② "I Still Have Twelve Ships"

In the previous chapter, we traced why Admiral Yi chose 寒 ("cold"), not the place name, for the opening line of "Hansando-ga" — and the tragedy behind why, that autumn, he found himself not on Hansan Island but in Boseong.

August 15, 1597 — Yeolseollu Pavilion, Boseong

Let us step now into that scene, on the eve of the storm.

Yeolseollu Pavilion (列仙樓) in Boseong, South Jeolla Province

Reinstated as Naval Commander of the Three Provinces, Admiral Yi was staying in Boseong to meet a royal inspector carrying a secret order from King Seonjo, the ruler of Joseon at the time. The order was merciless: "Disband the navy and fold its men into the army."

This was the same Admiral who had already been dragged off and tortured to the brink of death for once disobeying Seonjo's order to sail out and fight off Busan. To defy the king again would very likely have cost him his life. Faced with a royal directive to dissolve the very navy he commanded, and torn between obedience and his duty to defend the sea, the Admiral's anguish must have cut to the bone.

Worse, there was no time left to agonize. Word arrived that the fortresses of Jeonggae and Byeokgyeon in Jinju — strongholds everyone had believed impregnable — had fallen to the Japanese without a fight, and all of Jeolla Province stood on the verge of collapse.

"I Still Have Twelve Ships"

Out of this absolute solitude and despair, the Admiral finally submitted to King Seonjo the report that has since become famous — one that staked his own life on its words:

"Your servant still has twelve ships remaining."

The Admiral stayed in Boseong from around August 9 to 17. Amid that razor's-edge moment of fate, when the Chuseok full moon rose on August 15, he climbed to Yeolseollu Pavilion and, steeling himself, recited "Hansando-ga."

On a moonlit night on Hansan Island, I sat alone in the watchtower,
my long sword at my side, sunk deep in worry,
when from somewhere a single flute cry pierced through, and it broke my heart.

Does the poem read differently now? This is not the quiet mood of a leisurely moonlit night. It is a cry soaked in cold isolation and blood-red tears — the lonely resolve of a man who had to defy even his own king, for the sake of his country.

The Poem That Picked Me Back Up

This poem, in truth, saved my life. Some twenty years ago, nothing in my life was going right, and I could see no path ahead. I was passing through a dark tunnel, wronged again and again by the people around me, barely managing to fall asleep each night with the help of a drink.

Then, one drunken night, this poem rose to my lips, unbidden, for no reason I could name. Perhaps it was the full moon I was watching from a rooftop that night that brought it to mind.

But the moment I spoke the poem's last line, a chill ran through my whole body, and one overwhelming question struck me out of nowhere:

Next to the anguish Admiral Yi endured, how large, really, is the injustice I'm carrying? What exactly do you think you're so wronged about, sitting here like this?

That lone hero's cry snapped me awake, and that night I resolved to gather my strength and go on living. From then on, whenever some injustice weighed on me, I would think of that August 15th at Yeolseollu Pavilion, when Admiral Yi recited "Hansando-ga," and try to grow my own capacity to bear it, even just a little.

Starting today, as time allows, I want to begin a series on the last two years of Admiral Yi Sun-sin's life — the years that picked me back up when I was down. I worry whether my humble pen can do justice to a life like his. But I mean to try, in some small way, to repay the strength and grace I received that night.

👉 Next post: ③ My Mother's Death, on the Road as a Disgraced Soldier

— Momcheolhak