against the treaty. He managed, time after time, still to hold
communication with his friends, but the Japanese took good care that
traitors should come to him and be loudest in their expressions of loyalty.
Little that he did but was immediately known to his captors. In the early
summer of 1907 the Emperor thought that he saw his chance at last of
striking a blow for freedom through the Hague Conference. He was still
convinced that if he could only assure the Powers that he had never
consented to the treaty robbing Korea of its independence, they would then
send their Ministers back to Seoul and cause Japan to relax her hand.
Accordingly, amid great secrecy, three Korean delegates of high rank were
provided with funds and despatched to the Hague under the guardianship of
Mr. Hulbert. They reached the Hague only to be refused a hearing. The
Conference would have nothing to say to them.
This action on the part of the Emperor gave the Japanese an excuse they had
long been looking for. The formation of the Korean Cabinet had been altered
months before in anticipation of such a crisis, and the Cabinet Ministers
were now nominated not by the Emperor, but by the Resident-General. The
Emperor had been deprived of administrative and executive power. The
Marquis Ito had seen to it that the Ministers were wholly his tools. The
time had come when his tools were to cut. The Japanese Government assumed
an attitude of silent wrath. It could not allow such offences to go
unpunished, its friends declared, but what punishment it would inflict it
refused to say.
Proceedings were much more cleverly stage-managed than in November, 1905.
Nominally, the Japanese had nothing to do with the abdication of the
Emperor. Actually the Cabinet Ministers held their gathering at the
Residency-General to decide on their policy, and did as they were
instructed. They went to the Emperor and demanded that he should abandon
the throne to save his country from being swallowed up by Japan. At first
he refused, upon which their insistence grew greater. No news of sympathy
or help reached him from foreign lands. Knowing the perils surrounding him,
he thought that he would trick them all by a simple device. He would make
his son, the Crown Prince, temporary Emperor, using a Chinese ideograph for
his new title which could scarce be distinguished from the title giving him
final and full authority. Here he overreached himself, for, once out, he
was out for good. On July 19th, at six o'clock in the morning, after an
all-night conference, the Emperor was persuaded to abdicate.
The new Emperor, feeble of intellect, could be little more than a tool in
the hands of his advisers. His father, however, intended to remain by his
side, and to rule through him. In less than a week the Japanese had
prepared a new treaty, providing still more strictly for the absolute
control of everything in the country by Japan. The six curt clauses of this
measure were as far-reaching as they could possibly be made. No laws were
to be acted upon or important measures taken by the Government unless the
consent and approval of the Resident-General had been previously given. All
officials were to hold their positions at the pleasure of the
Resident-General, and the Government of Korea agreed to appoint any
Japanese the Resident-General might recommend to any post. Finally, the
Government of Korea was to engage no foreigner without the consent of the
Japanese head.
A few days later a fresh rescript was issued in the name of the new
Emperor, ordering the disbandment of the Korean Army. This was written in
the most insulting language possible. "Our existing army which is composed
of mercenaries, is unfit for the purposes of national defence," it
declared. It was to make way "for the eventual formation of an efficient
army." To add to the insult, the Korean Premier, Yi, was ordered to write a
request to the Resident-General, begging him to employ the Japanese forces
to prevent disturbances when the disbandment took place. It was as though
the Japanese, having their heel on the neck of the enemy, slapped his face
to show their contempt for him. On the morning of August 1st some of the
superior officers of the Korean Army were called to the residence of the
Japanese commander, General Hasegawa, and the Order was read to them. They
were told that they were to assemble their men next morning, without arms,
and to dismiss them after paying them gratuities, while at the same time
their weapons would be secured in their absence.
One officer, Major Pak, commander of the smartest and best of the Korean
battalions, returned to his barracks in despair, and committed suicide. His
men learnt of what had happened and rose in mutiny. They burst upon their
Japanese military instructors and nearly killed them. They then forced open
the ammunition-room, secured weapons and cartridges, posted themselves
behind the windows of their barracks, and fired at every Japanese they saw.
News quickly reached the authorities, and Japanese companies of infantry
hurried out and surrounded their barracks. One party attacked the front
with a machine-gun, and another assaulted from behind. Fighting began at
half-past eight in the morning. The Koreans defended themselves until noon,
and then were finally overcome by a bayonet charge from the rear. Their
gallant defence excited the greatest admiration even among their enemies,
and it was notable that for a few days at least the Japanese spoke with
more respect of Korea and the Korean people than they had ever done before.
Only one series of incidents disgraced the day. The Japanese soldiers
behaved well and treated the wounded well, but that night parties of
low-class bullies emerged from the Japanese quarter, seeking victims. They
beat, they stabbed and murdered any man they could find whom they suspected
of being a rebel. Dozens of them would set on one helpless victim and do
him to death. This was stopped as soon as the Residency-General knew what
was happening, and a number of offenders were arrested.
Late in August the new Emperor of Korea was crowned amid the sullen silence
of a resentful people. Of popular enthusiasm there was none. A few flags
were displayed in the streets by the order of the police. In olden times a
coronation had been marked by great festivities, lasting many weeks. Now
there was gloom, apathy, indifference. News was coming in hourly from the
provinces of uprisings and murders. The Il Chin Hoi--they call themselves
reformers, but the nation has labelled them traitors--attempted to make a
feast, but the people stayed away. "This is the day not for feasting but
for the beginning of a year of mourning," men muttered one to the other.
The Japanese authorities who controlled the coronation ceremony did all
they could to minimize it and to prevent independent outside publicity. In
this they were well advised. No one who looked upon the new Emperor as he
entered the hall of state, his shaking frame upborne by two officials, or
as he stood later, with open mouth, fallen jaw, indifferent eyes, and face
lacking even a flickering gleam of intelligent interest, could doubt that
the fewer who saw this the better. Yet the ceremony, even when robbed of
much of its ancient pomp and all its dignity, was unique and picturesque.
The main feature of this day was not so much the coronation itself as the
cutting of the Emperor's topknot.
On the abdication of the old Emperor, the Cabinet--who were enthusiastic
hair-cutters--saw their opportunity. The new Emperor was informed that his
hair must be cut. He did not like it. He thought that the operation would
be painful, and he was quite satisfied with his hair as it was. Then his
Cabinet showed him a brilliant uniform, covered with gold lace. He was
henceforth to wear that on ceremonial occasions, and not his old Korean
dress. How could he put on the plumed hat of a Generalissimo with a topknot
in the way? The Cabinet were determined. A few hours later a proclamation
was spread through the land informing all dutiful subjects that the
Emperor's topknot was coming off, and urging them to imitate him.
A new Court servant was appointed--the High Imperial Hair-cutter. He
displayed his uniform in the streets around the palace, a sight for the
gods. He strutted along in white breeches, voluminous white frock-coat,
white shoes, and black silk hat, the centre of attention.
Early in the morning there was a great scene in the palace. The Imperial
Hair-cutter was in attendance. A group of old Court officials hung around
the Emperor. With blanched faces and shaking voices they implored him not
to abandon the old ways. The Emperor paused, fearful. What power would be
filched from him by the shearing of his locks? But there could be no
hesitating now. Resolute men were behind who knew what they were going to
see done. A few minutes later the great step was taken.
The Residency-General arranged the coronation ceremony in such a manner as
to include as many Japanese and to exclude as many foreigners as possible.
There were nearly a hundred Japanese present, including the Mayor of the
Japanese settlement and the Buddhist priest. There were only six white
men--five Consuls-General and Bishop Turner, chief of the Anglican Church
in Korea. The Japanese came arrayed in splendid uniforms. It was part of
the new Japanese policy to attire even the most minor officials in
sumptuous Court dress, with much gold lace and many orders. This enabled
Japan to make a brilliant show in official ceremonies, a thing not without
effect in Oriental Courts.
Shortly before ten o'clock the guests assembled in the throne-room of the
palace, a modern apartment with a raised dais at one end. There were
Koreans to the left and Japanese to the right of the Emperor, with the
Cabinet in the front line on one side and the Residency-General officials
on the other. The foreigners faced the raised platform.
The new Emperor appeared, borne to the platform by the Lord Chamberlain and
the Master of the Household. He was dressed in the ancient costume of his
people, a flowing blue garment reaching to the ankles, with a robe of
softer cream colour underneath. On his head was a quaint Korean hat, with a
circle of Korean ornaments hanging from its high, outstanding horsehair
brim. On his chest was a small decorative breastplate. Tall, clumsily
built, awkward, and vacant-looking--such was the Emperor.
In ancient days all would have kow-towed before him, and would have beaten
their foreheads on the ground. Now no man did more than bow, save one Court
herald, who knelt. Weird Korean music started in the background, the
beating of drums and the playing of melancholy wind instruments. The Master
of Ceremonies struck up a chant, which hidden choristers continued. Amid
silence, the Prime Minister, in smart modern attire, advanced and read a
paper of welcome. The Emperor stood still, apparently the least interested
man in the room. He did not even look bored--simply vacant.
After this there was a pause in the proceedings. The Emperor retired and
the guests went into the anterooms. Soon all were recalled, and the Emperor
reappeared. There had been a quick change in the meantime. He was now
wearing his new modern uniform, as Generalissimo of the Korean Army. Two
high decorations--one, if I mistake not, from the Emperor of Japan--hung on
his breast. He looked much more manly in his new attire. In front of him
was placed his new headdress, a peaked cap with a fine plume sticking up
straight in front. The music now was no longer the ancient Korean, but
modern airs from the very fine European-trained band attached to the
palace. The Korean players had gone, with the old dress and the old life,
into limbo.
The Japanese Acting Resident-General and military commander, General Baron
Hasegawa, strong and masterful-looking, stepped to the front with a message
of welcome from his Emperor. He was followed by the doyen of the Consular
Corps, M. Vincart, with the Consular greetings. This Consular message had
been very carefully sub-edited, and all expressions implying that the
Governments of the different representatives approved of the proceedings
had been eliminated. Then the coronation was over.
Two figures were conspicuous by their absence. The ex-Emperor was not
present According to the official explanation, he was unable to attend
because "his uniform had not been finished in time," Really, as all men
knew, he was sitting resentful and protesting within a few score yards of
the spot where his son was crowned.
The second absent figure was the Russian Consul-General, M. de Plançon. It
was announced that M. de Plançon was late, and so could not attend. Seeing
that M. de Plançon lived not ten minutes' walk from the palace, and that
the guests had to wait nearly an hour after the time announced before the
ceremony began, he must have overslept very much indeed on that particular
morning. Oddly enough, M. de Plançon is usually an early riser.
VIII
A JOURNEY TO THE "RIGHTEOUS ARMY"
It was in the autumn of 1906. The Korean Emperor had been deposed and his
army disbanded. The people of Seoul, sullen, resentful, yet powerless,
victims of the apathy and folly of their sires, and of their own indolence,
saw their national existence filched from them, and scarce dared utter a
protest. The triumphant Japanese soldiers stood at the city gates and
within the palace. Princes must obey their slightest wish, even to the
cutting of their hair and the fashioning of their clothes. General
Hasegawa's guns commanded every street, and all men dressed in white need
walk softly.
But it soon became clear that there were men who had not taken the filching
of their national independence lightly. Refugees from distant villages,
creeping after nightfall over the city wall, brought with them marvellous
tales of the happenings in the provinces. District after district, they
said, had risen against the Japanese. A "Righteous Army" had been formed,
and was accomplishing amazing things. Detachments of Japanese had been
annihilated and others driven back. Sometimes the Japanese, it is true,
were victorious, and then they took bitter vengeance, destroying a whole
countryside and slaughtering the people in wholesale fashion. So the
refugees said.
How far were these stories true? I am bound to say that I, for one,
regarded them with much scepticism. Familiar as I was with the offences of
individual Japanese in the country, it seemed impossible that outrages
could be carried on systematically by the Japanese Army under the direction
of its officers. I was with a Japanese army during the war against Russia,
and had marked and admired the restraint and discipline of the men of all
ranks there. They neither stole nor outraged. Still more recently I had
noted the action of the Japanese soldiers when repressing the uprising in
Seoul itself. Yet, whether the stories of the refugees were true or false,
undeniably some interesting fighting was going on.
By the first week in September it was clear that the area of trouble
covered the eastern provinces from near Fusan to the north of Seoul. The
rebels were evidently mainly composed of discharged soldiers and of hunters
from the hills. We heard in Seoul that trained officers of the old Korean
Army were drilling and organizing them into volunteer companies. The
Japanese were pouring fresh troops into these centres of trouble, but the
rebels, by an elaborate system of mountain-top signalling, were avoiding
the troops and making their attacks on undefended spots. Reports showed
that they were badly armed and lacked ammunition, and there seemed to be no
effective organization for sending them weapons from the outside.
The first rallying-place of the malcontent Koreans was in a mountain
district from eighty to ninety miles east of Seoul. Here lived many famous
Korean tiger-hunters. These banded themselves together under the title of
Eui-pyung (the "Righteous Army"). They had conflicts with small parties of
Japanese troops and secured some minor successes. When considerable
Japanese reinforcements arrived they retired to some mountain passes
further back.
The tiger-hunters, sons of the hills, iron-nerved, and operating in their
own country, were naturally awkward antagonists even for the best regular
troops. They were probably amongst the boldest sportsmen in the world, and
they formed the most picturesque and, romantic section of the rebels. Their
only weapon was an old-fashioned percussion gun, with long barrel and a
brass trigger seven to eight inches in length. Many of them fired not from
the shoulder, but from the hip. They never missed. They could only fire one
charge in an attack, owing to the time required to load. They were trained
to stalk the tiger, to come quite close to it, and then to kill it at one
shot The man who failed once died; the tiger attended to that.
Some of the stories of Korean successes reaching Seoul were at the best
improbable. The tale of one fight, however, came to me through so many
different and independent sources that there was reason to suspect it had
substantial foundation. It recalled the doings of the people of the Tyrol
in their struggle against Napoleon. A party of Japanese soldiers,
forty-eight in number, were guarding a quantity of supplies from point to
point. The Koreans prepared an ambuscade in a mountain valley overshadowed
by precipitous hills on either side. When the troops reached the centre of
the valley they were overwhelmed by a flight of great boulders rolled on
them from the hilltops, and before the survivors could rally a host of
Koreans rushed upon them and did them to death.
Proclamations by Koreans were smuggled into the capital. Parties of
Japanese troops were constantly leaving Chinkokai, the Japanese quarter in
Seoul, for the provinces. There came a public notice from General Hasegawa
himself, which showed the real gravity of the rural situation. It ran as
follows:--
"I, General Baron Yoshimichi Hasegawa, Commander of the Army of
Occupation in Korea, make the following announcement to each and
every one of the people of Korea throughout all the provinces.
Taught by the natural trend of affairs in the world and impelled
by the national need of political regeneration, the Government of
Korea, in obedience to His Imperial Majesty's wishes, is now
engaged in the task of reorganizing the various institutions of
State. But those who are ignorant of the march of events in the
world and who fail correctly to distinguish loyalty from treason
have by wild and baseless rumours instigated people's minds and
caused the rowdies in various places to rise in insurrection.
These insurgents commit all sorts of horrible crimes, such as
murdering peaceful people, both native and foreign, robbing their
property, burning official and private buildings, and destroying
means of communication. Their offences are such as are not
tolerated by Heaven or earth. They affect to be loyal and
patriotic and call themselves volunteers. But none the less they
are lawbreakers, who oppose their Sovereign's wishes concerning
political regeneration and who work the worst possible harm to
their country and people.
"Unless they are promptly suppressed the trouble may assume
really calamitous proportions. I am charged by His Majesty, the
Emperor of Korea, with the task of rescuing you from such
disasters by thoroughly stamping out the insurrection. I charge
all of you, law-abiding people of Korea, to prosecute your
respective peaceful avocations and be troubled with no fears. As
for those who have joined the insurgents from mistaken motives,
if they honestly repent and promptly surrender they will be
pardoned of their offence. Any of you who will seize insurgents
or will give information concerning their whereabouts will be
handsomely rewarded. In case of those who wilfully join
insurgents, or afford them refuge, or conceal weapons, they shall
be severely punished. More than that, the villages to which such
offenders belong shall be held collectively responsible and
punished with rigour. I call upon each and every one of the
people of Korea to understand clearly what I have herewith said
to you and avoid all reprehensible action."
The Koreans in America circulated a manifesto directed against those
of their countrymen who were working with Japan, under the expressive
title of "explosive thunder," which breathed fury and vengeance.
Groups of Koreans in the provinces issued other statements which, if
not quite so picturesque, were quite forcible enough. Here is one:--
"Our numbers are twenty million, and we have over ten million
strong men, excluding old, sick, and children. Now, the Japanese
soldiers in Korea are not more than eight thousand, and Japanese
merchants at various places are not more than some thousands.
Though their weapons are sharp, how can one man kill a thousand?
We beg you our brothers not to act in a foolish way and not to
kill any innocent persons. We will fix the day and the hour for
you to strike. Some of us, disguised as beggars and merchants,
will go into Seoul. We will destroy the railway, we will kindle
flames in every port, we will destroy Chinkokai, kill Ito and all
the Japanese, Yi Wan-yong and his underlings, and will not leave
a single rebel against our Emperor alive. Then Japan will bring
out all her troops to fight us. We have no weapons at our hands,
but we will keep our own patriotism. We may not be able to fight
against the sharp weapons of the Japanese, but we will ask the
Foreign Consuls to help us with their troops, and maybe they will
assist the right persons and destroy the wicked; otherwise let us
die. Let us strike against Japan, and then, if must be, all die
together with our country and with our Emperor, for there is no
other course open to us. It is better to lose our lives now than
to live miserably a little time longer, for the Emperor and our
brothers will all surely be killed by the abominable plans of
Ito, Yi Wan-yong, and their associates. It is better to die as a
patriot than to live having abandoned one's country. Mr. Yi Chun
went to foreign lands to plead for our country, and his plans did
not carry well, so he cut his stomach asunder with a sword and
poured out his blood among the foreign nations to proclaim his
patriotism to the world. These of our twenty million people who
do not unite offend against the memory of Mr. Yi Chun. We have to
choose between destruction or the maintenance of our country.
Whether we live or die is a small thing, the great thing is that
we make up our minds at once whether we work for or against our
country."
A group of Koreans in the southern provinces petitioned Prince Ito, in the
frankest fashion:--
"You spoke much of the kindness and friendship between Japan and
Korea, but actually you have drawn away the profits from province
after province and district after district until nothing is left
wherever the hand of the Japanese falls. The Korean has been
brought to ruin, and the Japanese shall be made to follow him
downwards. We pity you very much; but you shall not enjoy the
profits of the ruin of our land. When Japan and Korea fall
together it will be a misfortune indeed for you. If you would
secure safety for yourself follow this rule: memorialize our
Majesty to impeach the traitors and put them to right punishment.
Then every Korean will regard you with favour, and the Europeans
will be loud in your praise. Advise the Korean authorities to
carry out reforms in various directions, help them to enlarge the
schools, and to select capable men for the Government service;
then the three countries, Korea, China, and Japan, shall stand in
the same line, strongly united and esteemed by foreign nations.
If you will not do this, and if you continue to encroach on our
rights, then we will be destroyed together, thanks to you.