So . . . I had an odd experience last weekend. You see, on the way back from the archery range where I shoot, I kept seeing this sign.  In Korea, cultural and historical sites are marked with unique, brown-colored signage.  This one called to me, over and over again, each time I passed by.  This one points the way to the tomb of Admiral Won Kyun.

On the off chance you recognize the name, I’ve got two things to say to you.  One, well done!  Unless you’re really into Imjin War history, like me, there’s little chance of you recognizing a name like that.  Although, if you have read even a little bit about that war, and the incredible heroics of Admiral Yi Sun-sin, there’s no way you ever forget Won Kyun.  Two, you know—without any doubt whatsoever—that the admiral is not buried in that tomb.

Why is that, you ask?  Because Won Kyun was leading the Korean fleet on 28 August 1597 when it was destroyed by a vengeful Japanese force.  Admiral Won Kyun, though he survived the initial horrible engagement, died on a nearby island, caught by the enemy trying to escape.  His body was never recovered.  More to the point, the kingdom for which he fought nearly didn’t recover the loss of a fleet which, until that point, hadn’t lost a single engagement since the initial invasion in 1592.

Why the interest in visiting the tomb of a man I knew wasn’t buried there?  Frankly, I was dying—if you pardon the awful expression—to see what was written there.  You see, as a student of the Imjin War and everything associated with it, I knew exactly who Won Kyun was, what he’d done, and how he died.  But we’re not always the sum of our most famous or infamous moments, are we?  Sometimes, there’s more to a story and, oddly, that’s sort of the case here.

First, the bad news.  Admiral Won Kyun—really General Won Kyun since the Joseon military promoted officers without land or sea specialization—was probably responsible for the loss of more Korean ships than any enemy commander in the war.  Maybe more than all enemy commanders put together!

Won Kyun commanded one of two fleets guarding the port of Busan when the initial Japanese invasion fleet filled the bay.  His counterpart, Admiral Pak Hong, fearing the massive number of enemy ships on the horizon, promptly scuttled his 50 panokseon battleships and escaped across land.  Having been told what happened, Won Kyun, across the way, did the same.  In the end, and for unknown reasons, he apparently had second thoughts and spared four of his hundred vessels and sought refuge from the invaders amid the many islands and bays dotting the southern Korean coast.

The reality was the Japanese First Division under Konishi Yukinaga had tired of waiting for escorting warships and so had departed Tsushima Island without them.  Hundreds of transports—armed only with what the samurai and ashigaru infantry carried with them—proceeded unprotected to Busan harbor.  The two Korean fleets stationed there totaled just under 100 panokseon—each bearing 12 to 20 cannon—and could have, with a little bit of courage, ended the Japanese invasion before it started.  The sad part is just one of those powerful fleets—had it actually put to sea—might have had the same effect, absolutely wrecking Hideyoshi’s grand invasion.  Strike one for Won Kyun.

Reading Admiral Yi’s diary paints a distinct picture of Won Kyun, drawing him as a hot-headed leader who drinks too much and lacks self-discipline.  More to the point, according to Yi, Won Kyun had a tendency to close with and seek hand-to-hand combat with Japanese vessels, a tactic that all but nullified Joseon’s great advantage in cannon.  Yi repeatedly asks the crown to take away Won Kyun’s command, a measure the king eventually took, returning the man to land-based duties.  Strike two for Won Kyun.

Then came the politically motivated arrest, torture, and shaming of the kingdom’s greatest hero, Admiral Yi Sun-sin.  Command of what might have been the most triumphal fleet in naval history went to Admiral Won Kyun and, in his first engagement with the Japanese, he lost it all.  Only twelve panokseon of some 200 Korean ships survived the ordeal at Chilcheollyang, and those only because they fled the carnage.  Strike three.

Knowing all this, I really wanted to see what was said about him at his fake tomb.  It was, after all, interesting, and definitely worth the harrowing 25-kilometer mountain bike ride!

It seems, like all senior Joseon military leaders at the time, Won Kyun got his start in the cavalry, fighting the Jurchen tribes in the northeast.  He apparently did very well there, taking part in a legendary campaign that brought peace with those unruly tribes for decades to come.  I started to wonder if, perhaps, I’d judged this man too harshly.  After all, how many Army generals today could or would effectively lead a fleet, even with all the technological assistance available? 

Ultimately, Won Kyun’s failure to learn naval warfare is viewed in the context of Admiral Yi’s ability to do just that.  Yi’s incredible success, however, is the outlier here, not the poor performance of Won Kyun, as evidenced by his cowardly partner at Busan, Admiral Pak Hong.  On the one hand this make’s Yi’s incredible learning curve all the more spectacular as he too was a cavalry officer turned admiral.  On the other, maybe I—or his country—was expecting too much of Won Kyun, especially with cannon being in the very process of changing the nature of naval combat forever.

As I read further, I found two more tidbits of which I wasn’t aware.  First, the tomb was erected by Won Kyun’s family, a long, distinguished military family who wanted to honor the man’s service . . . colored though it may be.  This, at least, made sense, and my first reaction was to laugh off the whole thing.  Of course he was a “good guy” to his family.  Isn’t everyone?  Did Hitler’s mother not love him?  Idi Amin?  Josef Stalin?  Mom’s love their kids, almost no matter what they do. 

Reading further, however, I realized that his family had petitioned the court after the war to have the man honored for his service fighting the Japanese.  No matter what—or how badly he performed—he did fall in the service of his nation.  Did Won Kyun ask to be placed in charge of a fleet?  There’s no indication that was the case.  He—like all of us today—simply followed his orders and did the best he could . . . to a catastrophic outcome, maybe, but still, it begs the question of whether or not he should have been in that position at all. 

The Joseon court did eventually honor Won Kyun for his service, legitimizing the empty tomb and resurrecting the man’s earlier, land-based successes.  One could interpret that as the government’s implicit acknowledgment that they’d placed the wrong guy in the wrong job.  That the king and his advisors owned a bit of Won Kyun’s otherwise stunning failure.

It’s interesting, isn’t it?  Went out on a lark and came back enlightened . . . and tired, of course, as it was my first ride of the Spring.  Still, I found it insightful to visit the tomb of someone I’d always considered a villain in Joseon’s struggle to fight off the Japanese invasions of 1592.  I walked away realizing once again that sometimes, people get caught up in the gears of war, and are forced to make do the best they can. 

As well, my experience reinforces just how very important it is to carefully select our leaders.  Be they military, political, or social, choosing those best qualified to lead, and exhibiting character that will serve well the men and women under them, is critical.  And not just in wartime, where the stakes are life and death, but in peacetime as well.  After all, Won Kyun was placed in Joseon’s second highest naval command before the war began.  It was peacetime, right?  What could go wrong?

A lot.  Ultimately, Won Kyun’s actions resulted in the deaths of thousands of Korean sailors and potentially a million civilians, leaving the nation all but destroyed, and far too weak to fend off the coming Manchu onslaught a generation later.  A lot could—and ultimately did—go wrong.

As for Won Kyun and his empty tomb.  I’ll try to be a little less harsh on the guy in the future.  His pitiful performance as a navy commander was certainly his fault; he made the decisions after all.  But others put him in that position, and they too own some of the calamity such an assignment wrought on the kingdom.

In the end—his end—he gave his life in the defense of his nation.  If nothing else, he’s owed respect for that . . . and just maybe, an empty tomb.

M. G. Haynes