends. They were not willing to take the advice of the more seasoned Jesuits, however, particularly the suggestion that they be cautious in their work. They insisted on going about in their distinctive Franciscan cassocks and proselytizing in open defiance of Hideyoshi’s 1587 anti-Christian edict, and they scoffed at the Jesuits for their circumspection and for disguising themselves in Buddhist robes. It was through this reckless behavior, the Jesuits claimed, that the Franciscans sealed their fate.

The Franciscans for their part would attribute the coming tragedy to a Jesuitical plot to drive them out of
Japan. There may be some truth in this as well, for a fierce rivalry existed between the Jesuits and Franciscans, a rivalry that was national as well as sectarian, the Jesuits hailing mainly from Portugal and the Franciscans from Spain. Portugal at this time was a part of the Spanish Empire, but resented its subsidiary role and continued to regard Spain as an overseas trading rival. The Jesuits especially were tied up in this mercantile tug-of-war, serving as intermediaries in the Black Ship trade between Nagasaki and Portuguese Macao, and were not eager to see trade links develop between Japan and Spanish Manila. This, coupled with disagreements over missionary practice and proprietary rights, ensured that relations between the two sects were less than cordial, and may have led the Jesuits to make anti-Franciscan statements to important Japanese friends. The Japanese, meanwhile, were only too glad to fuel the rivalry between the two orders and in turn between Portugal and Spain, for from greater foreign rivalry came better opportunities for trade.
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The road to execution for the twenty-six condemned Christians—six Franciscan priests, seventeen local converts, and three Japanese Jesuit lay brothers included by mistake—began with the slitting of their noses and ears, and a ride on oxcarts through the streets of Kyoto, Osaka, and Sakai to expose them to public ridicule. They were then transported southwest to the
port of Nagasaki on the island of Kyushu, the main entrepôt for Japanese commerce with the outside world. Here, on February 5, 1597, they were affixed to crosses with iron staples at their throats, wrists, and ankles, and slowly tormented to death. Their bodies were left hanging there for many weeks, until only the bones remained. These were spirited away by local Christians and preserved as holy relics.

News of the crucifixions reached
Manila in May, brought by the Spanish passengers and crew of the
San Felipe
, who after being released by Hideyoshi had found their way home aboard trade ships out of Nagasaki with little more than the shirts on their backs. One of the few things they were allowed to take away was a letter of farewell from one of the martyred Franciscan fathers, Martin de Aguirre, addressed to Antonio de Morga, lieutenant governor of Manila. The letter ended with a warning about Hideyoshi:

This king’s greed has been much whetted by what he stole from the “San Felipe.” It is said that next year he will go to Luzon, and that he does not go this year because of being busy with the Coreans. In order to gain his end, he intends to take the islands of Lequois [the Ryukyus] and Hermosa [Formosa, i.e., Taiwan], throw forces from them into Cagayan [on northern Luzon], and thence to fall upon Manila, if God does not first put a stop to his advance.
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Spain’s new governor of the Philippines, Francisco Tello, responded by sending another ambassador to Japan, this time with a letter expressing his anger at what had happened and requesting that Hideyoshi return the cargo he had seized from the
San Felipe
. He did not neglect to include gifts, however, “for the Japanese are wont to give or receive embassies in no other manner.” In addition to cloth, swords, and gold and silver ornaments, an elephant recently received as a present from the king of Thailand was sent along, all done up in silk and accompanied by native keepers clad in matching garb. (It would have annoyed the Thais to have known that their gift had been recycled in this manner, for they were aligned with China and had sent token forces to Korea to fight against Hideyoshi’s troops.) Hideyoshi received this mission in an outwardly friendly manner and was clearly delighted with the elephant, the first ever seen in Japan. But he declined to concede anything to the ambassador in turn. The Franciscans, he said, had brought about their own deaths by failing to heed his edict banning Christian activity. If “either religious or secular Japanese proceeded to your kingdoms,” the taiko explained in his reply to the Spanish governor, “and preached the law of Shinto therein, disquieting and disturbing the public peace and tranquility thereby, would you, as lord of the soil, be pleased thereat? Certainly not; and therefore by this you can judge what I have done.”
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As for the cargo of the
San Felipe
, Hideyoshi would gladly return it if he could. But this was impossible as everything had been dispersed.

The Spanish were not pleased. According to Antonio de Morga:

Taicosama [Hideyoshi] rejoiced over his answer to the ambassador, for he had practically done nothing of what was asked of him. His reply was more a display of dissembling and compliments than a desire for friendship with the Spaniards. He boasted and published arrogantly, and his favorites said in the same manner, that the Spaniards had sent him that present and embassy through fear, and as an acknowledgment of tribute and seigniory, so that he might not destroy them as he had threatened them at other times in the past, when Gomez Perez Dasmarinas was governor. And even then the Spaniards had sent him a message and a present by Fray Juan Cobo, the Dominican.
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While this mission was under way, the Spanish in Manila were taking every precaution to prepare for a rumored Japanese invasion, fears of which had been rekindled with the receipt of Father Aguirre’s warning in May of 1597. The threat quickly began to assume greater dimensions with the subsequent arrival of rumors that Harada Magoshichiro, the Japanese adventurer who had brought Hideyoshi’s first demand for submission to Manila in 1592, had been given permission by the taiko to mount a Philippine invasion. This alarming intelligence prompted the Spanish to deport the many Japanese then residing in Manila and to allow Japanese merchant ships to remain in port only for as long as it took to transact their business. Then, since it was believed that the Japanese would proceed to Manila by way of Taiwan, the governor sent two ships north to reconnoiter that island and to warn the authorities in the southern Chinese province of Guangdong of what the Japanese were up to.

Nothing ever came of this planned Japanese move against
Manila. According to Antonio de Morga, Harada did not possess the means to get the enterprise off the ground on his own and was unable to enlist the help of more powerful men. After several months of fruitless effort, he was obliged to give up the idea upon Hideyoshi’s death. Japan’s conquest of the Philippines would thus have to wait for another 350 years.

*
              *              *

In
Japan, meanwhile, Hideyoshi’s daimyo commanders were preparing for a second invasion of Korea. The operation would lack the grand scope of the first invasion, the objective of which had been nothing less than the conquest of China and in turn all of Asia. This second invasion would be a simple land grab. To soothe the taiko’s wounded pride and to have something to show for the costly first campaign, his commanders would seize the southern half of Korea.

One of the most important lessons the Japanese learned from the first invasion, and which they now strove to apply to the second, was that the Korean navy posed a serious threat. This small but effective force had been instrumental in breaking the back of the campaign of 1592–93 by blocking the Japanese from transporting reinforcements and supplies north via the
Yellow Sea. For a second invasion to have any chance of success, the Korean fleet would therefore first have to be destroyed and Japanese naval supremacy established along the south coast. In the months leading up to the second invasion Hideyoshi’s daimyo commanders worked to achieve this end on two fronts. First, they placed greater emphasis on their own navy, assembling a stronger fleet than they had had in 1592. And second, they set out to weaken the Korean navy before the first battle was ever fought—by neutralizing its supreme commander, Yi Sun-sin.

By the summer of 1596 Korea’s supreme naval commander Yi Sun-sin had lost a good deal of support of the government in Seoul. The work of bringing him down had been begun by his rival, Kyongsang Right Navy Commander Won Kyun, at the very start of the war, with a stream of accusations that Yi avoided battle, disobeyed orders, and consistently hogged all the glory for himself. The feud between these two men reached such a clamorous state that in 1594 Yi requested a transfer. It was ultimately Won, however, who was shifted elsewhere, first to the post of Chungchong Army commander, and later to the command of the Cholla Army. Here he continued to pour invective against Yi into any willing ear, repeating the same charges in the hope that sooner or later they would stick enough to bring his nemesis down.
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While Won Kyun continued to chip away at Yi Sun-sin’s reputa
tion, a new threat to the commander came to be posed by his own inability to strike a blow against the Japanese. Yi’s stunning victories early in the war had led the Korean government to expect a great deal from him. But these same victories had also made the Japanese navy cautious. In 1593 it began avoiding engagements with the Korean fleet, keeping its sailors holed up in shore fortifications and its ships hidden in inaccessible inlets. With the enemy no longer willing to fight there was little Commander Yi could do. The government in Seoul, however, did not appreciate this. They continued to press Yi into battle against an enemy that was no longer there. And when he failed to produce results, they began to question his suitability for command. Had the hero of 1592 lost his nerve? Was he resting on his laurels after being promoted too high? Was Won Kyun perhaps correct in claiming that Yi had never been so very great, but was merely a self-aggrandizing schemer who had built a reputation for himself by stealing the victories of others?

In a series of court discussions beginning in July of 1596, leading members of the Western faction suggested to King Sonjo that it might be in the best interests of the nation to dismiss Yi Sun-sin and give his command to Won Kyun. On the twenty-first of that month, Left Minister and Western faction leader Kim Ung-nam called Yi Sun-sin a “retiring sort,” and observed to the king that “if we want to protect
Korea from the Japanese, it would be best to send Won Kyun south to lead our navy.” Won, Kim asserted, was the only man up to the task.
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At this point Sonjo was unwilling to consider replacing Yi Sun-sin with Won Kyun, the abilities of whom he had reason to doubt. By early December, however, he was starting to waver. Peace negotiations between
China and Japan had by this time come to a crashing halt, and the fear of a second Japanese invasion had the Korean government in a state of apprehension. Following a glowing account by Third Minister of War Cho In-duk of Won Kyun’s prewar career as an army officer serving along the northern frontier, Sonjo agreed that he did indeed seem brave.
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The court discussion on December 25 went even more in Won’s favor, with renewed suggestions that he at least be returned to naval command, perhaps back to his old post in charge of the Kyong
sang navy. Prime Minister Yu Song-nyong, a leader of the Eastern faction and mentor of Yi Sun-sin, judiciously conceded that Won was one of those rare commanders skilled in warfare both on land and at sea. “He has consistently made mistakes, however, and so should not be reassigned to the navy.”

King Sonjo did not agree. It was his opinion that Won’s rebellious behavior while serving under Yi Sun-sin as Kyongsang Right Navy commander was due primarily to his resentment at Yi’s getting more praise from the government than he himself received, even though he fought bravely. “I have heard that in one battle,” the king added, “Yi held back and Won did most of the fighting.”

“Yes,” agreed Minister Yi Dong-yol. “Prior to one of their campaigns Won Kyun had to call Yi to battle fourteen or fifteen times before Yi would consent to join him. They subsequently destroyed about sixty enemy ships between them, but in his report Yi claimed all the credit for himself.”

Then Minister of the Right Yi Won-ik spoke up. “Even if Yi Sun-sin didn’t sink every enemy vessel by himself,” he observed, “he clearly has done more than Won Kyun to kill Japanese.” The discussion ended inconclusively with Yi Sun-sin remaining in office, but his ability to gain victory now in serious doubt.
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Yi Won-ik, incidentally, would remain the only prominent member of the Western faction to support Yi Sun-in over Won Kyun in this and subsequent debates.
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This uncharacteristic crossing of factional lines probably stemmed from the fact that he had personally inspected the southern navy and met with both Won Kyun and Yi Sun-sin the year before. During this tour he found Won to be “a rough character,” capable only of swearing incoherently when questioned about Yi Sun-sin. Yi Sun-sin, on the other hand, came across as reasoned, well-spoken, and intelligent. “I was not only impressed with the defensive plans established by Admiral Yi,” Won-ik would later write, “but was astonished at his deep thought.”
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Yi Won-ik thus returned to Seoul with a high opinion of Yi Sun-sin and little regard for Won Kyun, and to his credit stuck by his assessment throughout the coming months.

While the tide of government opinion was now turning against Yi Sun-sin, his ultimate demotion and imprisonment were still by no means certain. It would take the intervention of the Japanese to topple him completely. In the beginning of 1597, as the vanguard of Hideyoshi’s army was preparing to return to Korea, a spy named Yojiro appeared at the camp of Kyongsang Right Army Commander Kim Ung-so. His arrival did not strike Kim and his officers as particularly suspicious, for Yojiro was well known to them as something of a double agent: a native of Tsushima, fluent in both Japanese and Korean, who secretly favored Korea and professed a desire to settle permanently in the kingdom. Kim and his officers thus listened carefully to what he had to say. Yojiro explained that he had come bearing a secret message from Konishi Yukinaga. Konishi, he said, blamed the meddling of his rival Kato Kiyomasa for the failure of peace negotiations with China and was eager to get rid of him once and for all. Kato was now preparing to return to Korea at the head of a fresh invasion army. He would be passing by a certain island off the coast on his way to Pusan. Yojiro gave the location and the exact time. “If the Korean government will order its navy to ambush Kato at sea on his way to Korea,” he concluded, “your country will be able to capture and kill this great general. And you will be doing Konishi a great favor at the same time.”
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The spy Yojiro did his job well. Kim Ung-so came away from the meeting believing his tale and relayed it immediately to his superior, Commander in Chief Kwon Yul. Kwon too found Yojiro’s story plausible. The rivalry between Konishi and Kato was well-known to the Koreans and the desire of the one to betray the other easy to believe. The commander thus endorsed Kim’s report and forwarded it to
Seoul. After a brief debate the government concluded that the secret communication from Konishi seemed legitimate, and that the opportunity it presented them to eliminate an important enemy commander should be acted on without delay. Orders were accordingly drawn up and sent south to Yi Sun-sin: gather your fleet and ambush Kato Kiyomasa while he is still at sea.

Commander Yi was immediately suspicious of Yojiro’s tale. It sounded to him like a trap, and so he delayed putting to sea. Kyongsang Army Commander Kim Ung-so, convinced that the intelli
gence was correct, was angered by this and informed Seoul of Yi’s unwillingness to act. Kwon Yul was also annoyed by the naval commander’s foot dragging, and on March 8 went in person to Hansan Island to order Yi into action. Yi replied that leading the entire Korean fleet through rock-infested waters to a rendezvous at a time and place of the enemy’s choosing was not just risky, but foolhardy. Even if Yojiro’s intelligence was correct, the risk was not worth the reward. Kwon did not agree. Commander Yi was to do as he was told, he said, and put to sea at once.
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Yi Sun-sin set out with his fleet soon after that, heading east toward
Kadok Island. He had not gone far when the spy Yojiro appeared once again at the camp of Kyongsang Army Commander Kim Ung-so, this time with the news that Kato Kiyomasa had already arrived safely in Korea and that the opportunity to ambush him at sea was consequently lost. This piece of news was true. Kato had landed near Pusan on March 1, one week before Kwon Yul ordered Yi Sun-sin into action. The wily Yojiro, however, knew how to play Commander Kim and in turn the government in Seoul. It was a shame, he said, that Yi Sun-sin had allowed such a great opportunity to slip away. If only he had acted, Kato now would be dead.
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The judicious prodding worked. The Korean government did not stop to consider that perhaps Yi had been correct in thinking that the entire episode was a Japanese trick designed to ambush the Korean navy, which it likely was. The perception that an opportunity had been missed to eliminate one of the most hated of the Japanese commanders for the moment seems to have clouded the judgment of everyone concerned. “How could I now expect Yi Sun-sin to bring us Kato’s head?” bemoaned a now thoroughly disenchanted King Sonjo upon hearing the news. “It would have been better if he had led his ships into action and lost them all, than to sit on
Hansan Island doing nothing.”
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These were words Sonjo certainly would come to regret.

The final court discussion regarding what to do with Yi Sun-sin took place on March 14, 1597. Second Minister Without Portfolio Yun Tu-su opened the session by reiterating the accusations against Yi. “He has been just sitting on Hansan Island these past months,” Yun said. “And now he has let Kato Kiyomasa slip past. Something has to be done about this.”

“Sun-sin has indeed committed a serious sin,” ruminated Third Minister Without Portfolio Chong Tak.

“Lately the Border Defense Council has said that many of our commanders habitually ignore orders,” said King Sonjo, “because the government hasn’t held them firmly enough in check. This has been a perennial problem in China, generals not doing as they are told, and now it has come to our kingdom. Even if Yi Sun-sin were now to go out and kill Kato Kiyomasa, he cannot be forgiven. Something has to be done.”

Prime Minister Yu Song-nyong, who had recommended Yi for high command on the eve of the war, now attempted to explain himself: “I have known Yi since we were children. He always wanted to become a general, and I assumed he would make a good one.”

“Is he well educated?” asked the king.

“Yes. And he is strong and decisive. That is why I recommended him to the post of naval commander. But he was promoted to too high a rank following his successes in 1592. I can only assume this made him complacent.”

Sonjo was not interested in excuses. “Yi Sun-sin cannot be forgiven,” he repeated. “How can we condone a commander who, by not obeying orders, sets himself higher than the government?”

Left Minister Kim Ung-nam then suggested that Won Kyun be returned to naval command, perhaps to his former post as head of the Kyongsang Navy. “There is no one better for the job.”

Not everyone favored the idea at first. The king pointed out that Won, while brave, was at times too impetuous. “If we reappoint him to the command of the Kyongsang Navy, who will control him and prevent him from charging at the Japanese without thinking?” Any reservations about Won’s suitability for naval command, however, were soon pushed aside in the general rush to see Yi Sun-sin brought down. Even Yi’s own mentor Yu Song-nyong said nothing in his defense. He either believed the charges against his protégé, or more likely considered it expedient to avoid a political battle he could not win.

Then Chong Tak spoke up. While Yi Sun-sin certainly deserved to be replaced, he said, it would be unwise to do so at such a critical juncture, with a second Japanese offensive about to begin. It would be better to leave him where he was and to deal with his disobedience later. The wisdom of this was generally agreed. In the end it was decided to appoint Won Kyun to the command of the Kyongsang Navy and to leave Yi Sun-sin for the time being in charge of the fleets of Chungchong and
Cholla Provinces.
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It is interesting to note that King Sonjo and his ministers, while clearly angry over what they regarded as Yi Sun-sin’s failure to obey orders, decided for the sake of stability only to take away a portion of his command. There was no talk at this time of throwing him into prison. The pressure for sterner punishment would come from further down the hierarchy of power. It was here, among ambitious young officials with much to prove and far to climb, that factional fighting typically was most energetically pursued. This was particularly true of the Censorate, the collection of three highly influen
tial government organs tasked with scrutinizing the conduct of the government and military. Many a fledging official had got his start here, using the power of remonstrance to bring down factional opponents and advance his own career.

It was now a protest from one of these organs, the Office of the Inspector-General, that sealed the fate of Yi Sun-sin. On March 21, six days after the court resolved merely to reduce Yi’s command, the OIG sent a letter to King Sonjo questioning the decision. Yi Sun-sin, the letter asserted, had failed to do his duty and had disobeyed a direct order, and thus should not be left in command of anything at all. He should be removed from office and thrown into prison.
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The OIG’s protest had its intended effect. Two days later King Sonjo dispatched an official south to
Hansan Island to arrest Yi and bring him to Seoul, and at the same time install Won Kyun as commander of Korea’s naval forces in the south. The official reached Yi’s base on April 12. The transfer of command was made that same day, the supplies, weapons, and gunpowder that Yi had so painstakingly stockpiled over the years being handed over to the man he most despised. Yi was then bound with rope, placed in a cage on the back of a cart, and sent north to the capital to be imprisoned and interrogated regarding the charges brought against him: that he had refused to obey orders; that he had betrayed his country by allowing an enemy to escape; and, in a nod to Won Kyun, that he had claimed credit for victories and services that should rightly have gone to others. These were serious accusations punishable by death.
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