The March on Hanseong (2)

On the day the battle between the tyrant and the Enlightenment Party reached its fever pitch, when gunfire and screams split the heavens beyond the Four Great Gates, our Alliance Association—divided between Cheonan and Boeun—circulated, by my order, a proclamation of a single sentence to every branch across the nation.

It was the day Joseon's long-stilled heart began to beat once more.

The Vanguard, belting out the People's Song—The Internationale, its verses recast to fit the circumstances of Joseon—at last reached the waters off Jemulpo.

I let out a long breath. Unlike Hanseong, where ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a horrific slaughter was underway, Jemulpo was a port whose fortunes soared by the day on the enormous cargo that had poured in since it opened to foreign trade. For a moment I stood overwhelmed by the vista—then I turned to look at the Vanguard members in their blue uniforms and red armbands.

About four thousand.

Not only the Vanguard: the most zealous party members from the Gyeonggi region had joined the march as well. Each man bore his family's ancestral arms, matchlock muskets and all, and their fighting spirit rivaled that of the capital army itself.

As for why I had led the Vanguard to Jemulpo instead of marching them straight on Hanseong—

"Allen. Underwood."

"Understood, sir."

"Leave it to us."

I called the two American missionaries who had been following at the rear of the column, and they came running at once. With those two men at the front, the first place we sought out was the wharf and warehouse district built for American merchant vessels near Jemulpo.

Customs clerks and officials of the port superintendent's office, startled by the news that four thousand armed men had entered Jemulpo, came scrambling out in a panic.

Had a war broken out?

"Wh-what is the meaning of this outrage?!"

Among them, one brave man stepped to the head of the officials. Terror had him in its grip, his whole body trembling, yet he still confronted us in the name of his office.

"This is a vital port where foreign ships and guests come and go! It is no place for an illegal armed gang to set foot as they please...!"

He was Paul Georg von Möllendorff—foreign financial advisor, Director-General of the Conversion Bureau, and Superintendent of Jemulpo Customs. Then Möllendorff spotted me, scratched his forehead as if trying to recall something, and slapped his knee.

"You—the boy orator!"

Whether he recognized me or not, our Alliance members and Vanguard troops showed no sign of backing down. They snorted and wore expressions that said, Go on, keep talking. He squeezed his eyes shut and shrieked in a voice so shrill it seemed the whole treaty port might come apart.

"E-even you, the most influential man in Joseon, it will do you no good! C-clear these people from the open port at once! Otherwise I will request that the Joseon security forces stationed in Incheon Prefecture and Jemulpo drive you out by force—"

"That won't be necessary, Superintendent."

"Eh?"

At my gesture, Allen and Underwood approached Möllendorff. They nodded to me once, then began earnestly persuading him from both sides, each with arguments prepared in advance.

"Wh-what is this, gentlemen?"

"We have come to Jemulpo solely to take delivery of the five thousand Remington Rolling Block Rifles and corresponding ammunition that the American government promised to transfer to the Joseon government."

"Rifles?"

Allen produced a copy of the contract issued by the previous court, along with the text of the Joseon–United States Treaty of Peace, Amity, Commerce and Navigation.

"Furthermore, the gentlemen following behind us are members of the Alliance Association who have volunteered to protect the foreign ministers and private businessmen whose personal safety can no longer be guaranteed amid the armed coup now unfolding in Hanseong."

"A coup? Protection? The Alliance Association?"

Underwood carefully indicated our Vanguard members, who looked thoroughly reliable even at a glance, as Möllendorff reeled under the sudden flood of information. When some four thousand armed men showed every sign of turning the open port into a wasteland at a moment's notice, Möllendorff and the customs officers could only swallow hard.

The two Americans slipped in among them and began working on the superintendent's staff.

"In the present chaos at court, there is no need for the Superintendent to involve himself."

"That's right. This is a matter among Joseon people. You received the contract payment—all you need do is fulfill your duties, isn't that so?"

"The superintendent's staff and the customs officials have no connection whatsoever to the coup in Hanseong, do they? Isn't that right?"

Allen whispered that they would bear no blame even if they opened the warehouses.

"The atmosphere in Hanseong right now is like walking on thin ice. The courageous citizens of the capital are struggling for a new Joseon, resisting the tyranny of an incompetent despot."

"You would merely be transferring military stores that, by the terms of the contract, ought to have been handed over to the Joseon government long ago."

"And if the tyrant falls, and a new government takes power and remembers how stingy you were toward them—if they seek revenge—what then do you intend to do?"

Underwood's voice pointed out, with naked bluntness, that the establishment of a new government would shatter the old order entirely, stripping away even the fragile fence that had protected them.

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

Then, decisively, Allen locked eyes with Möllendorff, who was hiding among the superintendent's staff, and curled his lip for all to see.

"Superintendent Möllendorff. You were, incidentally, dispatched to Joseon as a financial advisor on the Qing court's recommendation, were you not? This innocent Christian and Mr. Underwood hardly dare guess how the new government's officials—the Alliance Association and the Enlightenment Party, both seething with anti-Qing sentiment—might deal with you."

"Ah, yes. I've heard you are quite thoroughly disliked by the Joseon people."

"Ghk—!"

Möllendorff, snapped back to his senses by Allen and Underwood's threats, displayed a miraculous footwork that made one wonder if he was even human, and came scrambling toward me at lightning speed. Was this the same unsurpassed talent for survival, the same instinct for sensing when power had changed hands, shining through once more?

"Aigoo!"

This is no figure of speech—he actually crawled halfway, then dropped to both knees, raised both hands high over his head in the Chinese manner of prostration, and, weeping, pledged his loyalty to me and the Alliance Association.

"Your speeches left a deep impression even on a mere foreign technician like myself! Ah—those fastidious American officers said the military stores, for which payment has already been made, were sealed in the warehouse, did they not? As it happens, our superintendent's office and the customs house hold the keys to that warehouse! This way, please! I shall lead the way!"

"..."

"Have no fear, gentlemen of the Alliance! I, Superintendent of Customs Möllendorff, take full responsibility—I shall issue the rifles and ammunition you are rightfully owed at once. This way!"

At the same time he sprang to his feet and kicked the superintendent's staff, who stood there ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠looking bewildered and stupid, waving them toward the warehouse and telling them to run. What an entertaining fellow he was.

At any rate, with the devoted assistance of Möllendorff and the customs officers, we had no difficulty requisitioning the five thousand Remington Rolling Block Rifles rotting in the warehouse, along with the hundreds of thousands of rounds of ammunition that came with them.

Ah, of course the American naval attachés dispatched to guard the warehouse protested vigorously. But they froze, dumbstruck, at the sight of me boldly declaring in English:

Having armed all four thousand Vanguard members and Alliance party members, I turned our horses toward Hanseong, leading the revolutionary army as they marched in formation, belting out the People's Song.

"Now then—on to Hanseong!"

"Vanguard! Advance on Hanseong!"

If, in years to come, Rome would have its Mussolini—

If, in years to come, Munich would have its Hitler—

Then Joseon, in this hour, had the boy Syngman Rhee.

The Vanguard advancing on Hanseong split into two columns, each aiming to enter the capital—one through Sungnyemun, the other through Donuimun.

Assembling the former capital garrison officers, the Vanguard section leaders, Yang Heon-su, Shin Heon, and Kim Gae-nam—the very core of the Vanguard—I issued my orders with solemn gravity.

"The First Army, advancing through Sungnyemun, will seize the Seonhye Office at once, take the Southern Detached Palace as headquarters by way of the main avenue, and sweep everything south of Hanseong."

"We receive your command!"

If the First Army passed through Sungnyemun and took the South Gate avenue, they could reach the principal arsenal at the Military Equipment Bureau and the Southern Detached Palace in an instant. The Southern Detached Palace, in particular, was where the Capital Guards stored their ammunition and weapons. If we could deal a fatal blow to the supply of the Hanseong factions, already bloodied by considerable fighting, their momentum would be broken.

"The Second Army, advancing through Donuimun, will go with me. The Gyeonggi Provincial Office along our route will serve as our final command post. While the First Army occupies Gyeongungung Palace, the Second Army will liberate Gyeonghuigung Palace and simultaneously recapture the Military Training Command and the Right Police Bureau!"

"Yes, Party Leader!"

In the meantime, the Second Army would attack and subdue the Right Police Bureau—which would be serving as the tyrant's hands and feet—and the Military Training Command, where the Gyeongsayeong garrison was stationed.

"Once the First and Second Armies have each seized and secured their opening objectives, we shall rendezvous at Jongno! If we recapture the principal government offices and proclaim to the people of Hanseong that a new government has been established, the troops supporting the tyrant will naturally lose heart. And in that moment—"

"In that moment!"

They repeated my orders in a great chorus, carefully committing every word to memory. Leaving them behind, I turned to the Vanguard members, their faces flushed with excitement and zeal as if with fever, and shouted.

"Long live the new government!"

"Long live the new government!"

The officers followed with three cheers of manse in rapid succession, then swiftly relayed the attack plan through the ranks.

A short while later, the Gyeonggi Provincial Office appeared before the Second Army as it peeled off from the main body.

"Attack!"

"Seize the Gyeonggi Provincial Office!"

"Uh... there's nobody here?"

"What...?"

It was a letdown, but it was true. Thanks to the intensified fighting between the Enlightenment Party and the tyrant, the Gyeonggi Provincial Office stood empty, and we occupied it with the ease of a fisherman's windfall. Soon we reached Donuimun, where the banners of the Capital Guards Rear Division stood tall.

By then our numbers had swollen from four thousand to six thousand. The sentries on the battlements of Donuimun, watching our approach with precarious expressions, shouted as best they could.

"Who are you?!"

Not to be outdone, the Vanguard, rifles raised and aimed at the battlements, roared back.

The sentries trembled piteously, stunned by that thunderous cry of the masses. From within that terrifying crimson tide—red banners soaring as if to pierce the sky, red armbands flashing in the sunlight—a few men who had grasped the current of the age came running down from the gate to greet me with caution.

The man who dismounted spoke.

"We present ourselves before the Alliance Association, which serves the people of Joseon, and ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠before its Party Leader, Master Unam."

"W-we present ourselves."

They offered their greetings with respectful demeanor. Unfamiliar faces. I spoke without lowering the alert on the battlements.

"Who are you?"

"I am Cho Yeong-ha of the Pungyang Cho clan."

"I-I'm Cho Byeong-ho!"

The man called Cho Yeong-ha was thoroughly composed, but the one called Cho Byeong-ho was, at a glance, a cowardly little man. Then Cho Yeong-ha, with the same respectful manner, reached into his sleeve, drew out a letter, and presented it to me as he spoke.

"The two of us received a secret letter from Elder Chan-gyeom—from Choe Ik-hyeon himself—and have been waiting here to receive you."

I went still. Truly, here was the grand elder of the Confucian literati. To have laid his hand even here!

When I showed no small surprise at the arrangements of Choe Ik-hyeon and Yu In-seok, Cho Yeong-ha bowed his head and guided us onward.

"Be at ease, Party Leader. The sentries on the walls are not soldiers of the Capital Guards Rear Division, but troops of the old Military Training Command. Donuimun has long been a gateway of the Alliance Association."

I widened my eyes at his words and asked again.

"You mean they are the soldiers of the Imo year?"

"That is so."

"Ah!"

At his confirmation, I hesitated no longer. Before the officers around me could even try to stop me, I sprang forward toward the sentries trembling with anxious faces on the battlements—no, toward my old comrades of the revolution—and called to them in a booming voice.

These men are not the enemy!

"Comrades of the revolution! It is I!"

I flailed my arms at the empty air like a madman, hurled the gat from my head, showed my face before the gate, and strode forward with my head high. They looked at me with different eyes.

That one—it's the boy!

"He's here!"

"Waaaaah!!!"

And so Donuimun opened with ease.

The sentries of Donuimun and the old Military Training Command soldiers, accepting that the crimson tide was of their own kind, treated the purged Yang Heon-su and Shin Heon with the utmost reverence and stormed into Gyeonghuigung Palace. Every last one of them riding the crimson wave.

"Halt!"

And not long after, a slender barrier of men appeared, blocking our path—our numbers now swollen past six thousand. Directly before Gyeonghuigung Palace, a force of perhaps a thousand, their bearing orderly and their momentum gathered in a way we had not seen before, stood ready to meet our revolutionary army.

Rising between their ranks, the banners of the Capital Guards Rear Division!

Sensing at last that this was the true first battle, the former capital garrison officers, the Vanguard, and the Donuimun sentries who had joined us took up their weapons with taut faces.

"Prepare for battle!"

"Prepare for battle!"

At Yang Heon-su's command, bayonets jutted up along the front of our formation. Opposite us, a whistle blew, and muzzles rose in a rustling wave.

A gulp ran through the ranks. However much the Vanguard had smashed bandits, this was their first real battle. In their tense faces I read the fear of death.

"Wait!"

Then, in the silence, the rage, the tension that had settled over both sides, a familiar palm rose from within the ranks of the Capital Guards Rear Division. And a desperate voice, and a man spurring his horse toward us.

"Comrades!"

"Ah!"

Recognizing the owner of that voice, I ran to meet him with joy.

"Comrade!"

As I threw myself into his arms, Woo Beom-seon, Jeongnyeonggwan of the Capital Guards Rear Division, laughed heartily, crushed me in a fierce embrace, and roared so loud the world might split apart.

"You little brat! Took you long enough!"

"Haha! Late, you say?"

I turned with delight to Yang Heon-su and the Vanguard members, who still looked bewildered, their sabers not yet lowered, and gave the glad order.

"These men are comrades too! Vanguard, advance! We have won!"

"Rear Division! Lower your muzzles and welcome our comrades! Drive out the tyrant!"

"Long live the revolution!"

Matching him, Woo Beom-seon ordered his own Capital Guards Rear Division to disarm. At his command, the Rear Division troops lowered their muzzles first.

"Comrades!"

"C-comrades...!"

The sudden reunion was a little awkward at first, but soon, like the sentries of Donuimun, the thousand soldiers of the Capital Guards Rear Division began mixing one by one into the Vanguard's ranks. They hastily tore strips of scarlet cloth from nearby houses, wound them around their arms, and stood shoulder to shoulder.

The Vanguard, joyfully receiving them, sang with all their might.

To the sound of that song spreading through every quarter of Hanseong, the people who had been trembling in fear of the blood-soaked fighting lifted their heads, one by one.

And they sang.

At last, every Joseon soul in this land became one.

All but a single man.