While the three priests were prosecuting their perilous labors, Thomas Tsoi, the Corean student from Macao with Maistre, a new missionary, were on their way through Manchuria to Hun-chun. Arriving after a seventeen days’ march, they were seized by Manchiu officers, reprimanded, and sent back to Mukden.

Andrew Kim, by order of Bishop Ferreol, went to Whang-hai by water, to examine into the feasibility of making that province a gateway of entrance. The sea was full of Chinese junks, the herring fishery being at its height. Watch-towers dotted the hills, and the beach was patrolled by soldiers to prevent communication with shore. Andrew, coming ostensibly to buy a cargo of fish, was enabled to sail among the islands, to locate the rocks and sandspits, and to make a chart of the coast. Deeming the route practicable, he hailed a Chinese junk, and after conference, confided to the captain the mail-bag of the mission, which contained also the charts and two maps of Corea. Unfortunately these documents were seized by the spies, and Andrew Kim, delayed while the cargo of fish was drying, was arrested on the suspicion of being a Chinaman. He was sent to Seoul, and while in prison heard of the French ships which were at that moment vainly trying to find the mouth of the Han River and the channel to the capital. Meanwhile, from his hiding-place, Ferreol wrote to Captain Cecile, who commanded the fleet of three war-vessels.

The object of this visit was to hold a conference with the king’s ministers, and demand satisfaction for the murder of Imbert Chastan and Maubant in 1839. After some coast surveys made, and the despatch of a threatening letter, the ships withdrew. Ferreol’s note arrived too late, and Andrew Kim’s fate was sealed.

While in prison, Andrew was employed in coloring, copying, and translating two English maps of the world, one of which was for the king, and composing a summary of geography. In a letter [368]in Latin to Ferreol, dated August 26th, he narrated his capture and trial. On September 16th, he was led out to trial. The sentence-flag bore the inscription: “Put to death for communicating with the western barbarians,” and the full programme of cruelty was carried out. Four women and four men were put to death in the persecution which followed.

Maistre and Thomas Tsoi went to Macao and there found the French frigates La Gloire and La Victorieuse, ready to sail north for an answer to Captain Cecile’s letter. Gladly welcomed by Captain Pierre, they went aboard July 12th. On August 10th, while under sail in a group of islands off Chulla, in latitude 35° 45′ and longitude 124° 8′, in water which the English charts marked at twelve fathoms deep, both vessels grounded simultaneously. The high tides for which this coast is noted falling rapidly, both vessels became total wrecks. The largest of the La Gloire’s boats was at once sent to Shanghae for assistance, and the six hundred men made their camp at Kokun Island. Kindly treated and furnished with provisions as they were, the Frenchmen during their stay were rigidly secluded, and at night cordons of boats with lanterns guarded against all communication with the mainland. Thomas Tsoi acted as dumb interpreter, with pencil, in Chinese, and though hearing every word of the Corean magistrates was not recognized. Though meeting fellow Christians, he was unable to get inland, and Ferreol’s messengers to the sea-shore arrived after an English ship from Shanghae had taken the crews away.

The Corean government, fearing1 further visits of the outside barbarians, sent an answer to Admiral Cecile, directing it to Captain Pierre at Macao, by way of Peking.2 They explained why they treated Frenchmen shipwrecked kindly; but sent Frenchmen disguised to execution.3 When Admiral Cecile reached Paris in [369]1848, one of the periodical French revolutions had broken out in Paris, and a war at the ends of the earth was out of the question. The French government neglected to send a vessel to take away the effects saved from the wreck. The Coreans promptly put the cannon to use, and from them, as models, manufactured others for the forts built to resist “the Pepins” in 1866, and the Americans in 1871.

Once more Maistre and Thomas Tsoi essayed to enter the guarded peninsula, by sailing early in 1848 in a Chinese junk from Macao to Merin Island off Whang-hai, but no Christians met them. By way of Shanghae, they then went into Shing-king, and in December to the Border Gate, meeting couriers from Bishop Ferreol. On a fiercely cold, windy, and dark night, which drove the soldiers indoors to the more congenial pleasure of the long pipe, cards, and cup on the oven-warmed floors, Thomas Tsoi got safely through Ai-chiu, and in a few days was in Seoul, and later in Chulla. The work of propagation now took a fresh start. A number of religious works composed or translated into the vulgar tongue were printed in pamphlet form 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 men in the embassy, were sent to and brought from China. A French whaler having grounded off the coast, the French consul at Shanghae, with two Englishmen, came to reclaim the vessel’s effects, and meeting three young men sent by the ever-alert Thomas Tsoi, took them back to Shanghae, the third remaining to meet his comrades on their return with fresh missionaries to come. After still another failure to enter Corea, Maistre set foot in Chulla-dō, by way of Kokun Island, even while the fire-signals were blazing on the headlands on account of the presence of Russian ships.4 [370]

Ferreol, worn out with his labors, after lying paralytic for many months, died February 3, 1853; but in March, 1854, Janson, making a second attempt, entered Corea, having crossed the Yellow Sea in a junk, which immediately took back three native students for Macao. Janson died in Seoul, of cerebral fever, June 18, 1854.

In these years, 1853 and 1854, Commodore Perry and the American squadron were in the waters of the far East, driving the wedge of civilization into Japan, and sapping her walls of seclusion. The American flag, however, was not yet seen in Corean waters, though the court of Seoul were kept informed of Perry’s movements.

A fresh reinforcement of missionaries to storm the citadel of paganism, Bishop Simeon, François Berneux, with two young priests, Michel Alexandre Petitnicholas and Charles Antoine Pourthie, set sail from Shanghae in a junk, and, after many adventures, arrived at Seoul via Whang-hai, while Feron (of later buccaneering fame) followed on a Corean smuggling vessel, standing unexpectedly before his bishop in the capital, March 31, 1857. A synod of all the missionaries was now held, at which Berneux consecrated Daveluy as his fellow bishop. Maistre died December 20th. The faith was now spread to Quelpart by a native of that island, who, having been shipwrecked on the coast of China, was carried by an English ship to Hong-Kong, where he met a Corean student from Macao and was converted. The Roman Catholic population of Corea in 1857 was reckoned at 16,500.

Communication with the native Christians living near Nagasaki, and then under the harrow of persecution, took place. The cholera imported from Japan swept away over 400,000 victims in Corea. Thus does half the world not know how the other half lives. How many Americans ever heard of this stroke of pestilence in the hermit nation?

In 1860, war with China broke out, the French and English forces took the Peiho forts, entered Peking, sacked the summer palace of the Son of Heaven, a few thousand European troops destroying the military prestige of the Chinese colossus. The [371]Chinese emperor fled into Shing-king, toward Corea. The news produced a lively effect in Chō-sen, especially at court.5

The utter loss of Chinese prestige struck terror into all hearts. For six centuries, China, the Tai-kuk (Great Empire), had been, in Corean eyes, the synonym and symbol of invincible power, and “the Son of Heaven, who commands ten thousand chariots,” the one able to move all the earth. Copies of the treaty made between China and the allies, granting freedom of trade and religion, were soon read in Corea, causing intense alarm.

But the after-clap of news, that turned the first storm of excitement into a tempest of rage and fear, was the treaty with Russia. General Ignatieff, the brilliant and vigorous diplomatist then but twenty-eight years old and fresh on the soil of Cathay, obtained, in 1860, after the allied plenipotentiaries had gone home, the signature of Prince Kung to the cession of the whole Ussuri province. The tread of the Great Bear had been so steadily silent, that before either Great Britain or Chō-sen knew it, his foot had been planted ten degrees nearer the temperate zone. A rich and fertile region, well watered by the Amoor and Sungari Rivers, bordered by the Pacific, with a coast full of harbors, and comprising an area as large as France, was thus ceded to Russia. The Manchiu rulers of China had actually surrendered their ancestral homeland to the wily Muscovites. The boundaries of Siberia now touched the Tumen. The Russian bear jostled the Corean tiger.

With France on the right, Russia on the left, China humbled, and Japan opened to the western world, what wonder that the rulers in Seoul trembled?

The results to Corean Christianity were that, in less than a decade, [372]thousands of natives had fled their country and were settled in the Russian villages.

At the capital all official business was suspended, and many families of rank fled to the mountains. The nobles or officials who could not quit their posts sent off their wives and children. All this turned to the temporary advantage of the missionaries. In many instances, people of rank humbly sought the good favor and protection of the Christians. Medals, crosses, and books of religion were bought in quantities. Some even publicly wore them on their dress, hoping for safety when the dreaded invasion should come. The government now proceeded to raise war-funds, levying chiefly on the rich merchants, who were threatened with torture and death in case of refusal. A conscription of able-bodied men was ordered, and bombs, called “French pieces,” and small-bore cannon were manufactured. In a foundry in the capital heavy guns were cast after the model of those left by the wreck of the La Gloire. The Kang-wa forts were built and garrisoned. In the midst of these war preparations, the missionary body was reinforced by the arrival of four of their countrymen, who, by way of Merin Island, set foot on the soil of their martyrdom October, 1861. Their names were Landre, Joanno, Ridel, and Calais. This year the number of Christians reached 18,000.

Indirect attempts to insert the crowbars of diplomacy in the chinks of Corea’s wall of seclusion were made about this time by France and England, and by Russia at another point. Japan was in each case the fulcrum. On account of the petty trade between Tsushima and Fusan, Earl Russell wished to have Great Britain included as a co-trader with the peninsula. The Russians the same year occupied a station on Tsu Island, commanding the countries on either side; but under protest from Yedo, backed by British men-of-war, abandoned their purpose. In 1862, while the members of the Japanese embassy from the Tycoon were in Paris, the government of Napoleon III. requested their influence in the opening of Corea to French trade and residence. At this time, however, the Japanese had their hands full of their own troubles at home, nor had the court at Seoul sent either envoys or presents since 1832. They should have done so in 1852, at the accession of the new shō-gun, but not relishing the humiliation of coming only to Tsushima, and knowing the weakened state of their former conquerors, they were now ready to defy them.

One new missionary and two returned native students entered [373]in March, 1863. The Ni dynasty, founded in 1392, came to an end on January 15, 1864, by the King Chul-chong, who had no child, dying before he had nominated an heir. This was the signal for fresh palace intrigues, and excitement among the nobles and political parties. The three widows of the kings who had reigned since 1831 were still living. The oldest of these, Queen Chō, at once seized the royal seal and emblems of authority, which high-handed move made her the mistress of the situation. Craftily putting aside her nephew Chō Sung, she nominated for the throne a lad then but twelve years old, and son of Ni Kung, one of the royal princes. This latter person was supposed to be indifferent to politics, but no sooner was his son made the sovereign, than his slumbering ambition woke to lion-like vigor. This man, to use a Corean phrase, had “a heart of stone, and bowels of iron.” He seemed to know no scruple, pity, or fear. Possessing himself of the seal and royal emblems, he was made Tai-wen Kun (Lord of the Great Court—a rare title given to a noble when his son is made king) and became actual regent. This Corean mayor of the palace 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.

In spite of the new current of hostility that set steadily in, the Christians began to be bold even to defiance. In Kiung-sang a funeral procession carrying two hundred lanterns, bore aloft a huge cross, and chanted responsive prayers. In the capital, the converts paraded the signs of the Romish cult. A theological training school was established in the mountains, four new missionaries entered the kingdom through Nai-po, 1976 baptisms were made during the year, and, with much literary work accomplished, the printing-press was kept busy.

The year 1866 is phenomenal in Corean history. It seemed as if the governments and outlaws alike, of many nations, had conspired to pierce or breach the walls of isolation at many points. 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.

In January the Russians, in a war-vessel, again appeared in Broughton’s Bay, and demanded the right of trade. At the same time they stated that some Russian troops were to pass the frontier of Ham-kiung to enforce the demand. The usual stereotyped response was made, that Corea was a vassal of China, and could not [374]treat with any other nation without permission of that Power, and that a special ambassador charged with the matter would be immediately despatched to Peking, etc.

The advent of the double-headed eagle was the signal for lively feeling and action among the Christians at Seoul. The long-cherished project of appealing to England and France to make an alliance to secure liberty of religion was revived. The impulsive converts now forwarded the scheme, under the plea of patriotic defense against the Russians, with all the innocent maladdress which characterizes men who are adults in age but children in politics. In their exhilaration they already dreamed of building a cathedral in Seoul of imposing proportions, and finished in a style worthy alike of their religion and their country. Three Christian nobles, headed by Thomas Kim, composed a letter embodying their ideas of an anti-Russian Franco English alliance, and had it presented to the regent, who blandly sent Thomas Kim to invite the bishops, then absent to a conference in the capital. On his return to Seoul, Kim was coldly received, and no further notice was taken of him. The anti-Christian party, now in full power at court, clamored for the enforcement of the old edict against the foreign religion, while a letter from one of the Corean embassy in Peking, arriving late in January, added fuel to the rising flame. It stated that the Chinese were putting to death all the Christians found in the empire. That lie, “as light as a feather” in its telling, was “as heavy as a mountain” in Corea. Such an illustrious example must be followed. Vainly the regent warned the court of the danger from Europe. The Russian ship, too, had disappeared, and the French seemed afraid to take vengeance for the massacre of 1839. The cry of “Death to all the Christians, death to the western barbarians” now began to be heard. Forced by the party in power, the regent signed the death-warrants of the bishops and priests, promulgated anew the old laws of the realm against the Christians, and proceeded “to make very free with the heads of his subjects.” The minions of the magistrates sallied forth like bloodhounds unleashed. Berneux was seized on February 23d, and brought to trial successively before three tribunals, the last being the highest of the realm.

In his interview with the regent, who had formed a high idea of the Frenchman, Berneux failed to address his Highness in the punctilious form of words demanded by court etiquette. Forthwith the official made up his mind that the Frenchman was a man [375]of slight attainments, and of no personal importance—so sensitive is the Corean mind in the matter of etiquette. From the highest class prison, the bishop, after undergoing horrible tortures with club, paddle, and pointed sticks thrust into his flesh, was cast into a common dungeon, where, in a few days, he was joined by three of his fellow missionaries with several converts, faithful to their teachers even in the hour of death.

All suffered the fierce and savage beatings, and on March 8th were led out to death. An immense crowd of jeering, laughing, curious people followed the prisoners, who were tied by their hair to the chair so as to force them to hold up their faces, that the crowd might see them. Four hundred soldiers marched out with the doomed men to the sandy plain near the river. The lengthened programme of brutal torture and insult was duly carried out, after which the four heads were presented for inspection.

One day afterward, two other French missionaries and their twelve students for the priesthood were led captives into Seoul, marked with the red cord and yellow caps betokening prisoners soon to die. With like tortures, and the same shameful details of execution, they suffered death on March 11th. On this day, also, Daveluy and two other priests were seized, and on March 30th, Good Friday, decapitated, together with two faithful natives. In the case of Daveluy, the barbarity of the proceeding was increased by the sordid executioner, who, after delivering one blow, and while the blood was spouting out from the wound, left the victim to bargain with the official for the sum due him for his work of blood.

In a little over a month all missionary operations had come to a standstill. Scores of natives had been put to death; hundreds more were in prison. Ridel, while hiding between two walls, wrote to Peking, describing the state of affairs. Feron and Ridel met on May 8th, travelling all night, and on June 15th they found that Calais was still alive. Hearing that a foreign steam-vessel was cruising off the Nai-po, Ridel sent a letter begging for help. This ship was the Rona, Captain Morrison, belonging to a British firm in China, on its way back from Niu-chwang, under the direction of Mr. Ernest Oppert. The native Christians were unable to get on board the Rona; but when the same Oppert visited Haimi in the Nai-po, some months later, in the steamer Emperor, this letter was put in his hands. Meanwhile Ridel had reached the sea-coast, and in spite of the vigilant patrols, put off in a boat constructed without an ounce of iron, and manned by a crew of eleven Christian [376]fishermen. He reached Chifu July 7th. Going at once to Tien-tsin, he informed the French Admiral Roze of the recent events in Corea, and then returning to Chifu, waited till mid-August. Feron and Calais, hearing of the presence of French ships in the Han River, reached the coast, after great straits, to find them gone. They put to sea, however, and got upon a Chinese smuggler, by which they reached Chifu, October 26th—while the French expedition was in Corea. Not one foreign priest now remained in the peninsula, and no Christian dared openly confess his faith, while thousands were banished, imprisoned, or put to death.

Thus after twenty years of nearly uninterrupted labors, the church was again stripped of her pastors, and at the end of the eighty-two years of Corean Christianity, the curtain fell in blood. Of four bishops and nineteen priests, all except four were from France, and of these only three remained alive. Fourteen were martyrs, and four fell victims to the toils and dangers of their noble calling.

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In the foregoing story of papal Christianity in Chō-sen, which we have drawn from Dallet—a Roman Catholic writer—we have the spectacle of a brave band of men, mostly secular priests educated in French seminaries of learning, doing what they believed it was right to do. Setting the laws of this pagan country at defiance, they, by means of dissimulation and falsehood, entered the country in disguise as nobles in mourning. Fully believing in the dogma of salvation by works, they were sublimely diligent in carrying on their labors of conversion, ever in readiness for that crown of martyrdom which each one coveted, and which so many obtained; but the nobleness of their calling was disfigured by the foul and abominable teaching that evil should be done in order that good might come—a tenet that insults at once the New Testament and the best casuistry of the Roman Catholic Church. According to the code of any nation, their converts were traitors in inviting invasion; but if worthy to be set down as Arnolds and Iscariots, then their teachers have the greater blame in leading them astray. It is to be hoped that the future Christian missionaries in Corea, whether of the Greek, Roman, or Reformed branch, will teach Christianity with more of the moral purity inculcated by its Founder. [377]