To add to our reputation as undesirable citizens, a Japanese guide, travelling with a Thomas Cook and Son party on our train into Seoul, reported to the police that there were two suspicious looking characters on board. This information, coupled with our already unsavoury reputation, made the officers exceptionally vigilant. What we could do to harm the innocent inhabitants of Seoul or damage their meagre possessions is a mystery.
Day and night these little fellows kept watch. They marched by our side as we took in the sights of the city and at night two of them were stationed on the steps of the Y.M.C.A. building to see that we didn't make a midnight getaway and shoot up the town. They went so far as to regulate our engagements. We were invited to be guests of a prominent Japanese family during our stay in Seoul but the police issued an order that we could not accept. They gave as their reasons that we were moving about too much and that it would be embarrassing for a respected household to entertain two criminals.
I had received an invitation to dine with some English friends and had accepted, determined to keep this engagement even if doing so caused international complications. While the policemen were at their posts on the front steps of the Y.M.C.A. I left the house by the back door, climbed over the fence, jumped into a rickshaw and was on my way. After a good meal and a pleasant evening I returned to the Y.M.C.A. about eleven o'clock and walked up the front steps between the two officers. From a semi-doze they were instantly transformed into two of the most excited and enraged men I have ever seen. The characteristic etiquette of the Far East was forgotten and they bestowed upon me numerous epithets which, if translated, would probably have taught me all the profanity in the Japanese language. I left them on the steps and went to bed.
This incident made the police especially watchful next day, but in spite of their precautions we played horse with them. We had had enough of this nonsense and decided to leave Seoul without notifying our escorts. We framed up a scheme for our escape which we carried out in such a manner that it appeared as though we were experienced crooks.
Through an American we made arrangements to ship our baggage to Chemulpo and, relieved of our belongings, we thought we could make short work of the police. It was about ten o'clock on a dark night. We were in a native shop buying fruit. The police stood at the entrance engrossed in conversation.
"Now is the time to make our getaway," I said.
"I am ready," said Richardson. "What's your plan?"
Our train would not leave for an hour. In a few hurried words I suggested that we slip out the back door, light out separately for the station and meet as soon as we could.
"All right," said Richardson, "if we can't outrun these short-legged pests we are no good."
We stole out into the alley and made a dash, each in an opposite direction. The shop-keeper called to the police but our flight had been too sudden for them. They stood petrified. The moment's hesitation was all we needed. By the time they had come to a conclusion that they should pursue us, we were out of sight. We ran down alleys, hurdling fences and seeking the dark streets. Richardson plunged through some one's private yard, mutilating the flower beds, tearing his trousers on the garden fence and before long was at the station. I completed the home-stretch of my escape by grabbing a rickshaw, placing the coolie in the seat, giving him my hat and playing the part of horse myself. It took ten minutes' persuasion and five yen to induce the man to agree to such an arrangement. A coolie will do anything for money. In this way I sauntered down the street, unnoticed, pulling an Oriental overcome with amazement. Two blocks from the station I discharged the rickshaw and walked towards the freight yards. In three-quarters of an hour we found one another and crawled into a box-car to wait for the departure of our train.