The Invincible Admiral, Yi Sun-sin (Part 2)

It's December 15th, 1598.

Off the southern coast of Korea, a fierce battle raged on the high seas.

The Japanese army, the same men that had so recently terrorized the people of Korea for

years on end, were attempting to flee back home.

For Admiral Yi, now a national hero, this was not justice.

There had to be reprisals for the atrocities they had committed against his king, his country

and most of all, his family.

His navy now blocked the route home for the invaders, forcing them into battle.

Today was a day for vengeance.

The dark sky was thick with clouds as the smell of gunpowder, salt and death drifted

across the decks.

As bullets flew by overhead, the admiral with his characteristic stoicness directed his

men on where to strike next, watching with satisfaction as his frightful cannons blew

the nearby Japanese ships to splinters.

Suddenly Yi clutched his chest and looked down, blood stemmed from his armpit.

He had been shot and instinctively he knew it was fatal.

His end was coming soon.

His nephew and son immediately ran to support his weight.

As the admiral slumped backwards, after a life of duty, his strength had finally given

out.

Hot tears streaked down the faces of the two men as they desperately assured him that the

wound was not fatal and that he would pull through.

But he waved their flowery words away.

As it began to fade, admiral Yi Sun-Sin gripped the wrist of his teary-eyed son and with the

same rationality and unwavering sense of duty he had embodied throughout his life, he issued

his last order.

The battle is at its height.

Wear my armor and beat my war drums.

Do not announce my death.

You're listening to Anthology of Heroes and this is part two, the final part of the

incredible story of Admiral Yi Sun-Sin, the Divine Wind.

If you're just tuning in, welcome.

In part one we covered the backstory of the Japanese invasion of Korea in the 16th century.

We covered the early life of the Japanese commander, Toyotomi Hideyoshi, who had unified

all of the states of Japan for the first time in history.

We walked through the differences in attitudes on war and politics between Korea, China,

and Japan.

We also talked about Yi Sun-Sin's upbringing and how he had languished in the military

equivalent of middle management for his refusal to take part in the widespread nepotism and

corruption.

We concluded the episode with the Japanese invading a very, very underprepared Korea.

Two other Korean naval commanders had burnt, yes, that's right, burnt, their own ships

in panic, leaving Yi, the only naval commander with any real forces left to defend the coast.

Admiral Yi had just won his first few victories against a numerically superior Japanese navy.

Here we go for part two of Admiral Yi Sun-Sin, the Divine Wind.

As Yi's confidence in his troops and ships grew, his attacks became more bold.

A tactic that he began to rely more and more on was a feigned retreat.

Sailing a group of ships into a harbor, he would command the vessels to wait until the

Japanese vessels had spotted them, then sluggishly turned to flee.

This gave the impression to the Japanese that the Koreans had stumbled across a much larger

fleet than they had been prepared for and were now trying to get away before they were

sighted.

They would follow the small group of Korean ships out into the sea, where the rest of

Yi's fleet would be waiting for them.

In one engagement, a Japanese commander, seeing his men's hesitation to board the fearful-looking

turtle ships Yi commanded, yelled to them, quote, These vessels the enemy are using are

only like our Makura-bune, meaning their own ships.

What is there to worry about?

Board them and show them what you are made of, end quote.

His men jumped aboard the spiked tops of the ships but were beaten back.

As the battle raged at sea, the Japanese ships were supported by troops on shore who sniped

at Yi's men with muskets.

The distance from shore to the ships was such that little damage was done, but as Yi peered

at the troops on shore, he noticed that they were not just being fired upon by the Japanese

but also Koreans, who had been presumably pressed into service.

The generally calm and measured admiral burned with rage that there would be those who would

be willing to join the invaders rather than die in service of their country.

In a risky move, Yi directed his fleet close to the shore.

Now in range with the muskets, he blasted the traitorous Koreans and Japanese alike.

As he directed the cannons, a stray bullet caught him square in the shoulder.

Knowing the panic that could follow if his men realized he was injured, he quickly bandaged

the wound and continued to press the attack.

The descriptions of the battle are vivid, glorious, and sound straight out of a Japanese

anime of today.

Listen to this quote from one of Yi's captains and tell me you couldn't imagine this scene

in gory detail in Attack on Titan or Dragon Ball Z, quote.

The enemy commander, aged 24 or 25, of strong physique, wearing magnificent dress, stood

alone holding a long sword with his hand and fought to the last without fear as he directed

his eight remaining subordinate warriors.

I shot an arrow at him with all my might, but it was not until he had been shot through

and through with more than ten arrows that he shouted loudly and fell, after which his

head was cut off, end quote.

Through a string of brilliant victories, it's clear that Admiral Wan Guiyun idolized Yi's

natural leadership, and at least once he requested they together write their next battle report,

which seemed to be his way of trying to mend the animosity that had grown between them.

But Yi was not interested.

He had known men like Wan Guiyun all throughout his career.

He had no time for them.

Yi continued along his own path and was continually critical about Wan's conduct in his own reports

to the government.

Though it might be easy to think of Yi as a kind of glory-hog who was willing to sell

out others to advance himself, this was not the case.

As Yi was promoted over and over again, he was quick to notice and draw attention to

talented men.

Another captain, called Yi Ok Kee, was continually praised by the admiral, as were others.

It was really just Wan Guiyun who he seemed to dislike immensely.

After this last attempt at civility was rebuffed by Yi, the two men drifted towards open hostility,

sending their own scathing battle reports about the other commander.

And as we said, Wan Guiyun had more friends in the capital than Yi did.

Reports began to trickle back to Hideyoshi about one Korean commander who was becoming

a constant problem for the invasion.

The land invasion was still going smoothly, with virtually no sizable resistance of any

kind, but supplying the men was becoming troublesome.

An army of such size required an incredible amount of food and ammunition.

They had, up until this point, survived by stealing food from the countryside and supplementing

this with delivery shipped from Japan.

But by now, the countryside had been stripped bare, and a certain admiral had made moving

supplies to the Korean peninsula risky and sporadic.

The people of the countryside too were now beginning to fight back.

Occupation was one thing, but rape, plunder, murder, and theft of food had driven many

towns into forming their own militia.

Though they had no chance in a pitched battle, these bands of men ambushed isolated convoys,

killed scouts, and spread false information to Japanese officials about phantom armies

or planned ambushes.

Though there were many characters who sprang up to lead these bands, the most distinctive,

at least in my mind, was a man named Kwak Jiayu was recognizable by a striking red coat

and trousers that were, died with the menstrual blood of young girls.

Apparently the general believed that by doing this, he was infusing them with yin energy

which would block the yang energy from Japanese bullets.

Yeah, not my kind of cup of tea, but I've never tried it, so what would I know?

The Korean king also began to draw on another reserve of untapped manpower, Buddhist monks.

For the last 150 years, the Korean government had taken moves to suppress the teachings

of the Buddha due to concerns that its message could upset the Confucian social order that

underpinned their society.

Though the country still had a sizable Buddhist population, they lived on the fringes of society

as kind of outcasts who practiced their way of life quietly and privately.

So while many Buddhists may not have viewed the Korean king as their leader, there was

one man who commanded their utmost respect.

His name was Hyung Jung, but he was better known by the modest title of Great Master

of the Western Mountain.

The title, which sounds something like a final boss of Dark Souls, came from the seclusion

in which he chose to live out his seen years.

At 72 years old, he lived almost entirely alone in a state of meditation on a mountain.

Before his exile, he had spent much of his life trying to repair the rift between Buddhism

and Confucianism and prove to society that Buddhists were just as much a part of the

country as anyone else.

And now he had the opportunity to prove it.

His call rang out to every monk in the land, quote, Hold your banners high and arise, all

you monk soldiers of the eight provinces.

Who among you has not been given birth by this land?

Who among you are not related by blood to the forefathers?

Who among you are not subjects of the king?

With figures like the menstrual blood general and the Buddhist warlord, Korea's floundering

civilian population finally had some competent individuals to rally behind.

As local resistance like this and hunger began to bog down the Japanese army, the slumbering

giant that was Ming China had finally been roused into action.

The Korean king had been requesting aid from China for almost as long as the invasion had

been going on, but due to some troublesome Mongolian raiders on its northern borders,

the celestial kingdom had its hands full.

Korea had to wait, but now with the raids sorted, China began to appreciate the seriousness

of the invasion.

Meanwhile on the south coast, Yi's relentless devastation of the Japanese navy continued.

Though Hideyoshi had worked in the background to upgrade the vessels to stand toe-to-toe

with the Korean ships, it was more than just the boats themselves.

The coordination between the Japanese commanders was cordial at best and resentful at worst.

Its battle formations and intricate maneuvering did not work without a centralized command.

With the help of Korean monks, Yi extended his reach onto the land.

After a victory at sea, the invaders predictably fled back to the Korean mainland, out of Yi's

reach, or so they thought.

Instead of sinking all the enemy vessels they left behind, Yi left a couple of transport

ships on the coast.

Assuming the admiral had forgotten to sink the ships, the Japanese survivors of the attack

nervously emerged from the jungle.

Once they saw the coast was clear, they jumped in the free ships and made a beeline back

to Japan.

But Yi was waiting.

His quick fleet emerged from the mists to finish off the desperate survivors.

There was to be no mercy for the robbers.

After this engagement, Yi was so furious at Wan's conduct, he gave the admiral a dressing

down, calling him out for his quote, disgusting cowardice, end quote.

Later in his diary, he would note that he found it amazing that even when personally

confronting Wan about his conduct, the man showed no sign of disgrace or shame over his

actions.

Wan, too, was very, very vocal about his thoughts on Yi, continually bad-mouthing the admiral

to his captains, his men, in his own battle reports, and to really anyone that would listen.

The southern coast of Korea was not big enough for two of these men.

One of them had to go.

By this point, over in Japan, Hideyoshi had well and truly revised his expectations for

the war.

He knew at this point he was probably not going to be Lord of Korea, China, Thailand,

India, and wherever else he had planned.

The great unifier of Japan seemed to have other things on his mind besides the invasion.

He had a new son who, by all accounts, he loved very deeply.

He had a new castle being designed, and he was getting really into performing and directing

traditional Japanese stage shows.

Yeah, didn't see that one coming, did you?

He was also aging before his time.

He was in his late fifties, but he looked much older.

The shrunken and skinny warlord now received the reports of his commanders with diminishing

interest.

But still, he was not going to pull back without something to show for it.

In his own mind, he had won virtually every battle and occupied most of Korea.

He deserved some serious war booty.

The deal that he had concocted in his mind was the forfeiting of the southern half of

Korea with maybe a Chinese princess thrown in for good measure.

But what followed was the most bungled mess of a peace process I have ever come across.

Honestly, these negotiations read like they're out of a Three Stooges skit.

The brazen duplicity and ludicrous amounts of lying by Japanese and Chinese ambassadors

honestly begs belief.

The problem was neither ambassador wanted to make their ruler mad, so instead they twisted

the words over and over again until the final message was nothing like the original one.

At first, the Japanese diplomat watered down Hideyoshi's demand to one province of Korea,

some cash and a trade deal of China.

That was met with a gritty, in-your-face NO.

China wanted nothing less than full submission from Hideyoshi, who they still saw as a kind

of wayward vassal.

If he submitted to them, then they, the omnipotent celestial kingdom, would recognize him as

the rightful ruler of Japan.

That was the deal, take it or face the full might of China.

The Japanese diplomat knew Hideyoshi would never in a million years go for this, but

to keep the talks alive he forged a letter from Hideyoshi, full of submissive language

and phrases, like stating that Japan was a, quote, a small and humble country and a, quote,

child of China that lived in, quote, fear and awe of the celestial kingdom.

The falsified letter hilariously concluded with, quote, I prostrate myself and beg your

majesty to let that light of the sun and moon shine forth with which he irradiates the world,

to extend that nourishing capacity of heaven and earth which he overspreads and sustains

all things that there are, and to bestow on me the title of an imperially invested vassal

king, end quote.

Meanwhile Hideyoshi was fed lies that China had apologized to him and that they had also

acknowledged that it was Korea's fault for the invasion.

The Chinese ambassador seemed to be outright lying over and over in order to get the Japanese

off the peninsula.

I guess he figured once they were out the treaty could fall apart, but the troops would

have a much harder time returning, but it didn't quite work out this way.

While the Japanese were well and truly on the back foot with only a small foothold on

the southern coast, they well and truly held onto that foothold, even as more Chinese troops

now flooded through to reinforce Korea.

As his men clung on, Toyotomi's already fleeting interest in the war was fading fast.

His interest in Japanese traditional theater now bordered on an obsession.

He had learnt several plays and was studying many more, and now he invited, or forced I

suppose is a better word, many government officials to sit through his long drawn out

performances.

Many dignitaries were even made to take part.

But as the unfortunate citizens of Kyoto were forced to watch performance after performance

of the aging ruler's dance routine, his scrupulous envoys had finally put together

a peace treaty.

It had taken two years and it contained none of Hideyoshi's original demands.

All the Japanese envoys could do now was hope that the Chinese delegation would deliver

the message with enough grace and decorum that maybe, just maybe Hideyoshi, whose mind

was elsewhere, would agree to it.

But it was not going to happen.

The meeting started off tense.

The Chinese envoys did not kneel before Hideyoshi.

The way they saw it, they had no reason to kneel.

But to Hideyoshi, these envoys had come to beg for peace for him.

The victor of the war, he expected them to kneel.

The Japanese translator, thinking on his feet, made up that unfortunately the envoy could

not kneel due to a painful boil on his knee.

Good save.

But what came next could not be fixed by flowery words or sneaky translations.

It was the result of three years of sugar-coating, meddling, summarizing, and outright lying.

Try and picture Hideyoshi's face, a man fully expecting a sizable victory package, as he

was read the following by the Chinese diplomat.

Quote, You, Toyotomi Hideyoshi, have risen in the island country and have learned how

to revere Changkou, meaning China.

You have sent an envoy to the west in order to express your admiration of us and your

devotion to us.

Your reverence and obedience have been sincerely expressed.

End quote.

And after much word-mincing, it concluded with, quote, You, Hideyoshi, are hereby instructed

to comply with our commands to stand ready to fulfill your obligations to our throne

as a loyal subject.

You are also instructed reverently to conform with the imperial desire and maintain your

everlasting existence by following the imperial guidance and by cheerfully obeying our imperial

commands.

End quote.

It's easy to imagine the bald-headed rat becoming more and more furious with every line.

According to a witness, he, quote, flew into such a passion and rage that he was perfectly

out of himself.

He frothed and foamed at the mouth.

He ranted and tore till his head smoked like fire and his body was all over dropping in

sweat.

End quote.

The Chinese were booted out of Japan immediately and given no response to take back to the

emperor.

Truth be told, they probably felt lucky to leave with their heads attached to their bodies.

Hideyoshi's advisors tried to calm him, telling him that it was an honor that China, a kingdom

so ancient and timeless, had recognized his achievements.

But to the great unifier of Japan, this slap in the face stung like no other.

Pushing aside his plans for what must have been his busy theater schedule, he immediately

set about returning to the Korean peninsula.

The war was back on.

By mid-1593, it seemed Won Gyun was on Yi Sun-sin's mind more so than the Japanese.

With the shock of the initial invasion over, the Korean government had more opportunity

to scrutinize and micromanage its subordinates, and Yi's conduct was on the top of the list.

In Yi's own words, he expresses grave concerns about having such a cunning snake of a man

like Won Gyun breathing over his shoulder and questioning his every command.

Over a six-month period, many entries in his diary are devoted entirely to observations

of Won's conduct.

June 19th.

His truesalent and perverse acts making mischief for his friendly forces with such deception

cannot be adequately depicted.

August 17th.

Nothing could be accomplished by words.

Joint operation will surely resort in a measurable disaster.

August 27th.

Won Gyun talked nonsense as he brought false accusations against me.

All that he says is absurd.

September 20th.

Won Gyun became drunk, bellowing out mad words of a vicious nature, astounding.

September 22nd.

Won Gyun came to me and uttered many vicious and deceitful words.

What a dangerous man.

Despite bouts of drunkenness, Won was indeed a dangerous man.

He had not risen to this rank with no discernible talent for command by accident.

He was cunning and calculated.

Over the next few months he would deliberately send reports to Yi, updating him to where

the Japanese fleet was and instructing him to attack.

But with the Japanese troops no longer marching north, many were sitting idly in coastal towns,

waiting to be either evacuated back to Japan or for further orders.

If Yi attacked, he would be able to inflict little damage and risked severe damage to

his own fleet.

Won knew this, but the war ministers, far from the front lines, did not.

From the reports they received, it seemed Yi had deliberately been avoiding battle after

battle for no good reason.

Yi's competency was discussed regularly.

Anyone that had met him sung him praise, likewise did those who served with him.

But where was he lately, argued his opponents?

If he was so talented and dedicated, why was he sitting idle while the Japanese were gathering

strength?

For Yi, he must have felt hopeless.

He did not want to risk throwing his meticulously-built fleet into danger just to silence his critics,

but also knew that if he didn't act soon it would be his downfall.

The stress of this was taking its toll, and it's easy to imagine the aging admiral sitting

at the edge of the dock alone late at night as he penned this poem.

By moonlight I sit all alone in the lookout on Hansan Isle.

My sword is on my thigh, I am submerged in deep despair.

From somewhere, the shrill note of a pipe, will it sever my heartstrings?

And it wasn't just Yi's rivals at courts that wanted to see the admiral gone.

Hideyoshi knew that if he was going to move men back to Korea in any serious numbers,

this wily admiral needed to go.

Likely aware of the controversy surrounding Yi at court, Hideyoshi hatched a plan to discredit

him.

A spy was sent to the Korean court, who slowly gained the trust of the military.

Over time, the spy leaked information about the Japanese plans while slowly biding his

time for his true mission.

On the agreed-upon day, he informed a high-ranking Korean general that a large Japanese fleet

was set to arrive on a specific day.

He hoped the information would be sent to admiral Yi within order to intercept the fleet.

And it was.

The admiral received the information with suspicion.

Already distrustful of the spy's report, his suspicions were confirmed when he consulted

his land charts.

The location the spy had marked for the invasion was a shallow inlet, full of jagged submerged

rocks.

Yi doubted if the information was correct.

But even if it was, if he positioned his fleet there, it would be dashed against the rocks

with ease.

So he ignored the order.

But the report was correct.

And when the word reached the Korean king that Yi's refusal to obey an order had allowed

another army to land, that was the last straw.

Months of supposed inaction, cowardice, and now refusal to obey a direct order, the Korean

king stated firmly that, quote, Yi Sun-Sin cannot be forgiven, end quote.

From here, things moved quickly.

A delegation arrived from the capital.

Admiral Yi Sun-Sin, the man who had almost single-handedly held back the might of Japan,

was arrested, bound, forced into a cage, and sent north for trial, accused of treason and

refusal to follow orders.

In the opinion of the king, there was only one man fit to replace him, Admiral Won Gyun.

In Seoul, Yi Sun-Sin sat alone in a filthy prison cell while a debate raged on as to

whether he should be executed as a traitor.

Some sources say that during this time he was tortured almost to the point of death,

his 60-year-old body being subjected to frequent beatings and whippings.

Even his childhood friend, who had argued in Yi's court many times, stayed silent

in his defense.

As he sat and waited to hear if he was to be killed, he must have wondered, had it been

worth it?

What had integrity that he had stuck so firmly to got him in the end?

Finally, it was agreed that due to his exceptional service record in the past, the admiral would

not be executed.

Instead, the war hero was demoted to the lowest rank in the Korean military and sent away

in disgrace to some remote outpost in the south of the country.

On his way there, his elderly mother passed away.

Yi wrote about her passing, quote, How could the sun in heaven be so dark?

I could not but cry aloud.

All I could conceive was that I had better die soon, end quote.

For all he had accomplished, Yi's life had almost come full circle yet again.

The death of a parent followed by a severe demotion, his life had truly reached its lowest

point.

Back on the coast, Won Gyun was finally where he thought he always deserved to be, the supreme

leader of the Korean navy.

He had at his disposal a throng of competent captains Yi had carefully trained and mentored,

a sizable navy made up of sturdy ships that outranked the Japanese, and an impressive

reserve of food, water, and ammunition.

Yet Won was soon to find out that this position was nothing like he had ever worked in before.

Every decision was on him.

He was responsible for morale, command, ship upkeep, and tax collection.

There was no one in charge delegating him easy jobs like cutting off heads.

There was no one whose leadership he could snipe at in his battle reports.

The buck now stopped with him.

He wanted a position of power and now he had it.

But if anyone was under the impression that he would step up to fill Yi's boots, they

would be sorely mistaken.

As the enormous second Japanese fleet assembled on the other side of the Korean Strait, Won

spent his days drinking hard.

When he occasionally emerged from his quarters with his concubine, it was to abuse his staff,

particularly those who had been close to Admiral Yi.

Morale quickly plummeted and discipline went out the window.

No one respected Won and few trusted his command.

Yi, who received reports of these goings on, sank further into depression, knowing full

well that his once near invincible navy was in no state to defend the shores of his beloved

nation.

On a rainy day of August in 1597, Won Gyun led the Korean navy into his first engagement

as a commander.

Like Yi, he had been pressured by superiors in the government for a decisive naval victory.

But unlike Yi, he did not have the backbone to tell them no.

On patrol just off the coast of Busan, the Korean navy encountered the Japanese fleet.

Japanese spies had warned their countrymen of the approaching fleet, so the Koreans found

them waiting in battle position.

Won's men were tired, hungry, and had almost no confidence in their commander.

But Won, desperate to please his superiors, ordered a general attack.

If Yi Ok-ki and other captains raised any objections, they were brushed aside.

The attack was poorly orchestrated from the get-go.

The Japanese, with their new cannons and reinforced ships, attacked confidently before quickly

retreating, forcing Won's ships to follow.

Gradually the already shaky attack began to lose what coordination it had started with.

After several of these feigned retreats, the Japanese commander ordered a general assault.

The entire arsenal of Japan unleashed hellfire onto Won's exhausted men.

Thirty Korean ships were lost in the first wave.

The scattered remains of the Korean navy moored on the closest strip of land they could find.

But with the men of Japan eager for revenge, they followed the stragglers and many more

Korean sailors and ships, burnt and killed under the pitch-black night sky.

For the next few days, the remainder of the Korean navy sat idle in an incredibly perilous

spot and waited for Won's command of what to do next.

Hearing of the disaster, Won's superior officer came in person to tell Won exactly what he

thought of him.

Though furious was the commander at Won's performance, he slapped him across the face.

Once he left, Won retreated to his quarters with a bottle of booze and refused to see

anyone.

Though the battle was a bad defeat, with a true leader at the helm of the navy, perhaps

they would have averted the disaster that was about to befall them.

As Won's sub-commanders desperately tried to discern any orders from the drunken admiral,

the Japanese closed in for the kill.

Like sharks that smelled blood, a combined Japanese fleet returned under the cover of

darkness.

The damaged ships, crewed by wounded and terrified men, gave little resistance.

The once enviable navy of Korea was completely destroyed, its crew fled in all directions.

According to Won's source, Won Kyuun hardly saw the enemy before he ran away to land first,

followed by other commanders and chief officers deserting their ships and crews.

Kiyok Ki, Yissen Sin's favorite commander and trusted friend, was said to have fought

to the end before drowning himself rather than be taken by the Japanese.

In one night, almost every single vessel of the Korean navy was destroyed.

A few managed to make landfall where its crews fled into the hills.

One of those, you guessed it, was Won Kyuun's flagship.

As his crew ran for their lives from their pursuers, Won Kyuun was too old and no one

was willing to carry him.

The old Korea politician stopped to rest behind a tree but was caught by a Japanese soldier

where he was killed on the spot as a common soldier.

An undignified end to an undignified life.

As the morning sun rose on the southern coast of Korea, just 12 ships remained of the 200

strong armada that Admiral Yi had once led so proudly.

But first, a quick message from one of our friends of

the Japanese.

The news of the military disaster reached the capital quickly, and it arrived at a particularly

bad time.

By now the Koreans were aware of the Japanese plan to ferry supplies through the Yellow

Sea.

This change of strategy would mean Hideyoshi's men, his guns, and his food could be moved

to the very north of the Korean peninsula, almost directly at the gates of Seoul or Pyongyang

or even China itself.

Lugging equipment across the hostile southern portion of Korea had meant supplies were lost

late or never arrived at all, leaving the Japanese navy unable to advance further.

The only thing that had blocked the Yellow Sea was the Korean navy, the very same navy

that Won Gyun had just lost.

Immediately court factionalism was put aside.

Every man in government knew that there was a single person who could maybe, just maybe

pull the nation back from the brink of total collapse.

Dispatches were sent, and from his post as a lowly foot soldier, Yi Sun-sin was whisked

back to the coast to try and fix the disaster Won Gyun had left behind.

One of the most admirable qualities of Yi was undoubtedly his sense of duty to his country.

Despite the horrendous way he'd been treated by the king and the government, he took to

his duties without any ill feelings.

And now, as he returned to the coast, where he had built up a world-class navy from nothing,

and seeing it as nothing but a smoldering heap, he never threw his hands up and declared

it to be someone else's problem.

The admiral knew there was precious little time.

Eventually he toured the provinces to assess the damage.

It was bad, really bad.

The roads were clogged with refugees fleeing north from the Japanese invasion.

Many citizens, though terrified and homeless, rejoiced at seeing the man, a man they knew

they could put so much trust in.

With Yi back on the scene, many disillusioned officers who had been MIA since the disaster

drifted back into service, placing their trust in the admiral once again.

The local government was also in tatters.

Granaries, storehouses, and government offices had been deliberately burnt down.

One army garrison had even knocked down its own walls rather than potentially anger the

Japanese once they arrived.

Yi made snap decisions to promote, fire, punish, or execute officials he came across.

He imposed a toll on fishing ships who came into shore, which could be paid for as a percentage

of the day's catch.

And finally, he looked upon what remained of the Korean navy.

The twelve or so ships that were left behind were hastily repaired with heavy wood, while

their cannons, the only real trump card they had on the Japanese, were repaired and restocked.

They were slow and they were ugly, but they were strong.

It seems that only now the true scale of Won Gyun's defeat reached the royal court.

The king, lamenting at how few vessels were left, sent a letter requesting that all men

were to abandon the navy and join the army forces instead.

General Yi once again managed to save the situation, insisting to the king, quote,

The total decommissioning of our navy would not only please the enemy, but would open

up for him the sea route along the coast of the Chungchung province, enabling him to sail

up the Han River itself, which is my heart's greatest fear.

Even though our navy is small, I promise you that as long as I live, the enemy cannot despise

us.

Though the king agreed to let Yi keep the sailors, he harbored no hope for a chance

of victory.

The port of Busan was the eye of the storm, and the Korean sailors knew it.

Yi, in one of his epic pre-battle speeches, told his man, quote,

We are under the orders of the king.

Since the situation has reached this extremity, we must resolve to die together.

Why should we hesitate to repay the royal bounty with our glorious deaths?

There is only one choice for us now to make, victory or death, end quote.

Yi's network of informants kept him up to date with the movements of the Japanese as

they inched closer and closer towards the Yellow Sea, clearing out what remained of

the Korean defenses as they went.

Yi knew the day of judgment would come.

The stage was set for one of the most incredible naval battles in all of history.

Meticulously poring over his charts of the surrounding area, the admiral's wise and eyes

came across what he'd been looking for.

It was a tiny strip of water between one of the rocky Korean islands and the mainland.

Only 250 meters across at its narrowest, Yi knew if there was a place where maybe, just

maybe, he could save the nation, it would be here.

Apart from the narrowness of the strait, water also flowed through it incredibly quickly,

around ten knots.

In the same way Spartan King Leonidas had negated the army of Xerxes at the Thermopylae

Pass, Yi knew that the Japanese fleet would be too large to enter the strait in battle

formation.

Only a few of their ships would be able to engage his fleet at one time.

Yi gathered his meagre navy, but also commandeered all the fishing vessels he could get his hands

on, hoping that from afar the Japanese would believe his force to be more numerous than

it was.

After a final pep talk with his captains the night before, he knew the navy was as ready

as it was ever going to be.

On the 26th of October, the fleet of Toyotomi Hideyoshi closed in for the kill.

Yi gives the size of the enemy fleet as 200 ships, others give more.

Whatever way you chop it though, the Korean navy was outnumbered at least ten to one.

Yi turned to his shaky crew members and told them, quote,

With no fear, even if the enemy has one thousand warships, they will dare not come near us.

Pulling anchor, the old admiral headed into the enormous fleet, alone.

The captains of his other twelve ships stood paralyzed with fear as the enormity of the

enemy armada came into view.

Yi's flagship was said to look like a castle standing in the middle of the sea, ferociously

slashing and firing at any Japanese ships that dared come near him.

Emboldened by the courage of their commander, the other twelve ships tentatively joined

the fray.

As the battle drew on, the fruits of Yi's meticulous planning were revealed.

As he predicted, the tides of the ocean in the tiny strait began to turn.

The admiral's heavy, ugly ships crashed through the Japanese vessels with the force

of the ocean now behind them.

The tightly packed Japanese ships slammed into the ships behind them, destroying or

immobilizing many.

As the tiny strait echoed with the cries of the dying, the splintering of wood and the

boom of cannon fire, a Japanese defector on Yi's ship noticed a corpse floating nearby,

wearing the uniform of a high-ranking official.

This turned out to be the supreme commander of the Japanese fleet.

With the commander dead and with so many ships damaged, soon the order came to retreat.

There are stories that Yi also had a metal chain raised behind the Japanese ships to

add to the carnage, but the admiral's diary makes no mention of this, so safe to say this

was invented after.

Limping back to their coastal base, the broken Japanese navy had been firmly repulsed from

establishing a supply line through the Yellow Sea.

They would not return till 1904.

Admiral Yi had done it.

With thirteen ships, he had defeated a navy at least ten times its size and had not lost

a single ship while doing so.

In his diary, he attributed to the win as, quote, by the grace of heaven, end quote,

but I think he was being modest.

Though undoubtedly luck played a role in the victory, as it does with any battle, it was

Yi's meticulous planning of the location, the method in which he fortified his ships,

and the courage that he imbued in his men.

This is what won the Battle of Myeong-yang, not the grace of heaven.

It's why to this day naval academies still study the admiral's tactics.

Lord of Yi's unbelievable last stand spread through Korea, reinvigorating a broken nation.

The war was far from won, but with serious numbers of Chinese troops now heading south,

the Battle of Myeong-yang Strait was a turning point.

Though the Japanese still fought tenaciously against the combined Chinese-Korean forces,

the writing was now on the wall.

At this point, it seems doubtful that Hideyoshi believed that he would walk away from the

war with any substantial gains.

In fact, it was now beginning to seem dubious if he would walk away at all.

The supreme leader was worn out, though only sixty years old, the bald-headed rat looked

much older.

In his correspondence with a daimyo, there was little talk of the war.

Thoughts of his son consumed it with every waking moment, and he was doing everything

he could to ensure that the boy had the loyalty of his daimyos after his own death.

Hideyoshi himself had usurped his position, and was keenly aware that his pending death

would leave a toddler at the head of the government.

One of his last acts was to secure promises and oaths from his many daimyo that they would

honor his son's right to rule.

Then, at sixty-two years old, Toyotomi Hideyoshi died.

His metamorphosis from ruthless warlord to artistic socialite was solidified with his

last words to his most trusted daimyos, quote, I depend on you for everything.

I have no other thoughts to leave behind.

It is sad to part from you, end quote.

One of the first actions his council decided after his death was that they needed to get

the hell out of Korea as fast as possible with as much dignity as they could carry on

their way out.

There were no supplies coming from Japan, so there was no way for the trapped army to

advance anywhere from the coast.

But one province they did manage to make it to was Asan.

If you'll remember, this was where Yi Sun-sin's family lived.

His ancestral home was put to the torch, along with it his youngest son, Mion.

When the news reached the admiral, he broke down.

He had done everything in his power to defend his nation, but all of this, still, had not

managed to keep his family safe.

Yi again fell into depression.

He wrote in his journal about his son's death, quote, I should die and you should

live.

That is a natural order.

Now you are dead and I am alive.

My son, where have you gone, leaving me behind?

I wish to follow you to the grave, to stay and weep together, but if I do, your brothers

and sisters and your mother will have no one to support them.

Thus I endure.

With live body, but a dead soul, end quote.

Although he would return to duty, the admiral's vengeance could not be sated.

After another victory, an unfortunate Japanese soldier was hauled from the floating wreckage

and onto Yi's ship.

Dragged below deck, Yi had the man interrogated about the death of his son.

Eventually under torture, the sailor made a forced confession that, yes, it was him

that had killed Mion.

There was almost no way this was true.

Instead the man likely just wished the torture to stop.

As punishment for killing his son, Yi had the man's flesh peeled from

his body, before putting him out of his misery.

This monstrous act of cruelty was out of character for Yi, and shows the pain and guilt he felt

about for not being able to save his son.

Casualties mounted for the Japanese who, alongside losing men to Yi, were now losing hundreds

to hunger, thirst, and the freezing winter.

As the Japanese ships pulled out to sea to head back to the land of the rising sun, the

war was coming to an end.

Though the Chinese envoys had negotiated a peaceful retreat from the Korean peninsula,

it made no mention of the journey between Korea and Japan.

A combined fleet of Admiral Yi Sun-Sin and the Chinese navy under a man named Chen Lin

was determined to block the joining of the two Japanese fleets before they headed home.

Chen Lin tried to talk Yi out of the attack, but Yi would have none of it.

Speeding out of port came the combined fleet of Korea and China.

Though buoyed by the Chinese reinforcements and other vessels whose captains had returned

to duty after Yi's incredible victory, the Japanese fleet at least doubled and possibly

tripled the Korean-Chinese.

Hoping to repeat Yi's strategy from his last major victory, the allied navy lay in

wait in a tight small strait west of Pusan.

At 2 AM, the battle was on.

Because the Japanese had to pass through the strait to reach Pusan, the ships were packed

in tight and some of the fiercest hand-to-hand fighting at sea over the course of the war

took place.

The powerful Korean cannons withered the Japanese ships that they had done before, but the Chinese

fought in a different style, preferring to board enemy ships and fight hand-to-hand much

like the Japanese.

Because of this, twice Yi had to get closer than he would prefer to the Japanese in order

to save the Chinese admiral's flagship that was at risk of being overrun.

As the dawn light began to illuminate the bloody scene, it was a clear victory for the

allies.

But it wasn't enough.

In the distance, Yi noticed that many Japanese ships had slipped past in the darkness while

the Korean navy was occupied.

Immediately he pulled anchor and ordered pursuit.

As the Japanese fired back at the Koreans, Yi stood at the mast of his flagship urging

his men forward, insisting that none should be left to escape.

The thump, thump, thump of his war drum kept a steady pace as they closed the distance.

And then, out of nowhere, the old admiral clutched his chest.

He had been shot.

As he looked down and saw blood streaming from his armpit, he knew it was over.

After a life of duty, his strength had finally given out.

His nephew and son immediately ran to support his weight.

With the same sense of rationality and stoicism that he had lived his whole life, admiral

Yi Sun-sin gripped the wrist of his teary-eyed son and issued his final order.

The battle is at its height.

Wear my armor and beat my war drums.

Do not announce my death.

The order was obeyed.

Yi was carried into his quarters quickly where he died not long after.

As the last stragglers of the Japanese fleet were destroyed, Chinese admiral Chen Lin boarded

Yi's flagship wishing to thank him personally for coming to his aid.

When he was told about this death, the stern elderly admiral was said to have slumped to

the ground beating his chest and crying out in grief.

About a week later, the last Japanese ships would sail out of Korea, bringing what the

west calls the Imjin War to a close.

The great admiral's body slowly made its way north through the war-ravaged countryside

where, along the way, people from all walks of life gathered in respect as a final farewell

to the man that had given everything for the defense of their nation.

The legacy of this six-year conflict had far-reaching effects on all three nations involved.

For its architect, Toyotomi Hideyoshi, his precious son Hideyori would be usurped in

the very same way that his father had taken control.

For Ming China, the celestial kingdom virtually bankrupt itself paying for the troops to defend

Korea and over the next century it would begin to fall apart.

Eighty-five years later it would cease to exist, being supplanted by the Qing dynasty.

But none suffered more than Korea.

Estimates of the slaughter ranged from within hundreds of thousands to up to two million

people.

As usual, the majority of the casualties were suffered by the civilian population.

In Japan today, a grisly testament still exists in plain daylight to the depravity of the

war.

The so-called tomb of ears or Mimizuka can still be visited in Kyoto, Japan, containing around

38,000 noses sliced off the faces of Korean men, women and children, carted home and interred.

But from the very depths of sorrow and hopelessness came some of Korea's greatest heroes.

Men like Gwak Ji-woo, the red coat or menstrual blood general.

But towering above all of them was Admiral Yi Sun-sin, a man whose sense of duty to his

country knew no limits.

For him, no ask was too difficult.

There were no odds that were stacked too far against him.

As he told his despondent king, quote, I promise you that as long as I live, the enemy cannot

despise us.

The deeds of this remarkable man are known far and wide throughout Korea, China and even

Japan who were quick to observe that this man, their enemy, embodied the Bushido samurai

code that they lived by.

Various shrines were constructed in his memory, particularly around the southern coast of

Korea where he spent so much of his time.

We've uploaded several of them onto our website and Instagram.

But in the West, he's a lot more obscure.

Remember, this was a man that with no formal naval training, continually defeated a professional

navy that dwarfed his own in size.

All through his life, he was neglected, ostracized and undermined.

Hell, he was even imprisoned and likely tortured by his own government.

But all of this he took in his stride.

Whatever backwater he was assigned to, whatever menial role he languished in, he always performed

at his best.

Throughout the boys' club culture of the Korean government, he never succumbed to the trappings

of power.

And perhaps this is what made him so entrancing to a common soldier.

Today, I'll take us out with an anecdote.

It's a quote attributed to the 20th century Japanese admiral Tōgō Heihachirō.

Hiichiro, who due to his success in naval warfare, had earned himself the nickname the

Nelson of the East, Nelson of course being the esteemed British admiral Horatio Nelson.

The story goes that during a party in his honor, he was asked about the comparison people

had made between him and Nelson, while someone else interjected, comparing him to admiral

Yi Sun-Sin.

Heihachirō turned to the man and told him, It may be proper to compare me to Nelson, but

not with Yi Sun-Sin.

He is too great to be compared to anyone.

Thanks for tuning into Anthology of Heroes.

This episode turned out to be our longest yet, so I hope you enjoyed it.

If you have, please consider giving us a rating on Apple Podcasts or joining us on Instagram

where our handle is at Anthology of Heroes or one word.

On there you'll find loads of exciting history pitches and supporting notes as well as on

our website.

Thanks very much and have a great day.