[3] Rear-Admiral John Rodgers, who commanded the fleet, was a veteran in war, in naval science, and in polar research. He had served in the Seminole and Mexican campaigns, and through the civil war on the iron-clad monitors. He had visited the Pacific in 1853, when in command of the John Hancock. He had cruised in the China seas and sailed through Behring’s Straits. He, too, was in the prime of life, being at this time fifty-eight years of age. His whole conduct of the expedition displayed consummate skill, and marked him in this, as in his many other enterprises, as “one of the foremost naval men of the age.” Yet princes in naval science are not always princes in diplomacy. [↑]
[4] The first appearance of the flag of North Germany in Corean waters was at the mast-head of the China, when plunder and dead men’s bones were the objects sought. Its second appearance, on the Hertha man-of-war, was in peace and honorable quest of friendly relations. Its third appearance, in May, 1871—while, or shortly before, the American fleet were in the Han River—was on the schooner Chusan, which was wrecked on one of the islands of Sir James Hall group, the Chinese crew only, it appears, being saved. On June 6th, a party of three foreigners left Chifu in a junk to bring back salvage from the wreck. These men were not heard from until July 6th, when the Chinese crew returned without them. On the same day the British gunboat Ringdove, with the consul of Chifu, left for the Hall group. It was found that the foreigners had landed to bring away the crew of the Chusan, when the Chinamen, pretending or thinking that they had been taken prisoners, put off to sea without them. The consul found them in good health and spirits, and the Ringdove brought away for them whatever was worth saving from the Chusan. Again the Corean policy of kindness toward the shipwrecked was illustrated. The two foreigners—a Scotchman and a Maltese—had been well fed and kindly treated. [↑]
[5] These men simply acted as the catspaws for the monkey in the capital to pull out as many hot chestnuts from the fire as possible. It is part of Asiatic policy to send official men of low rank and no authority to dally and prelude, and, if possible, hoodwink or worry out foreigners. Their chief weapons are words; their main strength, cunning. When these are foiled by kindness, and equal patience, firmness, and address, the Asiatics yield, and send their men of first rank to confer and treat. Perry knew this, so did Townsend Harris in Japan; so have successful diplomats known it in China. Was it done in the American expedition to Corea in 1871? Let us see.
These Coreans had no right to say either “yes” or “no” to any proposition of the Americans. Had they committed themselves to anything definite, degradation, crushed shin-bones, and perhaps death, might have been their fate. The only thing for the Americans to do—who came to ask a favor which the Coreans were obstinately bent on not giving—was to feast them, treat them with all kindness, get them in excellent good humor, send them back, and wait till accredited envoys of high rank should arrive. In the light of the [[409]]French failure, this was the only course to pursue. There were even men of influence in the American fleet who advised this policy of patience. As matter of fact, such a course was urged by Captain H. S. Blake.
In such an emergency, patience, kindness, tact, the absence of any burning idea of “wiping out insults to the flag,” and an antiseptic condition toward fight were most needed—the higher qualities, of resolution and self-conquest rather than valor. Even if it had been possible to inflict ten times the damage which was afterward actually inflicted, and win tenfold more “glory,” the rear-admiral must have known that nature and his “instructions” were on the side of the Coreans, and that the only end of the case must be a retreat from the country. And the only possible interpretation the people could put upon the visit of the great American fleet would be a savage thirst for needless vengeance, a sordid greed of gain, and the justification of robbers and invaders. In spite of all the slaughter of their countrymen, they would read in the withdrawal of their armies, defeat, and defeat only. [↑]
[6] These are the rear-admiral’s own words. Here was the mistake! From what may be easily known of the Corean mind, it must have seemed to them that the advance of such an armed force up the river, leading to the capital—following exactly the precedent of the French—was nothing more than a treacherous beginning of war in the face of assurances of peace. To enter into their waters seemed to them an invasion of their country. To do it after fair words spoken in friendship seemed basest treachery. Had a Corean officer counselled peace in the face of the advancing fleet, he would undoubtedly have been beheaded at once as a traitor. There were men on the American side who saw this. Some spoke out loud of it to others, but it was not “theirs to make reply.” [↑]
[7] In the chapel of the Naval Academy, at Annapolis, a tasteful mural tablet, “Erected by his brother officers of the Asiatic squadron,” with the naval emblems—sword, belt, anchor, and glory-wreath—in medallion, and inscription on a shield beneath, keeps green the memory of an unselfish patriot and a gallant officer. [↑]