On October 19th, Ni, the Corean general commanding, had sent the French admiral a long letter stuffed with quotations from the Chinese classics, the gist of which was that whoever from outside broke through the frontiers of another kingdom was worthy of death—a sentiment well worthy of a state of savagery.
The French admiral, with equal national bombast, but in direct [[384]]and clearest phrase, demanded the surrender of the three high ministers of the court, else he would hold the Corean government responsible for the miseries of the war.
The Coreans in camp were ceaselessly busy in drilling raw troops and improving their marksmanship. Soldiers arrived from all quarters, and among them was a regiment of eight hundred tiger-hunters from the north, every man of whom was a dead shot either with bow or matchlock. These men, who had faced the tiger and many of whom had felt his claws, were not likely to fear even French “devils.” They garrisoned a fortified monastery on the island which was situated in a valley in the centre of a circle of hills which were crowned by a wall of uncemented masonry. It could be approached only by one small foot-path in a deep ravine. The entrance was a gateway of heavy hewn stone, arched in a full semicircle, the gate being in one piece. The walls were mounted with home-made artillery.
On the same day on which this information reached the admiral, the natives attacked a French survey boat, whereupon he at once resolved to capture the monastery. For this purpose he detached 160 men, without artillery, who left at six o’clock in the morning of October 27th, with their luncheon packed on horses. The invaders, with their heads turned by too many easy victories, went in something like picnic order, frequently stopping to rest and enjoy the autumnal scenery. On several occasions they saw squads of men marching over the hills toward the same destination, but this did not hurry the Frenchmen, though a native informed them that the monastery, ordinarily inhabited only by a dozen priests, was now garrisoned and full of soldiers.
At 11.30 they arrived near the fortress, when some one proposed lunch. Others jauntily declared it would be very easy to capture “the pagoda,” and then dine in the hall of Buddha himself; this advice was not, however, followed. Having arranged three parties, they advanced to within three hundred yards of the gate. All within was as silent as death. Suddenly a sheet of flame burst from the whole length of the wall, though not a black head nor a white coat was visible. In a minute the French columns were shattered and broken, and not a man was on his feet. The soldiers, retreating in a hail of lead, found refuge behind rocks, sheaves of rice, piles of straw, and in the huts near by. There the officers rallied their men lest the garrison should make a sally. The wounded were then borne to the rear. They numbered thirty-two. [[385]]Only eighty fighting men were left, and these soon became conscious of being weak and very hungry, for they had been cruelly tantalized by seeing the lunch-horse kick up his heels at the first fire, and trot over to the Coreans. They learned that one of the slips ’twixt the cup and the lip might be caused by a horse in Chō-sen. Perhaps some native poet improvised a poem contrasting the patriotic nag with the steed of Kanko, which led a hungry army home.
It being madness or annihilation for eighty Frenchmen to attempt to storm a stone fortress, garrisoned by five or ten times their number of enemies, and guarded with artillery, retreat was resolved on. The wounded were hastily cared for and the mournful march began. The stronger men carried their severely injured comrades on their shoulders with brotherly kindness. The unwounded who were free formed the rear-guard. Three times the little band had to face about and fire with effect at the Coreans, who thrice charged their foes with heavy loss to themselves. They then mounted the hills, and with savage yells celebrated their victory over the western barbarians. It was not till night, hungry and tired, that reinforcements were met a half league from camp. They had been sent out by the admiral, to whom had come presentiment of failure.
There was gloom in the camp that night and at headquarters. The near sky and the horizon, notched by the hills, seemed to glare with unusual luridness, betokening the joy and the deadly purpose of the invaded people.
The next morning, to the surprise of all, and the anger of many, orders were given to embark. The work on the fortifications begun around the camp was left off. The troops in Kang-wa set fire to the city, which, in a few hours, was a level heap of ashes. The departure of the invaders was so precipitate that the patriots to this day gloat over it as a disgraceful retreat.
A huge bronze bell, from one of the temples in Kang-wa, which had been transported half way to the camp, was abandoned. The Coreans recaptured this, regarding it as a special trophy of victory. The French embarked at night, and at six o’clock next morning dropped down to the anchorage at Boisée Island. On the way, every fort on the island seemed to be manned and popping away at the ships, but hurting only the paint and rigging. To their great disgust, the men repulsed two days before, discovered the walls of the monastery from deck, and that the distance was only a mile and [[386]]a half from the river side. There was considerable silent swearing among the officers, who believed it could be easily stormed and taken even then. Orders must be obeyed, however, and in rage and shame they silently gazed on the grim walls. The return of the expedition was a great surprise to the fleet at Boisée Island. On his return to China, the admiral found, to his mortification, that his government did not approve of the headlong venture of Bellonet.[2]
In the palace at Seoul, the resolve was made to exterminate Christianity, root and branch. Women and even children were ordered to the death. Several Christian nobles were executed. One Christian, who was betrayed in the capital by his pagan brother, and another unknown fellow-believer were taken to the river side in front of the city, near the place where the two French vessels had anchored. At this historic spot, by an innovation unknown in the customs of Chō-sen, they were decapitated, and their headless trunks held neck downward to spout out the hot life-blood, that it might wash away the stain of foreign pollution. “It is for the sake of these Christians,” said the official proclamation, “that the barbarians have come just here. It is on account of these only that the waters of our river have been denied by western ships. It behooves that their blood should wash out the stain.” Upon the mind of the regent and court at Seoul, the effect was to swell their pride to the folly of extravagant conceit. Feeling themselves able almost to defy the world, they began soon after to hurl their defiance at Japan. The dwarf of yesterday had become a giant in a day. [[387]]