By Robert Neff
On Aug. 31, 1898, the small foreign community of Jemulpo (modern Incheon) was shocked to discover that one of its members, an American by the name of George W. Lake, had been apparently murdered.
Lake, who was generously described by one American as “an elderly and unamiable beachcomber, once a citizen of Massachusetts, who kept a wretched longshore shop of damaged groceries and other refuse in the Chinese slum of Jemulpo” was found lying in a pool of his own blood in bed.
Horace N. Allen, the American Minister to Korea, immediately sent William Franklin Sands, the legation’s young and flamboyant vice-consul, to investigate the death. Sand’s initial inquiry ― basically a coroner’s court ― concluded after examining Lake’s “horridly diseased” body that he had died of natural causes ― the result of a combination of illnesses.
But the coroner’s findings were not accepted. Already the local media had developed the story as a murder and, surprisingly, someone telegraphed word of Lake’s death to the United States where demands were made for Allen to apprehend the murderer.
Once again an investigation was conducted with an emphasis on the possibility that one of Lake’s Chinese neighbors might have robbed and killed him. Sands interviewed the neighbors but found they all spoke highly of Lake. They described him as “a peaceful and inoffensive foreigner of the most genial temperament and exceedingly popular among his circle of acquaintances and was ever ready to bestow charities upon the needy.”
In fact, it was only the Chinese who seemed to have any affection and respect for Lake even after his death. Lake was quickly buried at Jemulpo’s Foreigners’ Cemetery with only a constable and a few Korean coolies ― hired to convey the body ― in attendance. One disgusted Jemulpo resident bemoaned Lake’s sad plight in a letter to The Independent, an English-language newspaper in Seoul.
“No ministers showed charity enough to follow the remains to hold the burial service, although there are several here. It would have been more charitable if at least one of his countrymen had undertaken to give the last words for the deceased.”
While the Chinese community made preparations to raise a tombstone for Lake, the missionaries hastily defended their absence at the funeral by explaining that they were all at a conference in Seoul. Despite the conference, had the victim been someone else it is likely that at least one missionary would have found time to conduct a short service.
Actually there was another reason ― an unspoken one. Lake had a notorious past ― a past that no missionary could have condoned.
Lake had first arrived in Asia sometime in 1860 and served for a time as the constable at the American legation in Nagasaki, Japan. He established a very successful company but soon ran afoul of the Japanese authorities and was deported. Returning to the United States he became involved with his own daughter resulting in the birth of five children ― all deemed mentally unwell. He was subsequently arrested and imprisoned for incest. The trials and the notoriety of the case were too much for his daughter/wife and she soon had a nervous breakdown and she and the children were committed to insane asylums. A newspaper wrote:
“Three generations of wrecked minds are the result of his wicked and shameless career…the evil effects of intermarriage between blood relatives,” declared one newspaper.
Lake served out his sentence and then left the United States for Japan. However, the Japanese government, unlike Senator Lodge of Massachusetts, had a long memory and Lake was subsequently deported three more times. The final time was just as the Sino-Japanese War broke out in August 1894, leaving Lake stranded in Jemulpo where he remained until his death.
Despite Lake’s notorious past, Allen was ordered to find and bring his murderer to justice. Readers can judge his success in the next article.
Robert Neff is a contributing writer to The Korea Times.