THE COUP D’ETAT AND THE JAPANESE MARCH TO THE SEA
One more event in Korea interested him deeply, for it meant life or
death to some of his nearest native friends, and under the title of “A
Korean Coup d’Etat,” he gave a graphic account of it in the _Atlantic
Monthly_ for November 1886. Although not himself present, since it took
place in the December after he had left, it was not unconnected with the
Mission to America of which he had been a member; for the policy of
opening Korea to the world had not met with universal favor among the
officials, and all those who had gone on the Mission did not take it
very seriously. In fact the two groups rapidly drew apart, one side
seeking to extend foreign contacts and the use of foreign methods, the
other preparing to resist this. The latter began to strengthen
themselves by enrolling what they called a militia,—really a rough body
of men devoted to their interests,—until the progressionists, as their
opponents were called, saw that they would be crushed unless they struck
quickly. Among their leaders was Hong Yöng Sik, who had been especially
attentive to Percival during his stay in Söul, and he with his partisans
decided to get control of affairs by the method whereby changes of
ministry are often effected at a certain stage of political evolution,
that is, by removing objectionable ministers both from office and from
the world. The occasion selected was a banquet to celebrate the creation
of a post office, that institution being regarded as typical of good or
evil in foreign habits. The chief victim was wounded but not killed,
whereat the progressionist leaders, pretending to be alarmed for the
safety of the King, went to the palace and slew such of the leading
opponents as they could lay their hands on; but, having no troops, sent
in His Majesty’s name to ask the Japanese minister for the protection of
his force of one hundred and twenty guards. Not suspecting the real
nature of the disturbance, he complied, but was soon attacked by a body
of six hundred Chinese soldiers, naturally in sympathy with the
conservatives, and at their back the Korean militia. For two days the
Japanese guards held off the assailants with little loss to themselves
compared with that of their foes, until the King placed himself in the
hands of the Korean militia, when there was nothing for the Japanese to
do but to get back to their legation as best they could. The rest of the
tale he felt so much and told so well in the ephemeral form of a
magazine article that it is given here in his own words:[4]
Night had already wrapped the city in gloom, as the column defiled from
the palace gate into the black and tortuous streets of the town. No
resistance was made to their exit, for, under cover of the darkness, the
Korean soldiers had all secretly slipped away. A pall-like obscurity and
silence had settled over everything. It seemed the spirit of death. The
streets of Söul are for the most part hardly more than wide alleys,
crooked and forbidding enough in the daytime. Night converts them into
long cavernous passages, devoid of light, like the underground
ramifications of some vast cave; for, by a curious curfew law, they are
denied any artificial illumination. Through this sombre labyrinth the
Japanese column threaded its way, with nothing to light its path but the
reflection in the sky of fires in distant parts of the city,—a weird
canopy to an inky blackness. Before long, however, even night failed to
yield security from man. At the cross-roads and wherever a side-street
offered an opportunity for attack were gathered bands of braves, mixed
masses of soldiers and populace, who fired upon them or hurled stones,
according to the character of the individuals. Still they pushed
steadily forward, though utterly uncertain what they might find at their
journey’s end; for they had not been able to hear from the legation
since the attack on the palace, and were in grave fear for its safety.
As they came to the top of a bit of rising ground, they made out by the
lurid light of the fires their own flag, the red ball on the white
field, flying from its flagstaff, and thus learnt for the first time
that the buildings were still standing and in Japanese hands. As they
neared the legation the crowds increased, but, sweeping them aside, the
troops at length reached their destination at eight o’clock at night,
having been absent forty-eight hours.
That the legation was yet safe was not due to any neglect or forbearance
on the part of the Koreans. From the moment of the attempted
assassination of Min Yöng Ik, the city had fallen a prey to disturbances
that grew hourly graver and graver in character, and began to be
directed more and more against the Japanese merchants and traders
scattered through the town. Such of these as took alarm first hastened
to the legation for protection. In this way about seventy of them had
collected in the buildings, and they, together with the servants and a
score of soldiers that had been left there, had successfully defended
the place until the return of the troops. For two whole days the little
improvised garrison had kept the besiegers at bay.
The legation was safe, but for the rest it was a melancholy tale which
the minister and his suite returned to hear. The sullen glow in the
heavens, that had served them for torches across the city, came, they
learned, from the burning by the infuriated rabble of the homes of their
compatriots. But worse than the loss of property had been the loss of
life. The hatred of the Japanese, that had lain smouldering for
centuries, had at last found a vent. Shortly after the attack on the
palace by the Chinese troops, the cry was raised against the Japanese,
and a wholesale pillage and massacre of the foreigners began....
The Japanese gone, the progressionist ministers, realizing that they had
failed, fled hastily to such concealment as individual ingenuity
suggested.... One alone remained to die at his post. The account of his
death, given by certain private Korean letters, is a tale of as noble an
act of heroism as was ever performed.
When it became evident that the Japanese would withdraw, and the
progressionist leaders be left to their fate, the latter, perceiving
that if they remained they must inevitably fall into the hands of the
enemy, prepared for flight. To the surprise and horror of all the
others, Hong Yöng Sik calmly informed them that he should stay. The
rest, indeed, had better go, but one, he thought, ought to remain, to
show the world that the progressionists were not rebels nor ashamed of
the principles they had professed, and he would be that one. The others,
aghast at his resolve, tried their utmost to dissuade him, but all to no
purpose. Each in turn then offered to stay in his place, but he would
not hear of it. It was more fitting, he replied, that he should remain,
because one of the oldest (he was just thirty years of age); and
forthwith, to signify that his resolve was unalterable, he drew off his
long court boots. Finding it impossible to shake his determination, and
fearing lest, if they delayed longer, they might not escape themselves,
they reluctantly left him and fled. There in the palace, awaiting his
certain doom, the Chinese soldiers found him, a few minutes after. They
seized him and carried him to the Chinese camp, where, with some show of
formality, he was publicly executed. Thus died a brave and loyal soul,
true with his life to the principles he had publicly professed, and
which he deemed it cowardly and wicked to abandon....
Meanwhile, the Japanese lay imprisoned within their legation buildings,
closely besieged by the Koreans. Toward the middle of the day, on the
seventh, they discovered that their provisions were nearly exhausted.
Only the soldiers, therefore, were allowed rice, the rest getting for
their portion the water in which the rice had previously been boiled.
There were now in the compound one hundred and forty soldiers, thirty
servants attached to the legation, about seventy merchants and artisans,
besides many other Japanese residents from the city, who had sought
refuge in the buildings. It was utterly impossible to procure more
provisions. Starvation stared the prisoners in the face, even if they
should contrive to hold out against the assaults of the Koreans. Reports
now reached them that all the gates of Söul had been closed, and that
preparations were everywhere in progress for a general attack. It was
also rumored that this would take place at dusk, and that under cover of
the darkness the legation would be fired by the foe.
Thereupon, Takezoye held a council of war, at which it was decided that
the legation’s only hope, desperate as it was deemed, lay in forcing a
passage through the western gate of the city, and retreating as best
they might to Chemulpo. Accordingly, at the close of the conference the
order was given to withdraw from Söul. It was now discovered that the
messenger to whom the letters were entrusted had been afraid to leave
the legation. Doomed indeed seemed the ill-starred Korean attempt at a
postal system to bring mishap upon everything connected with it, both
big and little, new and old.
Takezoye then addressed the Japanese gathered in the court-yard. He told
them that his guards had been obliged, in defense of the king on the
preceding day, to fire upon the Chinese soldiers, who had broken into
the palace and opened fire upon the royal apartments; that the Korean
troops and people had now combined against the Japanese; that the Korean
government was apparently powerless to protect them; that the legation
was blockaded; that it was impossible longer to carry on the ministerial
functions; and that he had resolved to retire upon Chemulpo, there to
await instructions from Japan. All the confidential dispatches and other
private documents belonging to the legation were then burned.
It was now half past two in the afternoon. The crowd without was
steadily growing larger and larger, and closing in slowly but surely
about the devoted compound. Suddenly, to its amazement, the outer wooden
gates, so stoutly defended a few minutes before, swung inward; there was
a moment’s hush of expectation, and the Japanese column, grim with
determination, defiled in marching order into the street. It was a sight
to stir the most sluggish soul. Instinctively the Koreans fell back,
awed as they read the desperate resolve in the faces of the men; and the
column kept silently, surely, moving on. First came two detachments,
forming the van; then the minister, his suite, the women and children,
followed, placed in the centre and guarded on either hand by rows of
soldiers. Next marched the secretaries and the subordinate officials of
the legation, all armed, and with them the merchants and artisans,
carrying the wounded and the ammunition. Two more detachments brought up
the rear. Debouching into the main road, the body struck out for the
western gate. The Koreans, who crowded the side-streets, the
court-yards, and even the roofs of the houses, had by this time
recovered from their first daze, and began to attack the column on all
sides, firing and throwing stones. So poor was their aim, however, and
so unused were they to the business, that neither bullets nor stones did
the Japanese much harm. The vanguard, lying down in the road, fired at
the assailants and drove them back, and the march proceeded. Nothing
could stop the advance of the van, and the rear-guard as ably covered
the rear. Slowly but surely the column pushed on.
It had thus got half-way across the city, when it encountered a more
formidable obstruction. Opposite the old palace, where a broad avenue
from the palace gates entered the road it was following, a detachment of
the left division of the Korean army had been drawn up, to prevent, if
possible, all escape. The spot was well chosen. On one side lay the army
barracks of the left division, a safe retreat in case of failure, while
in front stretched the broad, open space of the avenue, ending in the
highway along which the Japanese were obliged to pass. To make the most
of this position a field-piece had been brought out and trained on the
cross-road, and deployed beside it the Koreans posted themselves, and
waited for the coming column. As the foreigners came into view, marching
across the end of the avenue, the Koreans opened fire upon them both
with the field-piece and with small arms. The effect should have been
frightful. As a matter of fact it was _nil_, owing to the same cause as
before, the bullets passing some twenty feet over the heads of the
Japanese. Not a single man was killed, and only a few were slightly
wounded. The rear-guard, prone in the street or under cover of the
little gutter-moats, a peculiar feature of all Korean city streets,
calmly took accurate aim, and eventually forced this body of the enemy
back into their barracks. Still harassed at every step by other troops
and by the populace, the column, advancing steadily in spite of them, at
last gained the west gate. It was shut, bolted, and guarded by Korean
soldiers. A sudden onset of the vanguard put these to flight. Some of
the soldiers, armed with axes, then severed the bars, demolished the
heavy wooden doors, and the column passed through. Keeping up a fire on
the foe, who still pursued, the Japanese then made for the principal
ferry of the river Han, at a place called Marpo, one of the river
suburbs of the city. As they turned there to look back toward Söul, they
saw smoke rising from the direction of the legation, and knew from this
that the buildings had already been fired. With the rear-guard set to
protect the important points, they proceeded to cross the stream.
Seizing this opportunity, a parting attack was now made by a
conglomerate collection of Korean troops and tramps, who had pursued
them from the city. Hovering on their flanks, these fired at the ferry
boats as they passed over; but the Japanese rear-guard shot at and
killed some of them, and so succeeded in keeping the others at bay. By
about half past five in the afternoon the Japanese had completed the
crossing. After this no further serious opposition was made to their
retreat, and, following the ordinary road and marching the whole night,
they reached the hill above Chemulpo, and looked down upon the broad
expanse of the Yellow Sea at seven o’clock on the morning of the eighth.
The long, hard fight was over; an end had come at last. They saw it in
the sea stretched out at their feet, just awaking from its lethargy at
the touch of the morning light. To them its gently heaving bosom spoke
of their own return to life. No crazy fishing boat now stood between
them and theirs. One of their own men-of-war lay at anchor in the
offing. There she rode, in all her stately beauty, the smoke curling
faintly upward from her funnel, waiting to bear them across the water to
the arms of those who held them dear. And the sparkling shimmer, as the
rays of the rising sun tinged the Yellow Sea with gold in one long
pathway eastward, seemed Japan’s own welcome sent to greet them, a
proud, fond smile from home.