The KKK's Fatal Voyage
Intellectuals often describe humans as creatures who appear rational yet are driven by strong emotional and irrational impulses.
The KKK types were the very embodiment of that assessment.
Even such people, however, occasionally find themselves forced to confront reality. When that happens, their excitement fades and a startlingly cold rationality returns.
The KKK leaders had never been fools to begin with.
Excessive delusions, convictions, and the illusion of success had fused into something that transcended human limits, but that was now in the past.
Once they squarely faced how the world now regarded them and seriously considered the future awaiting them, they gradually regained their senses.
“We must return home first and restart the propaganda war. If we publicize the injustice and the savages’ ambush we suffered here, sympathy will rise.”
“Do you really think that will work? The newspapers are already treating us like idiots.”
“Then what do you suggest? We can’t just sit here and rot!”
Inside the ship bound for Yokohama, the executives sat clutching their throbbing backsides and argued among themselves.
At that moment, Forrest, who had remained silent until now, spoke up.
“Serget’s chairman promised to help us. The best course is to lie low like mice and wait until he takes action. If we make a fuss and draw Lincoln’s or Seward’s attention, we’re finished.”
“True… If it’s the chairman, he’ll find a way.”
They glared at the eastern sea with disgust.
They had no desire to remain even one more second in this wretched land of yellow savages that reeked of excrement.
“Let’s go quickly. The sooner we set foot on solid ground, the better I’ll feel.”
Of course, no official U.S. Navy vessel or merchant ship could depart until negotiations concluded.
Yet Serget’s consideration was touching.
He had arranged passage via Tsushima to Yokohama, and in Yokohama a fast ship stood ready to cross the Pacific straight to San Francisco.
[Dixie Trading Co.]
The company name painted on the hull was unfamiliar, but the men never suspected it was a hastily created front to conceal Serget’s connection. They simply accepted it as another act of the Invisible Dragon’s generosity.
“That’s our chairman for you. Even in a situation like this, he thinks of every detail.”
“Let’s board! Goodbye to this tiresome Asia!”
Of course, men who were little more than walking excrement factories could not sail the ship themselves.
The moment they stepped aboard, they were greeted by employees of Serget Cotton.
“You’ve had a difficult time, sirs. The chairman personally prepared these so your journey would be comfortable.”
The employees bowed respectfully and carried aboard crates of whiskey, rum, and chilled beer.
The intoxicating scent of alcohol, something they had not even dreamed of while imprisoned in Joseon.
To men exhausted by long confinement and constant tension, the liquor was nothing short of life-giving.
“Aaaah! Now I feel alive again!”
“Drink! Pour! Let’s forget everything!”
As the alcohol flowed, tension eased, and with it came the suppressed grievances and true feelings they had kept buried.
At first they cursed the Joseon people, but as bottles emptied, their complaints took a strangely different direction.
Or rather, a sliver of their genuine inner thoughts, long suppressed deep inside, began to surface.
“Hey, be honest. How much money did we make for them in Japan? All of it went straight into the chairman’s pocket!”
“Exactly! While we were busting our asses in the field, Serget Cotton was the one raking in the profits behind our backs! If they had any conscience, they’d give us a share!”
“Pensions are only natural, and they’d better throw in a fat severance package too! Who do you think went through all this hell for?”
The Serget Cotton employees serving them watched their faces sour in real time as the drunken executives ranted and raved.
It was difficult to keep their emotions in check while listening to insults against the chairman, whom they regarded almost as a living apostle. Fortunately, the cabin door opened and a neatly dressed man entered.
“Leave us. I’ll attend to them.”
After sending the employees out, the man who picked up a bottle was none other than Ben, head of Serget Cotton’s security management division.
Serget’s closest aide and the man in charge of force, he had become quite well-known even among white Americans.
Even the already intoxicated KKK leaders recognized his menacing yet familiar face.
“Huh? Aren’t you… Director Ben?”
“Hah! An executive of Serget Cotton is pouring our drinks? Heh heh. The chairman really does give us special treatment.”
“Even so, sending an executive? We must be pretty important after all.”
Forrest, swaying as he held out his glass, felt a sudden flash of unease cut through the haze.
Wait. Why would an executive come?
Just to see them off? All the way out here in the middle of the Pacific?
For a brief moment, his alcohol-clouded mind sharpened.
“By the way… hold on. Why did we go to Joseon in the first place?”
“Because there was supposed to be a niche market…”
“Who told us that? Did you investigate it?”
“No? I was busy dealing with those Japanese monkeys. Weren’t you the one who found out?”
“Not me either. Someone… right, a report was slipped under the door of our lodging. It must have come from Serget Cotton’s strategy office…”
Silence fell over the cabin.
Hands holding glasses froze in midair.
Slowly, very slowly, the pieces of the puzzle began to fit together.
Serget had sent them to Japan.
In Japan they had played the fool while Serget reaped the real benefits.
And the information about “Joseon” had also come from Serget’s side while they were drunk on success.
The result?
They had become international laughingstocks, their organization had disintegrated, and the U.S. government had lost any pretext to strike Joseon by force.
Yet from the look of things, Serget Cotton’s ships would continue sailing to Joseon and selling goods.
In the entire mess, only one man had suffered no loss and instead monopolized enormous profit and justification.
“…James Serget?”
Forrest’s face turned corpse-white.
He stared with trembling eyes at Ben, who was quietly closing the bottle.
“Excessive drinking is bad for your health. I think it would be best if you all rested now.”
“N-no… We’d like to keep drinking and talking a little longer…”
Ben shook his head, his voice devoid of any emotion.
“No. I believe you gentlemen should rest.”
Alcohol was an inseparable companion on voyages across the ocean, and deaths from overdrinking were surprisingly common.
It was hardly strange that fools who had already been weakened by months of imprisonment and beatings would down strong liquor one after another and end up unable to rise again in the middle of the Pacific.
Alcohol addiction was that dangerous.
* * *
After finally shipping off that troublesome group of middle-school-level delinquents to a place where they would never be seen again, I felt a profound sense of peace.
They would never return home to flap their gums uselessly, and above all, I would never again have to hear the words “Invisible Dragon.” The thought alone made me feel light as air.
To maintain this momentum, I continued periodic negotiations with Park Gyu-su.
In my mind, Joseon was a nation of ultra-conservative Confucian hardliners, yet this man proved surprisingly reasonable.
While it was true that Joseon was conservative, the isolationist stubbornness during the Daewongun era in the original history had its own reasons.
Even setting aside incidents like the Byeongin and Shinmi foreign disturbances, any normal person would have decided never to associate with Western barbarians after the Oppert tomb-robbing incident alone.
Honestly, digging up a deceased father’s grave and using the coffin as leverage to demand trade was not something any decent human being would do.
Even if the Daewongun had gone mad and declared Westerners less than human, one could understand.
Fortunately, no such ugly incident had occurred this time, and Joseon was in the first year of Gojong’s reign, when it could not afford to take an overly hard line. This made discussions far smoother.
“…So you are already acquainted with Prince Gong of the Qing Dynasty?”
“Of course. Look at this. It is a treasure bearing his personal seal.”
When I opened the antique-looking fan and showed it to him, Park Gyu-su’s eyes widened.
Prince Gong’s calligraphy was famous, and many in Joseon would recognize it, so verifying its authenticity would not be difficult.
Even if they did not fully believe a Westerner’s claim of friendship with a Qing imperial prince, they would at least feel compelled to investigate.
“As I have repeatedly told you, Miriken is different from the petty Catholic fanatics of Europe. If Joseon does not intend to cling to isolation forever, forming relations with a trustworthy nation would ultimately benefit its people, would it not?”
“…Your words are entirely reasonable. However, even if that is my personal view, the court’s public opinion will differ. Trade with the West is a grave matter of opening the country’s doors, so it is obvious that opposing memorials will pour in claiming we cannot decide so hastily.”
Park Gyu-su shook his head, unable to hide his troubled expression.
As he said, this was not a matter that could be decided by personal opinion.
Yet to my eyes he still appeared as the very incarnation of the incompetent trinity: unable to grasp reality, his own position, or the situation.
Let’s be frank. Did he really think I was doing all this just to fatten his superiors’ wallets?
I did not care whether Joseon collapsed or not, but the common people under them had done nothing wrong.
Even if only to spare those who suffered merely for having incompetent leaders, I had offered the best possible terms. And now they were going to reject them?
“Your Excellency, allow me to offer one piece of advice as someone who holds Asia in high regard.”
“Please speak.”
“If you miss this opportunity now, the next ships to arrive will not be American but British. I mean those barbaric friends who burned the Qing capital of Beijing and looted the emperor’s gardens.”
Park Gyu-su’s shoulders twitched.
Having served as an envoy to the Qing, he knew Britain’s notoriety better than anyone.
“You saw the ship we brought, did you not? British vessels are far larger, and their cannons reach farther. If they decide to occupy Ganghwa Island and cut off logistics along the Han River, how long do you think Joseon could hold out?”
“T-that is…”
“Regret will come too late. They will not suggest settling matters through dialogue as we have. They will fire, destroy, seize, and then demand signatures.”
I once again held out copies of the treaties Japan and the Qing had signed.
“Look. These are the agreements they concluded. Territorial cessions, indemnities, extraterritoriality… documents that mortgage an entire nation. Now compare them to the terms I have offered. All I ask is permission to buy and sell goods in a corner of Busan.”
Objectively speaking, there was no comparison.
One was a robber pressing a knife to the throat; the other was a tiger saying it would not eat you if you gave it a single rice cake.
Let us set aside the unpleasant fact that neither option offered a long-term solution.
What mattered now was the present.
“The United States currently lacks justification because its own foolish citizens caused an incident. That is why we are being so conciliatory and humble. Ending this by each side taking one step back and saving face would be best for Joseon as well.”
Park Gyu-su fell silent.
No rebuttal came.
In an international order governed by power, he had sensed that no better terms would ever be offered again.
Instead, he voiced a simple, honest question rather than an objection.
“However, you are clearly a man of Miriken. Why do you show such consideration for our position? It seems excessively benevolent if your only reason is a lack of justification.”
Of course, my true thoughts were “I do not care whether the Joseon royal house collapses or not, but if we plunder too aggressively we will face problems later, so let us simply insert a modest straw,” but I could not say that aloud.
I put on the most benevolent and intellectual expression I could muster and delivered the line I had prepared in advance.
“While I was staying in the Qing Dynasty, I heard many stories about Joseon from Prince Gong.”
“From His Highness?”
“Yes. He praised it as the true gentleman nation of the East, where loyalty to the sovereign and filial piety toward parents are valued above life itself.”
The “thank you, kimchi, I love you, fermented soybean paste” mindset that still existed in the twenty-first century would hardly have been absent in the nineteenth.
If anything, Joseon, which revered Chinese culture as the civilization of gentlemen that could even civilize barbarians, would have been even more susceptible.
“Although I am Western, I am someone who admires the Eastern spirit. If mutual courtesy is observed, I have no desire to resort to violent methods. The very fact that these words are coming from my mouth in the Joseon language proves it more than anything else.”
“Hmm…”
“If you do not believe me, investigate for yourselves. See how India fell, what state the great Qing is in now, and how the neighboring Japan was shattered.”
Having pushed them this far, if they were not completely deranged, Joseon would naturally begin paying attention to world affairs on its own.
Here, the best approach was to pretend to respect their autonomy as much as possible.
“The world is changing. If you cannot stop the waves, you must ride them.”
I took out a pen and placed it in Park Gyu-su’s hand.
This treaty might look moderate on the surface, but it would become the master key allowing Serget Cotton to legally penetrate the Joseon market in the future.
With Prince Gong in the north and Japan in the south, once my cotton and cotton textiles flooded in like a tide, Joseon’s isolation would naturally crumble.
“Sign this treaty. Then in the distant future, you and General Shin Heon will be revered by the people of Joseon as heroes who saved the nation, just like Admiral Yi Sun-sin.”
The name that was sacred to both the military and civil officials of Joseon.
Park Gyu-su stared at me blankly, as if he had never imagined hearing the title “Chungmugong” from a Westerner’s mouth. Then he slowly nodded.
“I understand your intention well. I will speak with Lord Shin Heon and do my best to persuade the court.”
“A wise choice.”
The negotiation was over.
As Park Gyu-su gathered the documents and rose to leave, I suddenly called out to him as if I had just remembered something.
“Ah, before you go, Lord Park.”
“Yes? Is there another condition?”
When the tense Park Gyu-su turned around, I smiled and extended my hand.
“I hear that a food called kimchi in Joseon is quite delicious. Could I perhaps obtain a little to taste on the way? Something spicy and salty.”
“…Kimchi, you say?”
Park Gyu-su looked dumbfounded for a moment, then burst into a helpless laugh.
Why not? After coming all this way, I at least wanted to taste kimchi again after so long.
“Haha, my. You certainly know a thing or two, sir. I shall send you a jar of the finest immediately.”
Done.
With this, the people of Joseon would also be saved within the warm embrace of Serget Cotton.
Of course, I had kept mentioning the people of Joseon, but I had never once said I would save “Joseon” itself.
If they did not want to fall, they could come to their senses and work hard. If they could not, well… that was unfortunate. Next time, they should read the fine print.