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| The site of Korea's first post office. December 2020. / Courtesy of Olga Erin Kim |
By Robert Neff
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| A Korean postman in the late 18th century. / Robert Neff Collection |
The evening bell that signaled the curfew had already tolled, leaving only a few people on the streets: women, an occasional attendant on an official mission, doctors going to aid people in need, or foreigners who were exempt from the curfew.
It was cold that Dec. 4, 1884, night as Horace Allen, an American doctor, made his way to his home next to the American legation, after dining at the home of David Townsend, a fellow American, and his Japanese wife, near the Japanese legation. It had been a good night, with good food and, despite Townsend's wife being Japanese (Allen did not approve of mixed marriages), pleasant company.
Attending the small get-together was Ensign John B. Bernadou, a skilled linguist who was assigned to the American legation as a naval attache, instructed to assist with collecting natural and cultural specimens of Korea for the Smithsonian Institute.
Bernadou was 26 years old and had graduated from the naval academy fifth in his class in 1882. He was assigned to the American warship U.S.S. Alert and arrived in Korea on March 1, 1884. He was an energetic man who feared nothing, and would later be recognized, not only in Korea but Cuba, for his bravery. However, according to one of his peers, he was cruel to his servants and Koreans in general.
There may have been some truth to this allegation but it is also highly probable that there was a degree of embellishment provoked by jealousy.
Shortly after Allen arrived at his home, he and his wife were startled by a loud pounding at their door. It was the American minister's personal secretary, Charles L. Scudder, splattered with blood and looking frightened. He quickly presented Allen with a note from Paul G. von Mollendorff, the German adviser to the Korean government, informing Allen that he (Mollendorff) had "a dying man on his hands." Scudder and an escort of 50 Korean soldiers were to accompany Allen to the Seoul Customs House.
Undoubtedly, as they raced through the streets, Scudder informed Allen of the events that had transpired.
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| Seating arrangements at the post office inauguration party. / Courtesy of Olga Erin Kim |
THE DINNER PARTY
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| The uniforms of Korean postal employees. December 2020. / Courtesy of Olga Erin Kim |
The party seemed doomed from the beginning. The Japanese Minister Takezoe Shinichiro was "indisposed" and unable to attend. In his stead, he sent the secretary of the legation, Shimamura Hisashi, who had the "reputation of savoring intrigue," and his interpreter Kawakami Tateichiro. Captain Otto Zemsch, the German Consul, was also "indisposed."
There were 18 participants at the party including Lucius H. Foote, the American minister to Korea, accompanied by Scudder and Yun Chi-ho, his translator. Among the other foreign guests were: William G. Aston, the British representative, von Mollendorff, Chen Shu-t'ang, the Chinese minister, and his secretary T'an Keng-yao, and the two Japanese formerly mentioned.
The Koreans present were some of the highest officials in the court including Hong Yong-sik (the postmaster), Pak Yong-hyo, Kim Ok-gyun and Min Yong-ik. Some of them were revolutionists while the others were their victims.
The party was catered for by Sugi, a Japanese man who owned the Rokugyosha restaurant in Seoul and specialized in Western cuisine. He evidently knew that something was going to happen that evening because he warned the three Japanese postal workers to be careful.
According to Yun Chi-ho's and von Mollendorff's diaries, Foote was impeccably groomed and tried to liven up the "stiff, formal atmosphere" of the party by entertaining the group with humorous anecdotes. But despite his efforts, the atmosphere remained heavy and the conversation tended to be rather depressing.
It is unlikely the Japanese and Chinese members were engaged in much conversation with one another ― the previous month, at the Japanese legation, one of the Japanese interpreters pretended to be highly intoxicated and loudly denounced the Chinese consul as "a boneless sea cucumber." The Chinese consul, not understanding Japanese, asked other foreign members at the party for a translation but they feigned ignorance of its meaning. Undoubtedly, the Chinese consul eventually discovered what was said and this contributed to the tension in the air.
Suspicion also fell on Kim Ok-gyun. His nervousness and frequent jaunts outside further provoked uneasiness among the guests, especially Foote, who had been warned before the party that ferment was brewing in the capital.
It was during the final course, at nearly 10 p.m., that the shout of "fire" interrupted the silent conversation of the party. Kim Ok-gyun raced to the window and opened it, revealing a fire nearby that his co-conspirators had set. Fire was greatly feared because it could quickly spread through the city of densely packed wooden and straw houses.
In addition to the fire, a giant of a woman ― said to be nearly seven feet tall ― was setting off dynamite within the palace grounds to further sow confusion among the palace guards and aid the revolutionists.
She was known as Ko Tae-su ("A giant girl who needs to be taken care of") and was 42 years old and a woman of "great physical strength." She apparently was one of Queen Min's bodyguards and, although treated kindly by the queen, was lonely and hurt from the constant taunts she received from members of the palace.
The coup had begun.
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