The Battle of Byeong-O Year (3)

At this point, the so-called Ganghwado Minutemen were nothing more than a hundred or so sturdy men gathered at an inn.

No matter how developed Joseon’s traditional PMC—its uibyeong, the righteous armies—had become, to the point where you couldn’t even tell whether the official military still existed or not, there was no way ordinary civilians would suddenly rise up while the government was still functioning just fine.

Even among these current “righteous armies,” there weren’t many who truly meant to die in some glorious blaze.

To be more honest, just as in the future with the General Sherman affair, most of them were here to watch the spectacle. If a real fight broke out, they were the type to run in sixty seconds. [Minuteman]

So for the past few days, they’d mostly been wasting the relief fund on booze and meat and enjoying themselves.

At first glance, it looked pointless. But this useless-seeming behavior brought about an important turning point.

At the beginning, it was nothing more than a ritual show of respect toward the man footing the bill.

“We used to wander the market begging for scraps, and now here we are, filling our bellies with sundae again after all this time. All thanks to Park Dokki.”

“But how does some fellow who only just joined the guild have that much money?”

It was from that moment that the most absurd legends about Taesu began to be invented.

“You idiot, what good is rumor if it spreads slowly among peddlers? They say Park Dokki has Kaesong merchant Cha Un-hong backing him from behind.”

“You mean the Kaesong Zhuge Liang who, despite that sickly body, ran his trade empire from inside the house and made a fortune?”

“That’s the one. And this is just between us, but the moment Park Dokki came to Ganghwa, that Kaesong peddler gang led by Im Bong-ik vanished without anyone knowing what demon took them, and the moment he went to Kaesong, that notorious usurer Kim Sang-jun disappeared too.”

Kaesong and Ganghwa were close by both land and water, practically one commercial zone. So peddlers around here generally knew the lay of the land in the Ganghwa-Kaesong region.

“Good heavens. You’re saying Park Dokki took care of those bastards? But they all had backers, didn’t they?”

“You half-wit. If I’ve told you this much, you should’ve figured it out. The point is, Park Dokki has an even bigger backer than any of them.”

“A bigger backer? Some old dignitary, then?”

“You’re really trying to get my tongue ripped out, aren’t you? Fine, I’ll spell it out. What’s above a high minister?”

“A daegam.”

“And above a daegam?”

“The king… huh?”

At that moment, another peddler butted in from the side.

“Stop lying through your teeth. That Park Dokki looks to be no more than twenty at best, doesn’t he? His topknot looks like an unmarried man’s too.”

But the peddler who had first introduced the “Park Taesu, the King’s Man” theory only grew more forceful.

“That’s exactly why! If he weren’t young, how could he gather that much wealth and wield that much power at his age? You think he dug into the mysteries for decades somewhere and even managed to rejuvenate himself?”

Then he pointed at the willow tree beyond the lattice gate.

“Didn’t you see him hurl that axe over there and pin it in the tree? He must be an official military commander from the capital. Just like the old stories of Magi-ryang and Huhang, this must be a secret decree from the king himself to gather us and stand against the Western bandits!”

“Come to think of it, that axe doesn’t seem like an ordinary thing either…”

“I heard someone say he once used that axe to smack the Imjin River and calm a storm.”

“My word. That’s the kind of feat only possible if you borrow a ruler’s majesty.”

Of course, even among the peddlers there were those who still had some reason left in them.

But precisely because they were rational, they said nothing.

The guardians of reason thought they had figured out why their companions were spewing such nonsense.

They didn’t bother pointing out the antics of the hired mouths Park Dokki had planted to strengthen his grip. What was a patron for, if not to do something like that?

They glanced toward Taesu, who was sitting on the veranda with the axe resting across his knees, lost in thought.

Then they used their mouths more rationally than the loudmouths did. As they reached for the plate of beef jerky, they told themselves they were the truly clear-eyed ones.

And yet again, reason was defeated.

I’d thought about it a lot, and it turned out even a stray mutt eats half as much when it’s in its own yard.

On Ganghwado, the mountain spirit was three times stronger than anywhere else.

It was better than the times he’d lorded it over the river god at the Imjin River.

Not always, though.

After all that, the mountain spirit finally managed to give me something useful.

How was I supposed to know anything from just “Chojijin”? Unless you were from Ganghwado, it sounded less like a place and more like some super earthquake.

I’m learning Hanja. I will learn it, no matter what. The first thing I’ll ever write with it will be a talisman to drive out demons like you.

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

“Cut the chatter and just tell me where Chojijin is.”

You should’ve started with that.

I jumped up, axe in hand.

What are you talking about?

You’re some ghost from the past, so maybe you don’t know, but France was always going to invade Joseon.

As uninterested in history as I was, even I knew that much. If France and Ganghwado were in the same sentence, it could only be the Byeongin Yangyo.

I’d already grown used to the fact that Joseon’s reality was completely different from the past I knew in modern times. The way they counted years could be different too.

I’m not going out there because I feel responsible for this Byeongin Yangyo, or whatever this Byeong-O Yangyo is supposed to be.

And I’m not doing it just to beat Kim Dae-geon into the dirt again.

It’s not even worth mentioning because of Heungseon Daewongun’s promise of a reward.

I’ve only got one reason.

I can’t just stand by and watch bastards who think they can do anything just because they’re strong.

I answered out loud on purpose.

So he could hear me.

“If you only fight when you’ve already stacked the odds in your favor, is that courage?”

Taesu had no experience as a leader, let alone even a proper guide.

So it wasn’t until he’d already strode outside alone that he realized his mistake. By then, it no longer felt right—or timely—to suddenly shout, “Follow me!”

But these people here were all “comrades,” after all.

The peddlers, who’d helped stir up this feast hall into a place where respect was being given voluntarily, responded at once, every one of them.

Some wiped the grease from their beards; others drained the last of their drinks and rose to their feet.

“Follow Park Dokki!”

“The guild master is going out!”

The organizational power of peddlers really was the strongest. Taesu was starting to like this profession quite a bit.

With the now-guild master Taesu at their head, the peddlers raced south. It was no more than about thirty ri at most, hardly far for men whose whole livelihood was walking.

Just as they were passing Namsan, a companion who was not a peddler joined them.

“Brother, I was waiting because I knew you’d come this way. You came to Ganghwado and didn’t even come see me? I may be a man of royal blood in name, but how could I ignore a national crisis? Take me with you!”

It was Yi Won-beom, who somehow seemed to have become the old guardian of Namsan in the mountain spirit’s place.

Taesu remembered the secret meeting place here where Yi Won-beom and Bong-i had once met.

“You’re not actually here to see that woman, are you?”

“W-well, it’s a dangerous place, so I did want to see her face one last time… B-but I even prepared a new axe like you, brother. Look!”

If Cha Un-hong, Taesu’s patron, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠had seen this, she would’ve soothed Yi Won-beom and sent him back after telling him not to do such pointless nonsense.

The role Yi Won-beom needed to play was not to become a righteous army fighter. He was to be a new king, independent of the powerful families but not so independent-minded that he resembled the current monarch.

And yet Taesu thought Yi Won-beom’s behavior was right precisely because of that.

You’ve got to protect your own things yourself.

Taesu snorted when he saw Yi Won-beom’s axe, which looked useful for nothing but chopping firewood.

“If you die, there’s a woman who’ll be disappointed, so just make sure you keep up with us properly.”

“I know that too. But the great purpose of a man…”

“No, not that woman. Another woman.”

It wasn’t strange that Yi Won-beom, hearing such a dangerously ambiguous line, would mistake himself for the lead in some harem story and go slack-jawed with blissful embarrassment.

While Yi Won-beom fumbled around, happily flustered and off balance, Taesu moved ahead again at speed.

By the time the stars, not the crescent moon, were beginning to shine brighter in the sky and hint that dawn was drawing near rather than sunset, someone at the front, holding a torch, whispered in a taut voice:

“That’s Chojijin right ahead, just like the guild master said!”

Taesu lowered his stance.

“Stop here for now. We could be spotted, so put out the torches. Light them again when we charge in.”

Everyone did as told. Then Taesu took something out of the pack.

The object, hidden completely by the moonless night, was a civilian solar-charged night-vision goggle.

As everyone knows, Kim Dae-geon was Joseon’s first priest.

And, less famous because of the tragic fate of second-place men everywhere, the second priest was Thomas Choe Yang-eop in Arigon.

He wasn’t a priest yet. But because Kim Dae-geon, who had opposed the preemptive armed invasion, was currently undergoing “cholera quarantine treatment,” it was the deacon, Choe Yang-eop, who had come here.

Even as a deacon, his zeal for the Joseon mission was no less than Kim Dae-geon’s.

Choe Yang-eop tried pleading with Captain Dupré again.

“Because of the government’s persecution, the believers are only keeping their heads down. There are many Christians among the people of Joseon. Some could secretly row over and surrender to us. But if you launch the invasion like this, I fear not only will you lose the people’s goodwill, but you’ll also be killing the believers. Please, at least let me go in alone.”

Captain Dupré sniffed.

“Joseon is already killing the believers whether we do anything or not. You seem to think Joseon’s Catholics would betray their country for the sake of faith, but we also have to consider the reverse—that Joseon people might betray their faith for the sake of their country. If we want to minimize casualties, swift suppression is the best course.”

With that, he jerked his chin toward the boats. It was the signal to board if he didn’t want to end up trapped in the hold like Kim Dae-geon.

Choe Yang-eop climbed aboard, convinced that the responsibility on his shoulders was enormous. If they suddenly came upon Joseon Catholics in this ambush, he would have to protect them.

Fortunately, Choe Yang-eop was the “martyr of sweat,” the man who slept only a few days out of the month and spent twelve years walking some thirty thousand kilometers in pastoral ministry. Choe Yang-eop was Joseon’s Achilles.

There was no problem when it came to joining a military operation either. At the very least, he was better than the French soldiers, who slouched and swayed with suspicious noises every time they exerted themselves.

Originally, Arigon had been far to the west, but by now it had pushed to the limit in the direction of Chojijin—the east, just as the mountain spirit had said.

It had clearly crossed the line set by Commissioner Nam Ui-hyeong, but up to now the Joseon navy had ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠had no way to stop Arigon.

They had only followed along meekly, pretending to believe Arigon’s excuse that it was merely here to sound depths and catch fish.

But that could not be allowed anymore.

If they went farther north from here and passed Sondolmokdondae, they’d be right at the mouth of the Han River. It was a route more fitting for the Byeongin Yangyo than for a future Shinmi Yangyo, admittedly.

Several Joseon ships, all carrying the air of men who’d been forced to eat bitter mustard as if it were candy, crept closer.

Captain Dupré seized the moment and signaled.

The Joseon ships attempting a naval boarding action, and Chojijin behind them, were both target zones he’d already measured out over the past several days.

The frigate Arigon’s sixteen carronades took the lead.

Perhaps to overcome fear, the Joseon ships had left their torches burning without thinking.

Because it was a moonless night, they were perfect targets.

Thirty-pound shot slammed into the nearest warship with a thunderous blast and tore it apart.

“Aaaaagh!”

“The Western devils have fired their guns!”

But what the panicked ships fleeing in disarray should really have feared was not the carronades.

The second strike came from four 30-pound shell guns, which belched fire.

Not shot. Shells.

France was the first nation in the world to develop a practical modern explosive shell.

In 1839, the same year Joseon executed three Catholic priests, France launched an expedition to avenge a stolen pastry in Mexico. As Les Misérables makes clear, the French have always been touchy about crimes against baked goods.

The Mexicans, who had fortified themselves with solid strongholds, laughed at the French just as some future cartel might laugh at the police. Cannon fire alone could not breach the star forts of that era.

But the latest Paixhans gun was on a completely different level from ordinary cannons.

One shot was enough to blow up a fortress magazine and end the battle. The result shocked every great power.

And now that shock was being delivered to Joseon.

The soldiers could hardly believe their eyes as the explosive shells blew apart the batteries at Chojijin.

“D-did they leave gunpowder boxes there?”

“What are you talking about? The magistrate ordered everything cleared out—people, powder, all of it. There’s no way some lunatic can just suddenly fire a cannon!”

“Then what’s that flame? Why is the powder exploding?”

“How should I know? Are you filing a memorial? You bureaucrat? If you’ve got time to spout nonsense, run already!”

The Joseon army was an elite force capable of retreating with ease even if France, Britain, and America all came charging in at once. Such room for debate was permitted.

Captain Cécile had no intention of pursuing the Joseon troops.

Instead, he quietly sent in a surprise landing party through the suddenly opened sea route.

Beginning at Chojijin, the plan was to seize the eastern coastal fortifications of Ganghwa one by one heading north, and finally subdue Ganghwa Fortress and seal off the mouth of the Han River. That was Cécile’s strategy.

The young lieutenant Henri Martineau des Chesnez led the vanguard with around eighty men, who were at least a little less miserable from diarrhea than the others.

As befit an officer of Greater France, Lieutenant des Chesnez didn’t give a damn about the natives’ military strength. Frankly, the cholera bacteria was a far more formidable enemy.

He wasn’t wrong.

There were no Joseon troops around Chojijin.

But there were people there who weren’t Joseon troops.

And there was something that wasn’t even a person.

The Ganghwa peddler guild froze as one at the sight of the explosion.

If they had known the French fleet’s route exactly and waited in advance, a catastrophe would have happened.

Yi Won-beom’s face was so pale it glowed like he couldn’t believe this was still a moonless night.

As Taesu wrestled with what to do, a whisper he knew all too well rang in his ears.

Author’s note

1. Depending on the person or context in the text, the terms peddler, traveling merchant, bobusang, and jangdollim are used interchangeably, so there’s no need to worry about the distinction.