Rebels at the Gate

Farmers in the early 20th century. Courtesy of Diane Nars Collection

By Robert Neff

In the summer of 1894, the community of Westerners residing in Seoul were greatly alarmed ― not of the on-going Sino-Japanese War but because of the growing insurrection and unrest spreading throughout the southern part of the peninsula which threatened to spread to Seoul and endanger their lives.

On September 17, 1894, Sallie (the wife of the American ambassador to Korea, John Sill) wrote in her journal-letter that on the "night before last the rumor was rife that all the missionaries in Seoul were to be massacred."

It wasn't the first time a massacre of Western missionaries was threatened. In April ― the previous year ― placards and notices were posted on the doors of foreign residences in Seoul and even on the Japanese legation's gates proclaiming the city to be "the lair and den of barbarians" ― filled with the "Japanese and foreign rebels and thieves [who had been] introduced into the bowels of our land."

The missionaries were especially despised for being hypocrites. "You never perform what you preach. You say 'Honor thy parents,' yet during their life you neither care for nor obey them, and after their death neither tears nor ceremony." They also found fault with the missionaries' privileged lifestyle and their hearts "full of covetousness for good houses and an easy life" and mated like beasts "without shame even enter upon marriage a second time. Upon the least evidence of incompatibility you break the marriage tie."

Jeon Bon-jun's capture in late 1894. Wikipedia image

The rebels ― identified as the Donghaks ― claimed to number several millions and had sworn to the death that they would rid the country of the foreign vermin. They didn't in 1893 and, according to Sallie, they didn't on September 15, 1894:

As a result of the threat, the "doors and windows were barred and the gates guarded by the legation soldiers but the night passed quietly and the excitement has entirely abated."

However, the abatement was short lived. A few days later, Alice (Sallie's sister who resided with the Sill family in Seoul), insisted she did not worry about the Chinese and Japanese soldiers rather "the danger now [in Seoul] is from the [Donghaks], Koreans who hate all foreigners and try to exterminate them whenever they can ― so a guard will be kept during the winter at least and perhaps longer." A few days later she reported the rebels had advanced to a point about 50 kilometers south of Seoul. She insisted she was not worried and expressed the greatest confidence in the American marines guarding the legation in Seoul.

The attack on Seoul never materialized. However, for the next couple of years, the regions outside Seoul were almost in a constant state of unrest.

An executed prisoner's head on display in the late 19th century. Robert Neff Collection

One Western resident in Jemulpo (modern Incheon) wrote:

"We hear that so many rebels attack a town, murder the officials, and burn so many houses, or that a band of rebels steal so many thousand dollars from the Government. In such instances it is always certain that the Magistrate or Governor has fled long before the attack. These are little conundrums. In the first place the killing of the officials has always been an act of retribution. The Government had not the will or power to punish them, so the people took it upon themselves to do it instead. In the second, the officials have been aware that they have committed themselves towards the Government. They knew the golden apple was slipping beyond their grasp, so they thought it best to show a clean pair of heels. Therefore the rebels get the blame for having stolen the money belonging to the Government. The whole thing is quite natural."

A good example of this may have been 40-year-old Jeon Bong-jun. He was a farmer in Jeolla province who, like many other farmers, became enraged with their local magistrate, Jo Byeong-gap, and his unfair ― and, illegal ― taxes.

Jo extorted huge sums of money ― perhaps the present day equivalent of a couple million dollars ― with false accusations of infidelity and minor crimes. His own crimes were many including building a monument ― using tax money ― to honor his father, double taxing farmers for water, cutting down and harvesting ancient trees and failing to pay for services rendered. When the people complained, a government investigator was sent but he sided with the magistrate and so Jeon and his fellow dissatisfied farmers rose up in revolt.

Eventually Jo was replaced with another magistrate and, for a short time, the disturbance died down but eventually reignited in surrounding areas. Japanese soldiers and civilians were attacked and, in some cases, killed. Many rebels were also apprehended by Korean and/or Japanese soldiers. Some were summarily executed and their heads were sent to Seoul as proof of their demise and warning to the capital's residents.

Prisoners hanged in the early 20th century. Robert Neff Collection

In January 1895, while out on a ride, Isabella Bird Bishop, an English travel-writer, encountered four of these warnings:

"There I saw it in the busiest part of the Peking Road, a bustling market outside the "little West Gate," hanging from a rude arrangement of three sticks like a camp-kettle stand, with another head below it. Both faces wore a calm almost dignified, expression. Not far off two more heads had been exposed in a similar frame, but it had given way, and they lay in the dust of the roadway, much gnawed by dogs at the back. The last agony was stiffened on their features. A turnip lay beside them, and some small children cut pieces from it and presented them mockingly to the blackened mouths. This brutalizing spectacle had existed for a week."

They were not the only ones. A couple of days later, she encountered three coolies on the side of the road ― their heads missing. She dryly noted the headsman's ax had been neither sharp nor merciful, and "in the middle of the road were great, frozen, crimson splashes" where they had "expiated their treason."

Jeon Bon-jun's statue on a rainy day in April 2021. Robert Neff Collection

However, decapitation soon fell out of favor as it was considered barbarian and in late January 1895 it was replaced with strangulation for civilians and firing squads for military members found guilty of capital crimes.

For Jeon Bong-jun ― who had recently been captured, tried and found guilty, the method of execution probably didn't matter all that much.

On Tuesday, April 23, 1895, it began to rain in Seoul and dampened the spirits of many of the Western residents. The rain caused Horace N. Allen to cancel his excursion to Pukhansan where he and a group of friends were to celebrate his birthday amongst the beautiful scenery and azaleas which were in full bloom. The lawn tennis matches were canceled at Seoul Union and so most people, except for a few sturdy individuals who didn't mind riding in the rain, stayed home and read books or caught up on their correspondences.

However, in Seoul prison, five Dongkhak leaders ― including Jeon ― made their final preparations for their impending deaths. At two in the morning, on April 24, the men were hanged near the city's great bell. Apparently they were then beheaded and their severed heads put on display.

Later that morning, Sallie jotted in her journal-letter that it was "another bright day" and informed her family that "five poor Donghaks had their heads taken off" and added, "but that is such a common thing by this time that but little attention is paid to it."

Jeon's death may not have generated much interests then but on April 24, 2018, he and his cause was remembered when a large statue was unveiled where he was executed. About $250,000 was donated by private citizens to erect this statue in remembrance of a man who fought corruption and paid for it with his life.

Robert Neff has authored and co-authored several books including, Letters from Joseon, Korea Through Western Eyes and Brief Encounters.