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Corean Dawn excerpt (Page 6)
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he was un¬certain why, Tubert knew he could never be truly a part of the Western world and for some minutes the thought saddened him. Shufeldt had told him the secretive negotiations would continue for perhaps two years before the treaty, to be ratified by the American govern¬ment, could actually be signed at Chemulpo. But already, Tubert knew, his world had changed.
‘With wealth and my own place, I shall invite Grandfather Song to spend a year with us before he is too old to travel,’ Tubert promised himself, pleased at the idea of introducing salt water fishing into their special world, and showering the venerable old ally and parental figure with hospitality and comfort.
Two hundred paces to his right, the provincial magistrate and seven Corean officials arrived and boarded a Corean craft which would take them to the reception awaiting them aboard the Ticonderoga. The prefect stared for a moment at the lone Westerner along the beach, in his strange western garb his hair combed and free of a topknot, and nodded to Tubert. The American envoy had expressed gratitude for the treatment accorded to the white ward of Chaoshien, and had requested the Soldier Brother’s presence in Chemulpo for the treaty signing.
Tubert saw a rowboat make for him from the ship and heard a Marine band play martial music as the Coreans ahead of him boarded the foreign vessel and were es¬corted by Robert Shufeldt into the officers’ mess.
“Mister Tubert?” Queried a petty officer in the rowboat.
“I’m Tubert, sailor.”
“Commander Jewell sends us, sir! We’re to take you aboard.”
Minutes later, Tubert scaled the side ladder, the feel of the ship beneath his feet felt familiar but intimidating. The deck was immaculate, and a Marine sergeant saluted him as he came on deck. Tubert nodded, but did not return the salute.
“Welcome aboard, sir! Commander Jewell’s waitin’ for you. Follow me, please.”
Twelve men were in the well-lit mess, were being served seasoned mutton, smoked ham, ship’s bread, potatoes and gravy, and brandy, rum and beer. Empty glasses from a cham¬pagne toast were cleared from the table by a half dozen mess stewards. At the head of the stationary wooden table, in the captain's chair, sat Shufeldt, his Chinese interpreter to his left, the Corean prefect just to his right, with the Corean official’s Chinese interpreter next to the uneasy prefect, both Chinese again visibly upset at the entry of Tubert. Around them the seats were staggered, with each American officer having a Corean official seated next to him.
“Timothy, over here, next to me,” said Jewell, standing, waving to him, noticing the re¬sentful glances the Chinese shot at Tubert. “Seems for the moment we can consider you with the Corean party.”
“Iii-gu, Soldier Brother,” said the bearded prefect, nauseated from the sight and scent of the barbarian food and faces, revolted at the sight of the foreign-devils forking the chunks of smelly, grease covered meat and tasteless vegetables into their mouths. “How much must I endure to discharge the will of Seoul? Help us to deflect attention, for we cannot consume their slop.”
“This is history in the making,” said Shufeldt, his enthusiasm forced, busy with the mutton, not noticing that his Corean guests were but politely picking at their food, pretending to nibble at the bread pieces. Shufeldt was pleased to see that they were thirstily gulping cups of rum.
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