The Foreign Admiral (1)
May arrived on a day when countless deliberations and contests of nerve had slipped away without consequence.
It was a summer destined to be numbered among the strangest ever to stand on the eve of war.
Admiral Amédée Courbet, commander of the French expeditionary force and leader of the Far East Squadron, entered the harbor at Incheon Chemulpo with his fleet.
Far off between the islands, the staff of the Incheon Superintendency and the customs house spotted the French tricolor snapping in the wind and cried out.
"They're coming in!!!"
BWAAAAAAAH—!
In the same breath, as if answering that shout—as if announcing that they had, at last, arrived—the Far East Squadron of France loosed a thunderous blast of its steam whistle. The fleet passed the islands and came alongside the temporary pier we had spent the last three months constructing to receive them. There the vast armada filled the shoreline, pouring thick smoke from its towering funnels.
I took my time drinking in the French warships that packed the coast, and I was not a little reassured.
"They moved as promised."
The Far East Squadron was built around a first-rate battleship as flagship, with two second-rate frigates, four corvettes, three paddle-wheel dispatch vessels, and five Canet-class second-rate wooden gunboats.
It was a profoundly reassuring sight. And, in another sense, a bitter one.
Had we not stood on the same side as these men, that fleet would have ravaged the greatest port city of our Republic at its leisure.
Waaaaaah!!!
On one side of the harbor the people of our Republic—most of whom had never in their lives laid eyes on a fleet of such magnitude—were a tumult of wonderstruck cheers and cries of manse. And I understood their hearts completely. I, too, who had crossed over from the twenty-first century, had trembled at the sight of the true power of the Western empires that led this age.
Moreover, the mere knowledge that these men were friends rather than enemies—that they would fight beside us against the coming threat of the Qing—multiplied the people's courage a hundredfold.
"Power, is it."
The power of the nineteenth century was precisely that: the enormous fleet floating before our eyes.
And here was a still more interesting fact. The squadron Admiral Courbet had brought to Korea amounted to no more than a third of the total fleet the French Republic had dispatched for its expedition to the Indochina Peninsula. In other words, the French government had committed more than thirty warships to the waters of East Asia. It would not be an exaggeration to say they had staked the very life of their colonial enterprise on this Indochina expedition and their investments in the Far East.
"Your Excellency the Tongnyeong!"
At that moment, from among the welcoming crowds at the port, a Foreign Ministry French interpreter and an official of the Superintendency came running toward me—I who had been waiting for Admiral Courbet, commander of the fleet—and began to explain the squadron's demands.
"What is it?"
"Admiral Amédée Courbet, commander of the French Far East Squadron and of the expeditionary force, has sent his adjutant and an expeditionary staff officer to request an understanding."
"I beg your pardon?"
I was briefly thrown by what the Superintendency official and the interpreter were saying.
An understanding? Understanding of what?
Had they not come as our allies, to draft the outline of an anti-Qing front and to arrange for the volunteer troops we would dispatch on the Taiwan expedition?
I gathered in the unpleasant sensation that rose in me by instinct, pressed my lips together, and asked quietly.
"What manner of understanding?"
"They say their expeditionary soldiers are in a difficult state, exhausted from long service in a foreign land and from the voyage..."
I could not contain myself.
"What did you say?"
"Ah—well—they say that in Viet Nam, where three years of war have left a deep wound, there is not enough space for the expeditionary troops to rest comfortably, and that they will need a place to recuperate—"
"How dare you. What utter nonsense!"
"Eek!"
At the interpreter's account my brows shot up and my temper flared.
To try a trick so transparent, and so early.
So they mean to seize the initiative from the first exchange?
Long voyage or not, dumping a mass of rough, armed soldiers into a civilian city is, in every age and every land, an act of contempt for the host nation.
No. This was an insult.
Were we a colony of their French Republic? A protectorate?
I drew a rough breath, my face dark with displeasure.
"A soldier, playing games with the line."
Never mind the incidents those men would cause. How were we supposed to handle the question of responsibility, of jurisdiction, of compensation for civilian harm?
They'll brush it aside—or this is only the beginning.
I had let my eyes grow dim for a moment, I realized, because the French parliament had named us an independent nation and folded us so naturally into the rank of allies. The age in which I now lived and breathed was, unmistakably, the nineteenth century. An age in which a man might read a contract with the utmost care—and then seize the original and tear it to pieces.
I would have to steel myself. I clenched my fist, rose from my seat, and gave a firm command.
"Y-Your Excellency."
"Hup—!"
When I raised my voice, I could see the people gathered below the platform startle on what had been a fine day—but I did not regret it for an instant.
We must not be underestimated from the very first. Above all, the moment a head of state yields to a foreign show of force, the discipline of that nation collapses.
Our Republic, born of revolution, is still fragile. But our people fear the greed of the Western empires and the shadow of a corrupt Qing. The root of that fear is the terror that their government cannot protect them. We must not, under any circumstances, dance to a bit of verbal saber-rattling meant to seize the initiative!
And so, when I delivered that rebuke with a face of iron, the cowed interpreter and the Superintendency official scrambled back toward the fleet.
Not long after, someone shouted.
"A small boat is coming down!"
Before the crowds gathered at Jemulpo, the fleet had spat out a single boat. Presently several more descended from the flagship, and a party whose numbers were modest beside the scale of the fleet touched the pier with care.
They were the heart of the Indochina expeditionary fleet: Admiral Amédée Courbet and the officers who attended him.
"So it got through."
I could not begin to guess what change the conversation of a moment ago might have produced. All the same, I felt a clean satisfaction. Something that had been itching in one corner of my chest had fallen away.
The foreigners of unfamiliar complexion climbed from the boats, and as they approached, the people surrounding them drew back in a slow half-circle. Slowly, and with dignity, the French representatives made their way toward the platform the government had raised to receive them, and the citizens filling the street cried out.
"Welcome! We are glad to meet you!"
"Long live France, ally of the Republic!"
"Long live the Three Principles of the People!"
And, true to the old name of the Eastern Kingdom of Propriety, they had not forgotten a proper welcome. In every hand among the people gathered at Jemulpo was a flag: the Taegeukgi of the Republic, the red banner, and the French tricolor, one of each, held fast.
On that street dyed in brilliant color, I could see that Admiral Courbet and the French representatives were more than a little taken aback by the fierce warmth of our citizens' greeting.
This is an age in which diplomatic pageantry has not yet been formalized. And for white men who, in Asia, hear themselves called invaders more often than not, the feeling must be all the stranger. To be welcomed like this...
Moreover, among the tricolors we waved for them, the French officers and men would find some measure of comfort for hearts worn thin by the struggle in the jungle. A human being, after all, is a creature that pretends to live by reason and lives by feeling.
While I was lost in such stray thoughts, the delegation had already mounted the platform prepared to receive them and drawn up in a line before the officials of our government.
"Hmm."
Silence was golden, and East and West, it seemed, were no different in that. A curious contest of nerves collided in the gazes of the two parties.
The first to break that awkward silence was Seo Gwang-beom.
"Despite the hardships of upheaval in East Asia, Your Excellency Admiral Amédée Courbet, and the French delegation and Far East Squadron who accompany you, have willingly chosen to visit Korea for the sake of the friendship between our two nations. We welcome you with all our hearts."
It was a flawless opening, delivered in practiced French.
In answer, a reply of equal dignity came from the other side. And, to our astonishment, it came in Korean—a language familiar to our ears.
"Thank you for your welcome, gentlemen of the Joseon government. In half a century of military service, I have never known a reception so magnificent. It has been a most impressive occasion. I am Sébastien Lespès, Vice Admiral of the Far East Squadron."
"What?"
The Korean that poured so fluently from the half-bald old admiral was, for the officials of our government assembled at the reception—and for the people of our Republic craning their necks below the platform, dying of curiosity—the single most shocking event of the day.
The people's faces, mouths hanging open, eyes blinking in disbelief, spoke for them.
"Good God, did you hear that? That Westerner is speaking our language!"
"Heavens!"
I was no less astonished myself.
Where on earth had this gentleman learned Korean?
Perhaps conscious of those burning stares, the man who had introduced himself as Vice Admiral turned, bowed deeply toward the people gathered below the platform, and greeted them once more.
"Good day to you, people of Joseon. My name is Lespès."
And the response that gesture called forth was explosive.
WAAAAAH!!!
"Long live France, friend of our Joseon!"
"Long live the alliance!"
From every side the tricolor and the Taegeukgi danced together once more, and the red banners that stood for the blood of the people surged high, staining the sky a deep vermilion. The welcoming crowd grew far louder than expected, and at last, for the sake of the schedule that remained with the delegation, Foreign Minister Bak Jeong-yang gestured toward the foot of the platform. The officials and soldiers of Incheon Prefecture who had been waiting below began, little by little, to ease the crowd back.
"Heh heh."
Even so, the cheers of our people—deeply moved that a high general from Europe had spoken our language and shown them such warmth—showed no sign of ending.
In any event, leaving that happily roaring crowd behind, the two delegations proceeded to the places prepared for them, sat in the chairs arranged opposite one another, and began the negotiations in earnest.
I spoke first.
"I am Syngman Rhee, Tongnyeong of the People's Republic of Korea."
"I am Amédée Courbet, Admiral of the Far East Squadron, attached to the French Expeditionary Command."
The admiral who introduced himself as Courbet did not look well.
Has he been suffering from some endemic fever?
At his pallid complexion I found myself wondering, quite seriously, whether that sudden request of his had been less a plea on behalf of French soldiers fighting in the jungle than a request for understanding on behalf of the admiral himself. That was how poor his color was.
"Incidentally, your command of our language is quite fluent. I must say I was startled."
"Your subordinate's Korean was quite elegant as well. A gift our people never imagined."
"I am glad to hear it, Your Excellency. It seems the hours he carved from his leisure to study have not been wasted."
Because I had spoken in French, the interpreters both sides had prepared in advance became unnecessary. Those who no longer had a role withdrew below the platform, and Lespès—who had a moment ago introduced himself in Korean as Vice Admiral—addressed a courteous question to me.
"I firmly believe that the working negotiations will be handled more than adequately by the staff officers and officials of both sides, Your Excellency. That being so—rather than filling the air with stiff and ornamental small talk—might I ask something that has puzzled me all through the jungle?"
A glittering gaze, charged with a kind of burning hunger, fixed itself sharply upon me. At this, Admiral Courbet, whose color had already been poor, rebuked his subordinate in a low voice, his expression uncomfortable.
"Vice Admiral. That is impertinent."
"Have I given offense, perhaps?"
But the subordinate did not yield. I found myself intrigued by Lespès's manner—persistent, and in its way scholarly—and after gesturing to the admiral that it was quite all right, I asked in turn.
"A question, you say?"
"Just so."
"Ask it."
When I nodded and gave my light permission, Lespès straightened his back, held his torso rigidly upright, and cleared his throat. A moment later, when every gaze among both delegations had turned toward his mouth, he opened it slowly.
"L-Lespès, you—!"
True to the man who had drawn an explosive reaction from the first moment, the heavy question he flung at me laid waste to everything around us.
Look. There was Courbet, who a moment ago had seemed so haggard, now on his feet as if he had never been frail at all, his face twisted with a rage that wanted to snap Lespès's neck.
That reaction was no different among the spectators, nor among the gazes stacked upon the chairs of both delegations. This was not a peace conference. This was a sacred and supposedly blessed occasion on which two allies were to deepen their friendship and discuss the future—and he had asked, to the face of a nation's leader, something on the order of: Are you insane? A man who calls himself leader of a republic, and you throw your citizens into a war they do not even need?
As the looks passing between the two sides edged closer to alarm, Foreign Minister Bak Jeong-yang rose and spoke. He looked as though he wished to extract an apology for the Vice Admiral's blunder at once, end the matter, and pretend it had never happened.
"Apologize this instant! This is an unheard-of discourtesy—and on a first meeting—"
"Is that your question?"
"T-Tongnyeong, Your Excellency!?"
But I saw it differently.
This was an opportunity.
One that would leave a deep impression upon them.