The story, as we heard it from one near the king, was as follows: Wearied and sick at heart of affairs of state, his majesty retired to the women’s apartments, where he spent his entire time, escaping thus to some extent the detestable espionage of his enemies, who delegated two elderly women, one the wife of the Tai Won Kun, and another, whose duty it was to watch his majesty in turn, one by day, the other by night. Their vigilance was, however, in some way sufficiently eluded, so that a plan for the royal prisoner’s escape was arranged with two of the palace women, which was successfully carried out as follows:
On a certain birthday festival, both of the duennas who, as was said, took turns, watching and sleeping, were invited to celebrate with the king, and to partake of a great feast, with plenty of wine and prolonged amusements. All night the king’s watchers revelled, both falling into a heavy sleep before dawn. This is the story, but I like to think that as one of the women was probably the king’s mother, her heart was tender toward her unhappy son, and that she purposely relaxed her watch. It would gild a little the long dark tale of all that preceded to find a touch of sweet human affection right here. At any rate, when every one in the palace was off guard, supposing the king and crown prince asleep, they entered a couple of women’s chairs which were waiting. The bearers of these chairs had been specially selected and paid with a view to their carrying two, and thought nothing of it, as the palace women often went out to their homes in this way. So in each chair a woman sat in front of its royal occupant, screening him from view should any one glance in. The sentinels at the gate had been provided with hot refreshments and plenty of strong drink, and were so fully occupied that the chairs with their valuable burden passed out unnoticed and unhindered. They were expected at the Russian legation, where one hundred and sixty marines from the port had just been called up, and there they speedily made their way, arriving at about seven or eight in the morning of February 11, 1896.
This meant the downfall of the usurpers. With the king’s person went all their claim to authority and power, and it also meant that Japanese influence in Korean affairs was over for a time, and that the country had been almost thrown into the arms of Russia, by the short-sighted policy of the minister, who had desired to “establish the prestige of Japan.”
As our compound was very close to the Russian legation, and fronting on the same street, we were soon aware that something very unusual had occurred. The whole road, as far as the eye could reach, was filled with a surging mob of soldiers, commoners, and the chairs and retainers of the nobility. Guards and sentinels were stationed every few paces along our street, and there was a loud and almost terrifying babel of shouting voices, in the din and confusion of which it was impossible to distinguish anything. I sent at once for one or two of Mr. Underwood’s writers and literary helpers, who told me that the king had arrived a short while before at the Russian legation, and had assumed the reins of government, and that the army, officials and people were rallying around him, each anxious to precede the other in protestations of loyalty and devotion.
Then I thought rather busily for a few seconds. My first reflection of course was, “How will this affect the absent missionaries?” How would it affect Japanese (now distrusted) and through them all foreigners in the interior? Would the people in the country not be likely to wreak the vessels of their wrath upon them, and would they discriminate between them and others wearing similar clothing? I feared not, and that the probabilities were that Dr. Avison and Mr. Underwood might be in considerable danger, as soon as the news of the king’s escape, and the fall of the pro-Japanese party became known. Word must then be sent, and soon, in order if possible to reach them before the news reached the natives. I sent a letter to our very kind friend, the Russian minister, with a message to his majesty, inquiring whether anything could be done for the protection and safe return of the two missionaries. I knew an immediate reply could hardly be expected, such was the rush of business, and the number of visitors and claimants on their time, so, to leave no means untried, I called up one of the copyists, informed him of the necessity for speed, and had the satisfaction of seeing him start that very hour with a letter and warning message to my husband. A short time after, fearing that something might occur to detain one messenger, I sent another by a different road. The second man was stopped by Tonghaks, looking for foreigners, who for some reason suspected him, searched him, ripped open his clothes, where they found my letter (which of course they could not read), and forced him to go back to Seoul.
On the day following that on which my messengers had started, a kind letter from the Russian legation came, saying that the king would at once send a guard to Koksan to bring back the two Americans, and at about the same time, a wealthy nobleman in Songdo, a friend of both, and brother-in-law of General Yun, knowing where they were, and fearing for them, also sent a special posse of men to see them safely home.
Having done all that I could, the most difficult of all tasks, that of waiting, remained, but I remembered that I had a sister in the same situation, only that she probably was not quite as well informed as myself of the exact state of affairs, and did not know that any word had been sent to our husbands. The street running in front of our house was packed with excited people, but I decided to make my way through them in my chair and go down to Mrs. Avison, where she was living at a long distance from the rest of us, and try to set her mind at rest by telling her what measures had been taken for the safety of the absentees, and of what was happening at our end of the town. I soon passed the crowd in our neighborhood, who were in no way concerned with me, and in a little while reached the great street, which runs toward the palace, and crosses that on which the hospital and Dr. Avison’s home stood.
As we reached the corner, I saw a great mob of the roughest and wildest looking men, with flushed faces and dishevelled hair. They came tearing towards us shouting to each other, “The Japanese soldiers are coming, they are firing. Run, run, run!” I did not fancy the company of these gentlemen any more than their looks, nor did I care to be a target for Japanese troops, who were supposed to be chasing them. So I also adjured my chair coolies with some emphasis to “run.” The whole mob came sweeping round the corner, into the thoroughfare on which we were. It was not a dignified or desirable situation, a Presbyterian missionary in the midst of a wild scramble, and with a panic-stricken crowd of roughs escaping for dear life, from the avengers of justice, but there was no help for it. My coolies needed no urging, they were as anxious to get away as any of us, but they certainly deserved great credit, that under the circumstances they did not leave me to my fate, and try to save only themselves. A few moments running brought us to the hospital gates, where we turned in hastily, and were safe. It was not cold, and yet I found myself shivering like an aspen. Strange!
Mrs. Avison and I were soon laughing, however, over my late escapade, and as soon as my errand was finished I hurried home another way, none too soon, for the streets were full of angry-looking men, some of whom scowled at me, and muttered, “foreigner.” That night we learned that two of the pro-Japanese cabinet had been killed on the street and torn to pieces by the mob; that mob which, having finished its awful work, accompanied me down the street that afternoon. A young Japanese was also stoned to death on the street that day. In a few days Dr. Avison and Mr. Underwood were with us quite safe. My faithful and fleet-footed messenger had taken a short cut, and reached Koksan in an amazingly short time.
The news filled our husbands with anxiety for us, not knowing how far mob violence might go, and they made the distance of near two hundred miles in sixty hours, walking nearly all the way (the pack-ponies go much too slow), sleeping only an hour or so at night, and eating as they walked. They missed both the king’s guard and the posse from Songdo, which had taken a different road, but met many poor frightened natives along the road, who knew not where to turn or to whom to look for protection, with Tonghaks on the one hand and pro-Japanese on the other. Later we heard of many sad tales of Japanese citizens, overtaken in the country, who were very summarily dealt with by the exasperated people. Japanese troops were sent by their minister to bring back all who could be found, and large sums were demanded from the Korean government in payment for the lives thus sacrificed. To which demand, it has been suggested, the reply might have been made, “Who is to indemnify Korea for the life of her queen?”