The Legend of Yet Kieu

The night river made no sound. The water lay black and perfectly still. Enemy boats crowded side by side, and the lamps on their decks threw trembling streaks of yellow onto the surface. Guards paced along the rails, and their spears and halberds clinked against one another. No one knew that down near the riverbed, a man was swimming. Not a ripple. Not a bubble. Only the shadow of a man, and a small iron awl in the palm of his hand.

The man's name was Yết Kiêu.

This is the story of one of the bravest people in the country's history, from the time of the resistance against the Mongol armies. It is a legend handed down from long ago. An old chronicle, Đại Việt sử ký toàn thư, mentions him, and the people have retold his story generation after generation. He was a real man. But the iron awl and his wondrous gift for swimming are a layer of legend that the Vietnamese have laid over his life. It is their way of showing admiration for a hero who gave his all for his country.

Local tradition holds that the real name of Yết Kiêu was Phạm Hữu Thế. He came from the village of Hạ Bì, in the old land of Hải Dương. Today it belongs to the city of Hải Phòng. He grew up beside a river, and the water was his home. He dived and surfaced as naturally as other people breathe, and those watching could never tell how long he had been down there. The story goes that he could hold his breath underwater for hours. He swam fast and smooth as an otter, without raising a single ripple. The villagers called him the man of the river.

But his gift only found its true meaning on the day the country needed him.

The Mongol armies had already defeated many great nations. They marched huge forces into the country not once but three times. In those days the country was called Đại Việt, an old name for Vietnam. In the last two invasions, the man who shouldered the resistance was Hưng Đạo Đại Vương Trần Quốc Tuấn. And that was when Yết Kiêu stepped forward.

Yết Kiêu came before the general. He asked to follow him into battle.

Trần Hưng Đạo looked at the man in front of him. No sword, no armor. The general asked what he wanted to carry into the fight against the enemy.

It is said that Yết Kiêu answered without a moment's hesitation. "My lord general, all I need is an iron awl."

Trần Hưng Đạo was surprised. An iron awl, against the Mongol armies? He looked at Yết Kiêu. And Yết Kiêu looked back, calm and steady, like a man who had known all along what he would do. The general nodded.

On the first night on the river, Yết Kiêu slid into the water and vanished.

According to the legend passed down through many generations, on the nights that followed he swam alone beneath the surface and came at the enemy warships from below. His hand felt along the wooden planks of a hull. He chose his spot. Then the awl began to turn. No sound was loud enough for the guards to hear, only the faint grind of wood being bored, little by little, deep in the cold water. When the hole was big enough, the river poured in. He swam on to the next boat.

In the morning, the enemy could find no cause. Boats had sunk with no fire arrows, no holes in their sides, no sign of a fight. The boats just kept sinking quietly in the night, as if the hand of the river itself had pulled them down.

But the enemy were no fools. They posted more guards. They held lanterns close to the water. They cast nets into the river in the dark.

And one night, as the legend tells it, they caught Yết Kiêu.

He was hauled out of the water, tied up and brought before the commander. They questioned him. They asked again and again, harshly and fiercely. They demanded to know who he was, whether others were with him, and who had sent him.

Yết Kiêu raised his head. He looked his enemies straight in the face, without trembling, without bowing.

The enemy commander asked if he was the one who had bored holes in dozens of warships. He answered with a single word. "Yes!"

The commander flew into a rage and threatened to have him killed. Yết Kiêu stayed calm. "That would do you no good! Your warships will still sink!"

Shaken, the commander asked whether his country had many divers as good as he was. The old tellers say he answered that there were more than anyone could count. He himself was not yet skilled, he said, and that was why he had been caught. He did not give away his commander. He did not give away the plans. He did not beg. Before the men who held his life in their hands, he stayed as calm as the dark night water he knew better than anything.

Nothing could break his spirit. Then, as the tale goes on, the moment his captors grew careless, he leapt into the river and vanished into the water, and no one could catch him. And down in the river, the enemy boats were still sinking.

Later, victory came to the soldiers and people of the Trần dynasty, which ruled Vietnam from 1225 to 1400. When it came, people thought of the dark rivers, the enemy boats that sank for no reason, and the man who swam alone through the cold water with an iron awl in his hand.

No one knows exactly how many boats he bored through. The legend says dozens. History does not record the number. But history records his name.

Today his temple stands in Hạ Bì village, in the city of Hải Phòng. The commune there also bears the name Yết Kiêu. It is a historical and cultural site ranked by the state. The people there honor him as the guardian spirit of their land and of their home river. Streets and schools across the country carry his name. That is not because he was a commander leading troops on a glorious battlefield. It is because he quietly did what had to be done, alone, in the dark, with no need for anyone to know.

So the story returns to that night. The river is pitch black. Enemy boats lie still on the water, their lamps flickering. Guards pace back and forth, noticing nothing. And below, in cold, dark water that seems to have no bottom, a man is swimming. No weapon. No armor. No comrades. Only an iron awl and his courage.

The Vietnamese have kept the story of Yết Kiêu for hundreds of years because he did all of this with no need for anyone to know, to watch or to applaud. And when he was caught, he stayed as calm as the river that night.

As the legend tells it, that small iron awl, in the hand of a swimmer from Hạ Bì, sank many warships of one of the mightiest armies of its time. And the river of his home village still tells it, night after night, to this very day.