“OUR LITTLE WAR WITH THE HEATHEN.”
The representations made to the Department of State at Washington by
Dr. S. Wells Williams, concerning the General Sherman, and by
Consul-General George F. Seward, in the matter of the China, affair,
directed the attention of the Government to the opening of Corea to
American commerce. The memorial of Mr. Seward, dated October 14, 1868,
reviewed the advantages to be gained and the obstacles in the way. The
need of protection to American seamen was pointed out, and as Japan had
been opened to international relations by American diplomacy, why
should not a smaller nation yield to persuasion? American merchants in
China having seconded Mr. Seward’s proposal, the State Department took
the matter into serious consideration, and, in 1870, resolved to
undertake the difficult enterprise.
The servants of the United States who were charged with this delicate
mission were, Mr. Frederick F. Low, Minister of the United States to
Peking, and Rear-Admiral John Rodgers, Commander-in-Chief of the
Asiatic squadron. Mr. Low was directed by Secretary Fish to gain all
possible knowledge from Peking, and then proceed on the admiral’s
flag-ship to the Corean capital. He was to make a treaty of commerce if
possible, but his chief aim was to secure provision for the protection
of shipwrecked mariners. He was to avoid a conflict of force, unless it
could not be avoided without dishonor. “The responsibility of war or
peace” was to be left with him and not with the admiral. [43]
There was at this time, all over the far East, a feeling of uncertainty
and alarm among foreigners, and many portentious signs seemed to
indicate a general uprising, both in China and Japan, against
foreigners. The example of Corea in expelling or beheading the French
priests acted as powerful leaven in the minds of the fanatical
foreigner-haters in the two countries adjoining. The
“mikado-reverencers,” who in Japan had overthrown the “Tycoon” and
abolished the dual system of government, made these objects only
secondary to the expulsion of all aliens. The cry of “honor the mikado”
was joined to the savage yell of the Jo-i (alien-haters), “expel the
barbarians.” In China the smothered feelings of murderous animosity
were almost ready to burst. The air was filled with alarms, even while
the American fleet was preparing [44] for Corea.
Rear-Admiral Rodgers, [45] who had taken command, and relieved Admiral
Rowan, August 20, 1869, began his preparations with vigor.
In a consultation held at Peking during November, 1870, between the
admiral, minister, and consul general, the time for the expedition was
fixed for the month of May, 1871. Mr. Seward then left for a visit to
India, and Mr. Low despatched, through the Tribunal of Rites at Peking,
a letter to the King of Corea. After vast circumlocution, it emerged
from the mazes of Chinese court etiquette, and by a special courier
reached the regent at Seoul. In this, however, the Chinese were doing a
great favor. No answer was received from Seoul before the expedition
sailed.
Meanwhile the German minister to Japan (now in Peking), Herr M. Von
Brandt, had landed from the Hertha at Fusan, and attempted to hold an
interview with the governor of Tong-nai. He was accompanied by the
Japanese representatives at Fusan, who politely forwarded his request.
A tart lecture to the mikado’s subject for his officiousness, and a
rebuff to the Kaiser’s envoy were the only results of his mission.
After sauntering about a little, Herr Von Brandt, who arrived June 1,
1878, left June 2d, and the era of commercial relations between the
Central European Empire [46] and Chō-sen was postponed.
During the year 1870, Bishop Ridel, who had gone back to France,
returned to China and prepared to rejoin his converts. Having
communicated with them, they awaited his coming with anxiety, and we
shall hear of them on board of the flag-ship Colorado.
Mr. Low, having gathered all possible information, public and private,
concerning “the semi-barbarous and hostile people” of “the unknown
country” which he expected to fail of entering, sailed from Shanghae,
May 8th, arriving at Nagasaki, May 12th. On the 13th he wrote to the
Secretary of State, Mr. Hamilton Fish. He declared that “Corea is more
of a sealed book than Japan was before Commodore Perry’s visit.”
Evidently he looked upon the pathway of the duty laid upon him as
unusually thorny. The rose if plucked at all would be held in smarting
fingers. While granting a faithful servant of the nation the virtue of
modesty, one cannot fail to read in his letter more of an expectation
to redress wrongs than to conciliate hostility.
The whole spirit of the expedition was not that reflected in the
despatches of the State Department, but rather that of the clubs and
dinner-tables of Shanghae. The minister went to Corea with his mind
made up, and everything he saw confirmed him in his fixed opinion. Of
the admiral, it is not unjust to say that the warrior predominated over
the peace-maker. He had an eye to the victories of war more than those,
not less renowned, of peace. The sword was certainly more congenial to
his nature than the pen.
The fleet made rendezvous at Nagasaki, in Kiushiu—that division of
Japan whence warlike expeditions to Chō-sen have sailed from the days
of Jingu to those of Taikō, and from Taikō to Rodgers. This time, as in
the seventh century, the landing was to be made not near the eastern,
but on the remote western, coast. The cry was, “On to Seoul.”
The squadron, consisting of the flag-ship Colorado, the corvettes
Alaska and Benicia, and the gun-boats Monocacy and Palos, sailed
gallantly out of the harbor on May 16th, and, making an easy run,
anchored off Ferrières Islands on the 19th, and, after a delay of fogs,
Isle Eugenie on the 23d.
In spite of the formidable appearance of our navy, the vessels were of
either an antiquated type or of too heavy a draught, their timbers too
rotten or not strong enough for shotted broadsides, and their armament
defective in breech-loading firearms, while the facilities for landing
a force were inadequate. The Palos and Monocacy were the only ships
fitted to go up the Han River. The others must remain at the mouth.
They were little more than transports. All the naval world in Chinese
waters wondered why so wide-awake and practical a people as the
Americans should be content with such old-fashioned ships, unworthy of
the gallant crews who manned them. However, the fleet and armament were
better than the Corean war-junks, or mud-forts armed with jingals. In
gallant sailorly recognition of his predecessor, yet with unconscious
omen of like failure, the brave Rodgers named the place of anchorage
Roze Roads. The French soundings were verified and the superb scenery
richly enjoyed. All navigators of the approaches to Seoul are alike
unanimous in showering unstinting praise upon their natural beauty.
Here for the first time the natives beheld the “flowery” flag of the
United States.
Next morning the Palos and four steam-launches were put under the
command of Captain Homer C. Blake, to examine the channel beyond Boisée
Island. Four days were peaceably spent in this service, a safe return
being made on the evening of the 28th. Meanwhile boat parties had
landed and been treated in a friendly manner by the people, and the
usual curiosity as to brass buttons, blue cloth, and glass bottles
displayed. The customary official paper without signature, of
interrogations as to who, whence, and why of the comers was displayed,
and the answers, “Americans,” “Friendly,” and “Interview” returned in
faultless Chinese. It was announced that the fleet would remain for
some time.
On the following day, May 30th, the fleet anchored between the Isles
Boisée and Guerrière. A stiff breeze had blown away the fogs and
revealed the verdure and the features of a landscape which struck all
with admiration for its luxuriant beauty. Approaching the squadron in a
junk, some natives made signs of friendship, and came on board without
hesitation. They bore a missive acknowledging the receipt of the
Americans’ letter, and announcing that three nobles had been appointed
by the regent for conference. These junk-men were merely messengers,
and made no pretence of being anything more. They were hospitably
treated, shown round the ship, and dined and wined until their good
nature broke out in broad grins and redolent visages. They stood for
their photographs on deck, and some fine pictures of them were
obtained. One of them, after being loaded with an armful of spoil in
the shape of a dozen or so of Bass’ pale ale bottles, minus their
corks, and a copy of Every Saturday, a Boston illustrated newspaper,
was told in the stereotyped photographer’s phrase to “assume a pleasant
expression of countenance, and look right at this point.” He obeyed so
well, and in the nick of time, that a wreath of smiles was the result.
“Our first Corean visitor” stands before us on the page.
Strange coincidence! Strange medley of the significant symbols of a
Christian land! The first thing given to the Corean was alcohol, beer,
and wine. In the picture, plainly appearing, are the empty pale ale
bottles, with their trade-mark, the red triangle—“the entering wedge of
civilization.” But held behind the hands clasping the bottles is a copy
of Every Saturday, on the front page of which is a picture of Charles
Sumner, the champion of humanity, and of the principle that “nations
must act as individuals,” with like moral responsibility!
Promptly on May 31st, a delegation of eight officers, of the third and
fifth rank, came on board evidently with intent to see the minister and
admiral, to learn all they could, and to gain time. They had little or
no authority and no credentials, but they were sociable, friendly, and
in good humor.
“Mr. Low would not lower himself,” nor would Admiral Rodgers see them.
They were received by the secretary, Mr. Drew. They were absolutely
non-committal on all points and to all questions asked, and naturally
so, since they had no authority whatever [47] to say “yes” or “no” to
any proposition of the Americans.
A golden opportunity was here lost. The Corean envoys were informed
that soundings would be taken in the river, and the shores would be
surveyed. It was hoped that no molestation would be offered, and,
further, that twenty-four hours would elapse before the boats began
work.
“To all this they (the Coreans) made no reply which could indicate
dissent.” [Certainly not! They had no power to nod their heads, or say
either “yes” or “no.”] “So, believing that we might continue our
surveys while further diplomatic negotiations were pending, an
expedition was sent to examine and survey the Salée [Han] River.” [48]
The survey fleet consisted of the Monocacy, Palos, the only ships fit
for the purpose, and four steam-launches, each of the latter having a
howitzer mounted in the bow. Captain H. C. Blake, the commander, was on
board the Palos. The old hero understood the situation only too well.
As he started to obey orders he remarked: “In ten minutes we shall have
a row.”
Exactly at noon of June 2d, the four steam-launches proceeded in line
abreast up the river, the Palos and Monocacy following. The tide was
running up, and neither of the large vessels could be kept moving at a
rate slow enough to allow the survey work to be done well, so that this
part of their work is of little value.
Yet everything seemed quiet and peaceful; the bluffs and high banks
along the water were densely covered with green woods, with now
meadows, now a thatched-roof village, anon a rice-field in the
foreground. Occasionally people could be seen in their white dresses
along the banks, but not a sign of hostility or war until, on reaching
the lower end of Kang-wa Island, a line of forts and fluttering flags
suddenly become visible. In a few minutes more long lines of
white-garbed soldiery were seen, and through a glass an interpreter
read on one of the yellow flags the Chinese characters meaning “General
Commanding.” In the embrasures were a few pieces of artillery of
32-pound calibre, and some smaller pieces lashed together by fives, or
nailed to logs in a row. On the opposite point of the river was a line
of smaller earthworks, freshly thrown up, armed only with jingals.
Around the bend in the river was “a whirlpool as bad as Hell Gate,”
full of eddies and ledges, with the channel only three hundred feet
wide. The fort (Du Condè) was situated right on this elbow. Hundreds of
mats and screens were ranged within and on the works, masking the
loaded guns. As the boats passed nearer, glimpses into the fort became
possible, by which it was seen that the cannon “lay nearly as thick
together as gun to gun and gun behind gun on the floor of an arsenal.”
(See map, page 415.)
For a moment the silence was ominous—oppressive. The hearts of the men
beat violently, their teeth were set, and calm defiance waited in the
face of certain death. The rapid current bore them on right into the
face of the frowning muzzles. It seemed impossible to escape. Were the
Coreans going to fire? If so, why not now? Immediately? Now is their
opportunity. The vessels are abreast the forts.
The Corean commander was one moment too late. From the parapet under
the great flag a signal gun was fired. In an instant mats and screens
were alive with the red fire of eighty pieces of artillery. Then a hail
of shot from all the cannon, guns, and jingals rained around the boats.
Forts, batteries, and walls were hidden for a moment in smoke. The
water was rasped and torn as though a hailstorm was passing over it.
Many of the men in the boats were wet to the skin by the splashing of
the water over them. Old veterans of the civil war had never seen so
much fire, lead, iron, and smoke of bad powder concentrated in such
small space and time. “Old Blake,” who had had two ships shot under him
by the Confederates, declared he could remember nothing so sharp as
this.
The fire was promptly returned by the steam-launch howitzers. The Palos
and Monocacy, which had forged ahead, turned back, and “Old Blake came
round the point a-flying, and let drive all the guns of the Palos at
them. The consequence was that they kicked so hard as to tear the bolts
out of the side of the ship and render the bulwarks useless during the
remainder of the fight.” The Monocacy also anchored near the point, and
sent her ten-inch shells into the fort. During her movements, she
struck a rock and began to leak badly. After hammering at the forts
until everything in them was silenced, the squadron returned down the
river, sending their explosive compliments into the forts and redoubts
as they passed. All were quiet and deserted, however, but the
commander’s flag was still flying unharmed and neglected. Strange to
say, out of the entire fleet only one of our men was wounded and none
was killed; nor did any of the ships or boats receive any damage from
the batteries. Two hundred guns had been fired on the Corean side. The
signal coming too late, the immovability of their rude guns, the
badness of the powder, and the poor aim of the unskilled gunners, were
the causes of such an incredibly small damage. It was like the
bombardment of Fort Sumter in 1861, or like those battles which
statistics reveal to us, in which it requires a ton of lead to kill a
man.
However, it was determined by the chief representatives of the civil
and naval powers to resent the insult offered to our “flag” in the
“unprovoked” attack on our vessels, “should no apology or satisfactory
explanation be offered for the hostile action of the Corean
government.”
Ten days were now allowed to pass before further action was taken. They
were ten days of inaction, except preparation for further fight and
some correspondence with the local magistrate. What a pity these ten
days had not been spent before, and not after, June 2d! Some civilians,
not to say Christians, might also be of the opinion that ample revenge
had already been taken, enough blood spilled, the “honor” of the flag
fully “vindicated,” a delicate diplomatic mission of “peace” spoiled
beyond further damage, and that further vengeance was folly, and more
blood spilled, murder. But not so thought the powers that be.
The chastising expedition consisted of the Monocacy, Palos, four
steam-launches, and twenty boats, conveying a landing force of six
hundred and fifty-one men, of whom one hundred and five were marines.
The Benicia, Alaska, and Colorado remained at anchor. The total force
detailed for the work of punishing the Coreans was seven hundred and
fifty-nine men. These were arranged in ten companies of infantry, with
seven pieces of artillery. The Monocacy had, in addition to her regular
armament, two of the Colorado’s nine-inch guns. Captain Homer C. Blake,
who was put in charge of the expedition, remained on the Palos.
The squadron proceeded up the river at 10 o’clock, on the morning of
the 10th of June, two steam-launches moving in advance of the Monocacy.
The boats were in tow of the Palos, which moved at 10.30. The day was
bright, clear, and warm. A short distance above the isle Primauguet a
junk was seen approaching, the Coreans waving a white flag and holding
a letter from one of the ministers of the court. One of the
steam-launches met the junk, and the letter was received. It was
translated by Mr. Drew, but as it contained nothing which, in the
American eyes, seemed like an apology, the squadron moved on. At 1
o’clock the Monocacy arrived within range of the first fort and opened
with her guns, which partly demolished the walls and emptied it in a
few seconds.
The landing party, after a two minutes’ pull at the oars, reached the
shore, and disembarked about eight hundred yards below the fort. The
landing-place was a mud-flat, in which the men sunk to their knees in
the tough slime, losing gaiters, shoes, and even tearing off the legs
of their trousers in their efforts to advance. The howitzers sank to
their axles in the heavy ooze.
Once on firm land, the infantry formed, the marines deploying as
skirmishers. Unarmed refugees from the villages were not harmed, and
the first fort was quietly entered. The work of demolition was begun by
firing everything combustible and rolling the guns into the river. Day
being far spent when this was finished, the whole force went into camp
and bivouacked, taking every precaution against surprise. Four
companies of infantry were first detailed to drag the howitzers out of
the mud, a task which resembled the wrenching of an armature off a
twenty-horse power magnet.
Our men lay down to sleep under the stars. All was quiet that Saturday
night, except the chatting round the camp-fires and the croaking of the
Corean frogs, as the men cleaned themselves and prepared for their
Sunday work. Toward midnight a body of white-coats approached, set up a
tremendous howling, and began a dropping fire on our main pickets. As
they moved about in the darkness, they looked like ghosts. When the
long roll was sounded, our men sprang to their arms and fell in like
old veterans. A few shells were scattered among the ghostly howlers,
and all was quiet again. The marines occupied a strong position half a
mile from the main body, a rice-field dividing them, with only a narrow
foot-path in the centre. They slept with their arms at their side, and,
divided into three reliefs, kept watch.
While at the anchorage off Boisée Island that evening, twelve native
Christians, approaching noiselessly in the dark, made signs of a desire
to communicate. They had come in a junk from some point on the coast to
inquire after their pastor, Ridel, and two other French missionaries
whom they expected. To their great distress, the Americans could give
them no information. Fearing lest the government might know, from the
build of their craft, from what part of the country they came, and
punish them for communicating with the foreigners, they burned their
boat and returned home.
Next day was Sunday. The reveille was sounded in the camps, breakfast
eaten, and blankets rolled up. Company C and the pioneers were sent
into the fort to complete its destruction, by burning up the rice,
dried fish, and huts still standing.
The march began at 7 A.M. The sun rolled up in a cloudless sky and the
weather was very warm. It was a rough road, if, indeed, it could be
called such, being but a bridle-path over hills and valleys, and
through rice fields. Whole companies were required to drag the
howitzers up the hills and through the narrow defiles. The marines led
the advance. The next line of fortifications, the “middle fort,” was
soon entered. The guns were found loaded, as they had been deserted as
soon as the fort was made a target by the Monocacy, every one of whose
shots told. The work of dismantling was here thoroughly done. The sixty
brass pieces of artillery, all of them insignificant breech-loaders of
two-inch bore, were tumbled into the river, and the fort appropriately
named “Fort Monocacy.”
The difficult march was resumed under a blazing sun and in steaming
heat. A succession of steep hills lay before them. Sappers and miners,
with picks, shovels, and axes, went ahead levelling and widening the
road, cutting bushes and filling hollows. The guns had to be hauled up
and lowered down the steep places by means of ropes. Large masses of
white coats and black heads hovered on their flanks, evidently
purposing to get in the rear. Their numbers were increasing. The danger
was imminent. The fort must be taken soon or never.
A detachment of five howitzers and three companies were detailed to
guard the flanks and rear under Lieutenant-Commander Wheeler. The main
body then moved forward to storm the fort (citadel). This move of our
forces checkmated the enemy and made victory sure, redeeming a critical
moment and turning danger into safety.
Hardly were the guns in position, when the Coreans, massing their
forces, charged the hill in the very teeth of the howitzers’ fire. Our
men calmly took sure aim, and by steadily firing at long range, so
shattered the ranks of the attacking force that they broke and fled,
leaving a clear field. The fort was now doomed. The splendid practice
of our howitzers effectually prevented any large body of the enemy from
getting into action, and made certain the capture of the citadel.
Meanwhile the Monocacy, moving up the river and abreast of the land
force, poured a steady fire of shell through the walls and into the
fort, while the howitzers of the rear-guard on the hill behind,
reversing their muzzles, fired upon the garrison over the heads of our
men in the ravine. The infantry and marines having rested awhile after
their forced march, during which several had been overcome by heat and
sunstroke, now formed for a charge.
The citadel to be assaulted was the key to the whole line of
fortifications. It crowned the apex of a conical hill one hundred and
fifty feet high, measuring from the bottom of the ravine. It mounted,
with the redoubt below, one hundred and forty-three guns. The sides of
the hill were very steep, the walls of the fort joining it almost
without a break. Up this steep incline our men were to rush in the face
of the garrison’s fire. Could the white-coats depress the jingals at a
sufficiently low angle, they must annihilate the blue-jackets. Should
our men reach the walls, they could easily enter through the breaches
made by the Monocacy’s shells. As usual, slowness, and the national
habit of being behind time, saved our men and lost the day for Corea.
A terrible reception awaited the Americans. Every man inside was bound
to die at his post, for this fort being the key to all the others, was
held by the tiger-hunters, who, if they flinched before the enemy, were
to be put to death by their own people.
All being ready, our men rose up with a yell and rushed for the
redoubt, officers in front. A storm of jingal balls rained over their
heads, but their dash up the hill was so rapid that the garrison could
not depress their pieces or load fast enough. Their powder burned too
slowly to hurt the swift Yankees. Goaded to despair the tiger-hunters
“chanted their war-dirge in a blood-chilling cadence which nothing can
duplicate.” They mounted the parapet, fighting with furious courage.
They cast stones at our men. They met them with spear and sword. With
hands emptied of weapons, they picked up dust and threw in the
invaders’ eyes to blind them. Expecting no quarter and no relief, they
contested the ground inch by inch and fought only to die. Scores were
shot and tumbled into the river. Most of the wounded were drowned, and
some cut their own throats as they rushed into the water.
Lieutenant McKee was the first to mount the parapet and leap inside the
fort. For a moment, and only a moment, he stood alone fighting against
overwhelming odds. A bullet struck him in the groin, a Corean brave
rushed forward, and, with a terrible lunge, thrust him in the thigh,
and then turned upon Lieutenant-Commander Schley, who had leaped over
the parapet. The spear passed harmlessly between the arm and body of
the American as a carbine bullet laid the Corean dead.
The fort was now full of officers and men, and a hand to hand fight
between the blue and white began to strew the ground with corpses.
Corean sword crossed Yankee cutlass, and clubbed carbine brained the
native whose spear it dashed aside. The garrison fought to the last
man. Within the walls those shot and bayoneted numbered nearly one
hundred. Not one unwounded prisoner was taken. The huge yellow cotton
flag, which floated from a very short staff in the centre, was hauled
down by Captain McLane Tilton and two marines. Meanwhile a desperate
fight went on outside the fort. During the charge, some of the Coreans
retreated from the fort, a movement which caught the eye of Master
McLean. Hastily collecting a party of his men, he moved to the left on
the double quick to cut off the fugitives. He was just in time. The
fugitives, forty or fifty in all, after firing, attempted to rush past
him. They were driven back in diminished numbers. Hemmed in between the
captured fort and their enemy, McLean charged them with his handful of
men. Hiding behind some rocks, they fought with desperation until they
were all killed, only two or three being made prisoners. Another party
attempting to escape were nearly annihilated by Cassel’s battery, which
sent canister into their flying backs, mowing them down in swaths.
Moving at full speed, many were shot like rabbits, falling heels over
head. At the same time Captain Tilton passed to the right of the fort
and caught another party retreating along the crest of the hill joining
the two forts, and, with a steady carbine fire, thinned their numbers.
At 12.45 the stars and stripes floated over all the forts. A
photographer came ashore and on his camera fixed the horrible picture
of blood.
The scene after the battle smoke cleared away, and our men sat down to
rest, was of a kind to thoroughly satisfy those “who look on war as a
pastime.” It was one from which humanity loves to avert her gaze. Two
hundred and forty-three corpses in their white garments lay in and
around the citadel. Many of them were clothed in thick cotton armor,
wadded to nine thicknesses, which now smouldered away. A sickening
stench of roasted flesh filled the air, which, during the day and
night, became intolerable. Some of the wounded, fearing their captors
worse than their torture, slowly burned to death; choosing rather to
suffer living cremation than to save their lives as captives. Our men,
as they dragged the smoking corpses into the burial trench, found one
man who could endure the torture no longer. Making signs of life, he
was soon stripped of his clothes, but died soon after of his wounds and
burns. Only twenty prisoners, all wounded, were taken alive. At least a
hundred corpses floated or sunk in the river, which ran here and there
in crimson streaks. At this one place probably as many as three hundred
and fifty Corean patriots gave up their lives for their country.
On the American side, the gallant McKee, who fell as his father fell in
Mexico, at the head of his men, the first inside the stormed works, was
mortally wounded, and died soon after. One landsman of the Colorado and
one marine of the Benicia were killed. Five men were severely, and five
slightly, wounded.
The other two forts below the citadel being open to the rear from the
main work were easily entered, no regular resistance being offered. The
results of the forty-eight hours on shore, eighteen of which were spent
in the field, were the capture of five forts—probably the strongest in
the kingdom—fifty flags, four hundred and eighty-one pieces of
artillery, chiefly jingals, and a large number of matchlocks. Of the
artillery eleven pieces were 32,– fourteen were 24,– two were 20,– and
the remaining four hundred and fifty-four were 2- and 4-pounders. The
work of destruction was carried on and made as thorough as fire, axe,
and shovel could make it. A victory was won, of which the American navy
may feel proud. Zeal, patience, discipline, and bravery characterized
men and officers in all the movements.
The wounded were moved to the Monocacy. The forts were occupied all
Sunday night, and early on Monday morning the whole force was
re-embarked in perfect order, in spite of the furious tide, rising
twenty feet. The fleet moved down the stream with the captured colors
at the mast-heads and towing the boats laden with the trophies of
victory. Reaching the anchorage at half past ten o’clock, they were
greeted with such ringing cheers of their comrades left behind as made
the woodlands echo again.
Later in the day, Dennis Hendrin (or Hanrahan) and Seth Allen, the two
men slain in the fight, were buried on Boisée Island, and the first
American graves rose on Corean soil. At 5.45 P.M. McKee breathed his
last. [49]
Yet the odds of battle were dreadful—three graves against heaps upon
heaps of unburied slain. Well might the pagan ask: “What did Heaven
mean by it?”
The native wounded were kindly cared for, and their broken bones
mended, by the fleet surgeon, Dr. Mayo. Admiral Rodgers, in a letter to
the native authorities, offered to return his prisoners. The reply was
in substance: “Do as you please with them.” The prisoners were
therefore set ashore and allowed to dispose of themselves.
Admiral Rodgers having obeyed to the farthest limit the orders given
him, and all hope of making a treaty being over, two of the ships,
withal needing to refit, the fleet sailed from the anchorage off Isle
Boisée the day before the fourth of July, arriving in Chifu on the
morning of July 5th, after thirty-five days’ stay in Corean waters. He
arrived in time to hear of the Tientsin massacre, which had taken place
June 20th. “Our little war with the heathen,” as the New York Herald
styled it, attracted slight notice in the United States. A few columns
of news and comment from the metropolitan press, a page or two of
woodcuts in an illustrated newspaper, the ringing of a chime of jests
on going up Salt River (Salée), and the usual transmission of official
documents, summed up the transient impression on the American public.
In China the expedition was looked upon as a failure and a defeat. The
popular Corean idea was, that the Americans had come to avenge the
death of pirates and robbers, and, after several battles, had been so
surely defeated that they dare not attempt the task of chastisement
again. To the Tai-wen Kun the whole matter was cause for personal
glorification. The tiger-hunters and the conservative party at court
believed that they had successfully defied both France and America, and
driven off their forces with loss. When a Scotch missionary in
Shing-king reasoned with a Corean concerning the power of foreigners
and their superiority in war, the listener’s reply, delivered with
angry toss of the head and a snap of the fingers, was: “What care we
for your foreign inventions? Even our boys laugh at all your weapons.”