The Siege of Gyeongseong (5)
The Korean army reached Gyeongseong in just five days.
Song Gyeong, the defense commander of Gyeongseong and the governor of Liaodong appointed on the spot, believed he had failed.
It was no mere self-deprecating remark. He truly felt he had failed.
In the command post where intermittent cannon fire and explosions continued to shake the dust from the rafters, Song Gyeong opened his mouth with a troubled expression.
“What is the situation…?”
He did not need to ask. He already knew everything.
The French artillery’s relentless bombardment had pulverized Gyeongseong, and the solid fortresses and walls bore deep cracks.
He knew this well, having observed every detail from the command post, and he had sensed defeat the moment the French artillerymen waved their flags and fired shells with wild enthusiasm.
Most of all, when had those damned Frenchmen crawled into Liaodong?
To Song Gyeong, that question burned with genuine curiosity.
“Serious! The outer walls have already collapsed under the cannons spitting lightning, and the city gates can no longer hold!”
“The enemy has already occupied the moats below the walls and pushed into the town! The fall is imminent!”
“…”
The officers answering his question shouted in unison, “We are doomed!”
They urged him to hide in the inner citadel or to organize death squads to face the Korean army entering the city.
Yet they licked their parched lips with saliva and avoided Song Gyeong’s gaze, trying to hide their tense expressions.
They had realized that victory and defeat no longer mattered, but their faces showed they were not even considering retreat.
Song Gyeong’s thoughts were different.
This was not a situation where one could close one’s eyes and shout “Aaaah!”
“Wait. Let me think for a moment.”
Leaving the subordinates who looked as if they had been scolded or were about to flee behind him, Song Gyeong closed his eyes and fell into deep thought.
Where had it gone wrong?
What part had he missed?
Why had the Great Qing lost?
“…French artillery? No. The cannons the enemy brought are identical to those produced in our southern regions. It is only the officers and soldiers operating them who are far more skilled. Then, the quality of the soldiers? No. We are only twice as many as the enemy and hold the advantage of terrain. While the elite among the soldiers is important, that alone cannot secure victory. Then—”
Weather.
Heaven’s will.
Throughout history, some have said that in battles deciding the fate of a nation, heaven’s mandate divides victory and defeat.
And Song Gyeong was certain that the battle he stood in was exactly that.
Why did heaven not look down on those who strive, but grant victory to the enemy who had aimed at this peaceful northeast?
If this place fell, did heaven not know that Mukden, the holy land of the Manchus, was right on the horizon?
“…”
No. He knew.
So they had lost.
The moats and trenches Song Gyeong had built while bearing the resentment of the soldiers had collapsed because of the dew rain that fell that morning.
The soldiers’ morale had been snatched away in an instant along with the terrifying cannon fire like thunder from the enemy.
Next came the soldiers’ ammunition—only thirty rounds per man, overwhelmingly insufficient—while they faced the enemy with rations barely enough to feed two meals a day of millet and rice balls.
Moreover, the French artillerymen.
They had utilized their strengths with perfect skill.
They had fired cannons from all four directions toward the city camp, and the soldiers had no place to stand.
The high hills surrounding Gyeongseong had been occupied by both Korean and French forces, and the Qing army’s surprise attacks to retake them had all failed.
The French artillerymen on the hills advanced farther than the cannons possessed by the Gyeongseong defense force and possessed greater firepower, rendering resistance meaningless.
Finally, Song Gyeong himself had no excellent staff to advise him.
The officers here were mostly descendants of the Manchus who had eaten from the Qing court, and most had fled from the war with France in the south.
Yes, Song Gyeong had only cowards and incompetent staff as his entire command.
He wondered whether the sense of responsibility was greater in Song Gyeong himself as the commander of Gyeongseong than in the sum of all the officers gathered in this command post.
Why?
Liaodong and Manchuria had long been regarded as rear areas, and people had long fallen into a peaceful place where they became lazy on their own.
So the fakes who could not even imagine fighting had become wolves commanding sheep, and this was the result.
Those wolves had only been bouncing around in the paradise built by their ancestors.
There were dozens of causes for the immediate defeat, so Song Gyeong thought he was merely stubbornly holding on to the fact that he was bad.
“…The enemy, yes. The Koreans have finally found courage.”
“General!”
Therefore, Song Gyeong resolved to humbly accept victory and defeat.
Some of the staff around him looked sad, others contemptuous, but Song Gyeong believed he himself should not be the one to urge them.
“We have lost.”
Song Gyeong, a Qing person, did not understand how great the Koreans’ anger was, but he was stunned by the magnificent fighting spirit and offensive of the Koreans who faced this battle.
They continued to advance, again and again.
The blood-red flags and bizarre banners raised by the Korean army never fell and showed no signs of falling.
Their soldiers never yielded to the bullets fired from the walls and did not lower their shoulders or backs.
They did not shun cruel and dirty battles in the maze-like earthen walls and did not retreat leaving fallen comrades.
They did not rely on amulets or ghosts, but forged their faith in the spears and swords in their hands, and right behind the brave who went first, another brave man followed and slaughtered the Qing people.
Looking down at his own army being driven around like livestock below through the telescope, Song Gyeong let out a deep sigh.
“You are enviable.”
This was said sincerely to the commander of the Korean army who had attacked Gyeongseong.
He was truly a cunning and undoubtedly talented general.
So he had prepared artillery and sent loyal elite soldiers to launch the offensive against the trenches and moats he had dug.
And the root of all that was the revolution that had occurred in Hanseong, which had reversed the relationship between Qing and Joseon today.
‘There is a great enemy lurking in the future of the Great Qing!’
Awakened Song Gyeong, realizing that the world was truly changing, turned his back.
His shoulders trembled slightly as he looked away.
But now it was time to take responsibility.
A moment later, after finishing his momentary hesitation and deciding, Song Gyeong opened his firmly closed mouth.
“All of you, leave. Recommend surrender to the soldiers and those who refuse to surrender should flee far north. I will open the north gate, so go to Mukden. There will be reinforcements there.”
The first surrender declaration.
Its repercussions were not to be taken lightly, so the staff who had been waiting for orders around him were startled and grabbed Song Gyeong.
“General!”
“No, what are you planning to do, General!?”
“Promise to fight for the future with us!”
“Surrender? That can never be said!”
Most of them, as if they had never thought of the word surrender, were stomping their feet pretending to oppose Song Gyeong’s wrong decision, but to Song Gyeong with sharp eyes, it was just a ridiculous act.
A few were visibly relieved, and the others were avoiding eye contact as if they thought the responsibility for the defeat would not fall on them.
Seeing that, Song Gyeong, who thought they would achieve victory and protect the country, laughed at these foolish humans.
“There is no excuse for the defeated.”
After saying that, Song Gyeong drove the officers out.
And from the drawer, he took out the poison prepared in advance to prepare for this and put it in the already cold tea cup.
A small whirlpool swirled in the teacup.
“…”
Song Gyeong himself did not want to become a despicable human until the end.
He had come to Liaodong by associating with the Qingliu Party members and the Empress Dowager Cixi’s sinister intentions, but he had never denied being a loyal subject of the Great Qing for even a day.
Song Gyeong’s hand, with his resolve firm, moved quickly.
If he hesitated here, he would be recorded as an incompetent and cowardly general not only in the Great Qing but throughout the world.
“…”
He did not want to be recorded as a general who fought hard in the harsh environment, but not as an incompetent and cowardly one.
Therefore, the loyal subject had to go.
Even if it meant death.
Finally, the revolutionary red flag fluttered on the fortress of Gyeongseong.
*****
Unlike Song Gyeong, the defense commander who committed suicide, William Howard Russell felt that he was lucky.
He was busy capturing the traces of the battle by firing flashes.
“Boom!”
“Indeed, it was really good to bring this expensive camera!”
Whether looking at this side or that side, everything here was a scoop.
The scene of surrendering Qing soldiers lining up with hands raised behind their ears and exiting the city gate, and the helpless expressions of Republican soldiers resting below the tragically dug walls were all masterpieces.
When he entered the city, Russell captured the helpless expressions of Qing soldiers sitting on the dirty ground with their hats and weapons discarded under the surveillance of Republican soldiers in various places in the streets, and shouted to Ernest who was following him closely.
“Ernest! Are you following well by packing your bag? If you lose the film in it, it’s a big problem!”
“I’m packing well and following!”
And Ernest, without looking back, was fed up with Russell treating him as a porter while occasionally checking if the film was there.
No, no matter how much of a war correspondent, where is the crazy man who jumps into the battlefield to shoot the Republican soldiers marching without hesitation at the start of the battle?
But Russell, who was gleefully firing flashes in front of Ernest, was truly a madman, and he was undoubtedly a person with a keen journalistic spirit.
Unlike Ernest, who was startled and sat down by the sudden noise of the French artillerymen and both sides shooting, Russell jumped into the middle of the battlefield saying that even the loud noise was beautiful and captured people dying in the war in photos.
“…”
So, perhaps the European critics were cheering that Russell’s photos and war reports were truly ‘alive’.
“Cold-hearted person. But people are dying…”
But this was Ernest’s big misconception.
Russell had never thought of himself as a war fanatic, and he was not a person who affirmed war where people died.
Rather, Russell had sympathized with the situation of soldiers dying from poor treatment in the Crimean War, various injuries, and subsequent infections, and was a social activist who put his voice into the public movement to improve it.
His newspaper reports had made great contributions to Florence Nightingale establishing a medical system, and furthermore, he was also an assistant who had worked hard to ensure that she could receive various support and donations.
The most decisive reason he captured war in photos was simply an effort to inform the public of the brutality of that war and awaken their sense of crisis in war.
If Ernest heard Russell’s evaluation of him just now, it would be truly upsetting, but Russell was so passionately roaming Gyeongseong taking photos and writing reports because he had intuitively realized that today’s battle was a tremendous event that would reverse Asia’s history in the future.
‘Here too and there too, no one is massacring or oppressing Qing prisoners.’
Of course, when the battle ends, deep emotional gaps often occur between the two sides, resulting in ‘war dead’ that are not recorded.
For example, accidents or drownings in group in pits on the collapsed earthen walls.
But right after the red and white flags rose simultaneously in the city, the screams and pleas for help were no longer heard near Russell’s ears.
It was not because the Qing prisoners had surrendered and were orderly or well-disciplined.
Rather, they were disorderly and were only thugs who looted or even robbed their fellow countrymen who were fleeing with spoils of war while surrendering together.
It was simply that because the Republican soldiers of the revolutionary government treated the surrendering prisoners fairly and impartially without emotion, a horrific situation did not occur even though it was a surrendered city.
“Truly a disciplined army.”
However, there was also a part that was not interpreted only as strict military discipline.
The revolutionary army soldiers generally approached the Qing ordinary residents and nearby farmers with kindness, assisted them so they could easily leave, or circled around and supported them.
This, Russell imagined, had a big part because most of the revolutionary government’s soldiers were rural-origin soldiers.
They clearly had a bit of pity for the Qing farmers in the same plight.
Otherwise, it would be rare to treat the citizens of the defeated country so respectfully.
Such gazes were not much different for the Qing citizens and nearby village residents hiding in various places in Gyeongseong city, so they were leaving the city under the persuasion of Republican officers and interpreters.
If Russell remembers what he heard at the Korean government’s informal meeting, the Republican soldiers said that this place would soon become a horrific battlefield, so they were actively recommending refuge because it would be difficult to distinguish friends and foes in the battlefield where it would be hard to tell who was who.
On the other hand, what about the Qing court?
They had no measures or policies for their citizens dying from blind cannons in the battlefield or starving to death from excessive conscription.
From the difference in attitude and policy between the two divided governments, Russell was certain that the outcome of this war had already been decided.
*****
Meanwhile, Ernest’s eyes, which were full of indifferent biological clusters while following Russell’s back as he grumbled and chased far into the city firing flashes, were filled with a familiar figure.
“Eh!?”
A familiar face entered his eyes.
A giant wearing steel armor, very tall even compared to Europeans.
He was lying prostrate at his feet with an arrogant expression, monitoring the surrendering Qing soldiers.
He was Mr. Hong.