In March, 1880, there was published in London and New York the English translation of “Ein Verschlossenes Land,” a work printed in Germany. As we read “A Forbidden Land: Voyages to the Corea,” it dawned upon us [[401]]that the author was none other than “the needy Hamburgh trader,” “the Jewish peddler,” of the Consular Court trial of 1867. It was even so. Coolly and without denial, the author tells us that the main object of his last voyage was to “remove” some buried relics held in great veneration by that “blood-thirsty tyrant,” the Tai-wen Kun, or regent. The project was first suggested to him by the French priest, who, as the author takes pains to tell us, was not a Jesuit, nor had ever belonged to that order (p. 295), though he gives Feron’s proposition in his own words (p. 299), the italics being ours:
“If the project I am going to lay before you (i.e., to rob the grave) will at first sight appear to you strange and out of the common, remember that a great aim can never be gained by small means, and that we must look at this affair from another point of view than that which may be taken by narrow-minded people.”
The details of the landing, march [to near Totta-san?], excavation, and retreat are duly narrated, the blame of failure being laid upon one unlucky wight who was “the only disreputable character we had with us!”
After leaving Prince Jerome Gulf, the China proceeded up the Han River to Tricault Island (see map, page 379), “about twenty minutes’ steam below Kang-wha.” There the leader received a note from the Taiouen-goon (the Tai-wen Kun, or regent), the gist of which was, “Corea has no need of foreign intruders.” While holding a parley near the wall of a town on Tricault Island, “the only disreputable character” in the party again got them into trouble. This black sheep was a German sailor, who, hungering after fresh veal, had stolen a calf; an act which drew the fire of the native soldiery on the city wall. The thief received a ball in his arm, which compelled him to drop the calf and run, while one Manilaman was shot dead. It is not known how far the statistics of a Corean warfare diverge from those elsewhere, nor how many tons of lead are required to kill one man, but owing to the incredibly bad aim of the jingal shooters, the remainder of the party of twenty or more escaped their deserts and reached the tender. The next morning the expedition set out on the return to Shanghae.
After a review of this book (in The Nation of April 7, 1880), which the author issued after his imprisonment, the following note appeared in the same paper of April 21st:
Oppert’s Corean Outrage.
To the Editor of The Nation:
Sir: The notice of Oppert’s book on Corea recalls some curious incidents to my mind. The raid on the King’s tomb was one of the most extraordinary affairs ever known. Its inception and failure might have been concealed but for the Coreans, when they attacked the ghouls, killing an unfortunate Manilaman. Hearing of this, the Spanish consul applied to Mr. Seward (United States Consul-General at Shanghae), who at once arrested Jenkins. I was one of the four “associates” summoned to sit with the consul-general in the trial, and well remember what a perfect burlesque it was. The Chinese, who had told a plain and coherent story on preliminary examination, were as dumb as oysters on the stand. When all had been called, the defendant’s counsel said that he would rest his case on their testimony. Conviction was [[402]]impossible, but in the minds of those informed on the subject, the wickedness of this buccaneering expedition was remembered as surpassing even the absurdity of an attempt to destroy a granite mausoleum with coal shovels. There is a monstrous impertinence in Oppert’s publishing an account of a piratical fiasco which is reported to have cost him a term of imprisonment at home.
A. A. Hayes, Jr.
New York, April 15, 1880.
[[403]]