Since 1839 the government had tripled its vigilance and doubled the guards on the frontier. The most strenuous efforts to pass the barriers repeatedly failed. Andrew Kim is a name to be remembered in the history of Christianity in Corea. Year after year he worked to enter Corea, or once in, to advance the cause, or when rejected to help others in the work. He was ordained to the priesthood in Shanghai, and finally in company with two French priests, in September, 1845, sailed across the Yellow Sea, and landed on the coast of Chulla, to make his final effort to spread Christianity among the Coreans. During July of the same year, the British ship Samarang was engaged in surveying off Quelpaert and the south coast of Corea. Beacon fires all over the land telegraphed the news of the presence of foreign ships, and the close watch that was kept by the coast magistrates made the return of Andrew Kim doubly dangerous.
These records of perseverance[perseverance], of distress, of martyrdom, from the pages of missionary work in Corea, written in the blood of native converts, who bore their cross with equal bravery to that of the Roman fathers, may be surprising to some who have been unfamiliar with the history of the Corean peninsula. But they are convincing testimony to controvert the assertions of some incredulous ones who affirm that the “heathen” are never really Christianized, but are always ready to return to their idols in times of trial. There is no country that can show braver examples of fortitude, in enduring trial for the support of the faith, than the “Hermit Nation.”
Three priests in disguise were now secretly at work in Corea, Andrew Kim, a native convert, and the Frenchmen, Bishop Ferreol, and his companion Daveluy. Kim was captured and in company with half a dozen others was executed September 16th. While he was in prison the Bishop heard of three French ships which were at that time vainly trying to find the mouth of the Han River and the channel to the capital. Ferreol wrote to Captain Cecile, who commanded the fleet, but the note arrived too late and Kim’s fate was sealed. The object of the fleet’s visit was to demand satisfaction for the murder of the two French priests in 1889, but after some coast surveys were made and a threatening letter was dispatched the ships withdrew.
During the summer of 1845, two French frigates set sail for the Corean coast, and August 10th went aground, and both vessels became total wrecks. The six hundred men made their camp at Kokun island, where they were kindly treated and furnished with provisions, although rigidly secluded and guarded against all communication with the main land. An English ship from Shanghai rescued the crews. During the ensuing eight years repeated efforts were made by missionaries and native converts to enter Corea and advance the work there, and the labor of propagation progressed. A number of religious works in the Corean language were printed from a native printing press and widely circulated. In 1850 the Christians numbered eleven thousand, and five young men were studying for the priesthood. Regular mails sewn into the thick cotton coats of the men in the annual embassy were sent to and brought from China. The western nations were beginning to take an interest in the twin hermits of the east, Corea and Japan. In 1852, the Russian frigate Pallas traced and mapped a portion of the shore line of the east coast, and the work was continued three years later by the French war vessel Virginie. At the end of this voyage the whole coast from Fusan to the Tumen was known with some accuracy and mapped out with European names.
It was in the intervening years, 1853 and 1854, that Commodore Perry and the American squadron were in the waters of the far east, driving the wedge of civilization into Japan. The American flag, however, was not yet seen in Corean waters, though the court of Seoul was kept informed of Perry’s movements.
A fresh reinforcement of missionaries reached Corea in 1857. When three years later the French and English forces opened war with China, took the Peiho forts, entered Peking, and sacked the summer palace of the Son of Heaven, driving the Chinese emperor to flight, the loss of Chinese prestige struck terror into all Corean hearts. For six centuries China had been in Corean eyes the synonym and symbol of invincible power. Copies of the treaties made between China and the allies, granting freedom of trade and religion, were soon read in Corea, causing intense alarm. But the most alarming thing was the treaty between China and Russia, by which the Manchoo rulers surrendered the great tract watered by the Amoor river and bordered by the Pacific, to Russia. It was a rich and fertile region, with a coast full of harbors, and comprising an area as large as France. The boundaries of Siberia now touch Corea. With France on the right, Russia on the left, China humbled, and Japan opened to the western world, it is not strange that the rulers in Seoul trembled. The results to Christianity were that within a few years thousands of natives fled their country and settled in the Russian villages. At the capital, official business was suspended and many families of rank fled to the mountains. In many instances people of rank humbly sought the good favor and protection of the Christians, hoping for safety when the dreaded invasion should come. In the midst of these war preparations, the French missionary body was reinforced by the arrival of four of their countrymen who set foot on the soil of their martyrdom, October, 1861.
The Ni dynasty, founded in 1392, came to an end January 15, 1864, by the death of King Chul-chong, who had no child, before he had nominated an heir. Palace intrigues and excitement among the political parties followed. The widows of the three kings who had reigned since 1831 were still living. The eldest of these, Queen Cho, at once seized the royal seal and emblems of authority, which high-handed move made her the mistress of the situation. A twelve-year-old lad was nominated for the throne, and his father, Ni Kung, one of the royal princes, became the actual regent. He held the reins of government during the next nine years, ruling with power like that of an absolute despot. He was a rabid hater of Christianity, foreigners, and progress.
The year 1866 is phenomenal in Corean history. It seemed to the rulers as if the governments of many nations had conspired to pierce their walls of isolation. Russians, Frenchmen, Englishmen, Americans, Germans, authorized and unauthorized, landed to trade, rob, kill, or what was equally obnoxious to the regent and his court, to make treaties. This and the rapid progress of Christianity now excited the anti-Christian party, which was in full power at the court, to clamor for the enforcement of the old edict against the foreign religion.
Vainly the regent warned the court of the danger from Europe. Forced by the party in power, he signed the death warrants of bishops and priests and promulgated anew the old laws against the Christians. Within a few weeks fourteen French priests and bishops were tortured to death, and twice as many native missionaries and students for the priesthood suffered like fate. Scores of native Christians were put to death, and hundreds more were in prison. In a little over a month, all missionary operations came to a standstill. The three French priests who remained alive escaped from the peninsula in a Chinese junk, and finally reached Chefoo October 26. Not one foreign priest now remained in Corea, and no Christian dared openly confess his faith. Thus after twenty years of nearly uninterrupted labors, the church was again stripped of her pastors, and at the end of eighty-two years of Corean Christianity the curtain fell in blood.
With Bishop Ridel as interpreter and three of his converts as pilots, three French vessels were sent to explore the Han River and to make effort to secure satisfaction for the murder of the French bishops and priests in the previous March. They entered the river September 21, and two of the vessels advanced to Seoul, leaving one at the mouth of the river. One or two forts fired on the vessels as they steamed along, and in one place a fleet of junks gathered to dispute their passage. A well-aimed shot sunk two of the crazy craft, and a bombshell dropped among the artillerists in the redoubt, silenced it at once. On the evening of the 25th, the two ships cast anchor and the flag of France floated in front of the Corean capital. The hills were white with gazing thousands, who for the first time saw a vessel moving under steam. The ships remained abreast of the city several days, the officers taking soundings and measurements, computing heights, and making plans. Bishop Ridel went on shore in hopes of finding a Christian and hearing some news but none dared to approach him. While the French remained in the river not a bag of rice nor a fagot of wood entered Seoul. Eight days of such terror, and a famine would have raged in the city. Seven thousand houses were deserted by their occupants. When the ships returned to the mouth of the river two converts came on board. They informed Ridel of the burning of a “European” vessel, the General Sherman, at Ping-Yang, of the renewal of the persecution, and of the order that Christians should be put to death without waiting for instructions from Seoul. Sailing away, the ships arrived at Chefoo, October 3.