People often say Britain rules the seas while France dominates the battlefield.
But that doesn't mean the French navy was weak.
Strictly speaking, it would be more accurate to say the British Empire possessed an overwhelmingly powerful navy, while France's fleet was still far from insignificant by European standards.
French warships might not quite match British ones, but compared to most other nations they were more than capable of holding their heads high.
The real problem had always been something else.
Compared with Britain, the skill and experience of French naval officers and sailors lagged far behind.
Take the Battle of Trafalgar, for instance.
One of the reasons France suffered such a devastating defeat was the massive difference in training and professionalism between the two sides.
The disparity was so great that British crews reportedly fired their cannons nearly twice as fast as their French counterparts using the same guns.
Repeated failures at sea forced France to make serious efforts to strengthen its navy.
After the Napoleonic Wars ended and large-scale conflict in Europe temporarily subsided, the importance of naval power became even more apparent.
For European nations, the most valuable tools now were reliable navigation to Asia—and large, beautiful cannons that could serve as a persuasive diplomatic language.
France eagerly embraced this trend.
Powerful warships were being built.
Naval strength was expanding.
And after witnessing Britain smash the Qing Empire during the First Opium War, the urgency of naval expansion only intensified.
Asia's naval weakness had been exposed for all to see.
If sending a few warships could bring back profits many times greater than the cost, why wouldn't they invest?
France's recent intervention in Vietnam had already produced excellent results.
French morale was soaring.
Several months before François Guizot met Killian Gore Hanover, the French fleet was already sailing toward its next destination.
After demonstrating the might of France to the Nguyen Dynasty in Vietnam, Admiral Jean-Baptiste Cécille prepared to continue his expedition.
"Listen carefully," Cécille announced to his officers.
"Our next mission is to sail to Korea and hold them accountable for executing our missionaries."
"Shall we proceed the same way we did in Vietnam?" one officer asked.
"No. Korea recently established diplomatic relations with Britain. I hear they even signed a mutual defense agreement against Russia. It probably doesn't apply to us, but we should approach this more carefully than we did Vietnam."
In truth, if one judged purely by the facts, Korea's actions were even more serious.
France had bombarded Vietnamese ports because French missionaries had been imprisoned.
Admiral Cécille had immediately demanded their release—and when Vietnam refused, he sank the fleet anchored at Da Nang.
It would have been unthinkable between equal powers.
But by this point, European powers believed they understood Asia perfectly.
France felt no hesitation.
"Admiral," another officer said, "Korea won't be able to resist us anyway. Why not pressure them the same way we did Vietnam?"
"I wouldn't mind," Cécille admitted.
"But the government seems to want us to pressure Korea first and then have Britain step in as mediator. There's no need to rush."
Even so, Cécille privately wondered whether it might be simpler just to destroy a few Korean ships immediately.
After all, when dealing with Asia, the most effective diplomatic method often seemed to be:
fire the cannons first, then introduce yourself.
As the fleet approached the Korean Peninsula, that sentiment grew stronger among the officers.
Cécille himself was still intoxicated by the overwhelming success at Da Nang.
To the French navy, Asia had become little more than a punching bag.
And this time they even had a perfect justification.
Missionaries had been executed.
When the French ships appeared near the coast, Joseon did nothing.
They simply watched.
"First, make sure Korea understands why we're here," Cécille ordered.
"Yes, Admiral!"
"We demand two things. An immediate apology for executing our missionaries, and sincere compensation."
He didn't bother saying what would happen if the compensation proved unsatisfactory.
The cannons behind him spoke clearly enough.
"But Admiral," another officer asked, "what if Korea refuses and relies on Britain? Should we attack immediately?"
"They probably aren't that foolish," Cécille replied.
"But perhaps we should help them make the right choice."
"What if we move closer to the shore and fire our cannons where they can see them? Not directly at their territory, of course—but close enough to send a message."
"A brilliant idea, Admiral."
"Move the ships closer."
One officer hesitated.
"Admiral… there seem to be quite a few reefs along this coast. Could that cause trouble?"
"Impossible," another officer said confidently.
"Even if the wind changes or there are reefs, modern steamships can easily maneuver out of danger."
When campaigning in Asia, experienced officers knew the greatest danger was not enemy resistance.
It was the unfamiliar natural environment.
But the orders from Paris were clear.
Act quickly.
If Britain intervened first, France might lose valuable concessions.
The Korean government needed to be frightened before negotiations began.
Cécille made his decision.
"Good. We cannot waste time here."
"Before Britain interferes, we settle this quickly!"
"Yes, Admiral!"
At last, the moment had come to teach these arrogant Asians a lesson.
The French navy, still intoxicated by its victory in Vietnam, no longer believed it could be in danger.
"Open fire!"
"Fire!"
BOOM!
The thunder of naval cannons echoed across the sea as shells exploded harmlessly offshore.
Yet the Korean defenders remained completely still.
Even the Vietnamese had attempted some resistance.
Were the Koreans so incompetent that they could not even pretend?
Encouraged by the lack of response, the French ships pushed even closer to shore.
But only for a moment.
Something felt wrong.
Looking through his telescope, Cécille noticed something strange.
The water near the shore seemed to be moving oddly.
"Wait… isn't the water level dropping?" he muttered.
"…What?"
"Navigator! Call the navigator—no, wait! The tide is receding! Do something!"
"Turn the ship! Head back to deeper water!"
As the sea visibly retreated, Cécille's face turned pale.
Even the fastest steamship could not sail without water.
"You idiots!" he shouted.
"You brought the fleet in without checking the tide schedule?!"
"We didn't have time to gather the information…"
"Damn it! Turn around! Get us out of here immediately!"
Fortunately they had noticed early.
If they turned around now, they might still escape.
The ship began moving toward deeper water.
Cécille exhaled in relief.
"…Good. Once we retreat, we can reorganize and—"
CRASH!
"AAAH!"
"What was that?!"
The entire ship lurched violently.
Officers were thrown off their feet.
"Did the Koreans fire on us?"
That made no sense.
Their artillery couldn't possibly reach this far.
An officer burst into the cabin.
"The ship—it's hit a reef!"
"…What?"
"We were turning too quickly…"
"Damn it! Fix it immediately! If we stay here the water will keep dropping!"
"But… Admiral…"
No amount of shouting could change reality.
Everyone on board understood what was happening.
The sea was draining away.
"NO… no!"
If the tide fell completely, the ship would be stranded.
Cécille knew it.
The officers knew it.
Every sailor knew it.
And soon—
the inevitable happened.
The sea withdrew with a long whisper.
The hull groaned.
The ship tilted.
And so, after sailing halfway around the world and demonstrating French might in Vietnam…
Admiral Jean-Baptiste Cécille's fleet ran aground helplessly off the coast of Joseon.
When the French ships first appeared, panic erupted among the Korean defenders.
According to the translators, the foreigners demanded justice for executed missionaries.
But to the commander defending this position, the claim was meaningless.
Still, rumors about Western military power had spread widely after China's defeat.
Even if the enemy fleet was small, Joseon's coastal defenses were weak.
If the foreigners opened fire, they might not be able to stop them.
Some officers suggested pretending to accept the foreigners' demands until instructions arrived from the royal court.
But Commander Kim Deok-mu had no intention of surrendering.
"Listen carefully!" he shouted.
"We may die here today!"
"But if we show weakness, those barbarians will believe Joseon is a country they can bully at will!"
"Even if it means dying here, we must not retreat!"
"Fight to defend our homeland!"
"WOOOAAAH!"
"Drive out the barbarians!"
Throughout Joseon's history, patriots had given their lives to defend the country.
During the Imjin War.
During the Manchu Invasions of Korea.
Now these soldiers believed they might have to do the same.
Even those who lacked deep patriotism were determined to protect their families.
Rumors claimed Westerners were cannibals.
If they failed here, their wives and children might be eaten.
"Burn your hearts with courage!" Kim shouted.
"No matter how strong their weapons are, we can defeat them if we fight without fear!"
"Do not be afraid!"
"WOOOAAAH!"
In truth, many of the soldiers had never seen real combat.
Their shouts were little more than attempts to overcome their fear.
Kim knew this.
So he continued rallying them.
"General," one officer said quietly, "the tide will soon go out. Why are they still firing cannons there? Are they planning to land immediately?"
That was the only explanation that made sense.
But if the tide went out… what would happen to their ships?
Could Western vessels somehow ignore the tides?
"Whatever happens," Kim declared, "this will be Joseon's first battle with the Westerners!"
"We must not show weakness!"
"Prepare yourselves! They will land soon!"
Moments passed.
Then—
"…General?"
"They're turning their ships."
"That can't be—wait… they really are."
Surely they hadn't sailed into these waters without knowing the tides.
Kim watched carefully as the French ships hurriedly retreated.
Suddenly—
one of them lurched violently.
The vessel stopped moving entirely.
The water level kept dropping.
Kim turned slowly toward his soldiers.
They stared back at him in silence.
"…."
"…."
No one understood what had just happened.
But did it really matter?
Kim raised his sword high into the air.
"WOOOAAAH!"
"We have defeated the enemy!"
"This battle belongs to Joseon!"
"WAAAAAH!"
"You stupid Western bastards!"
"You think the Yellow Sea is a joke?!"
"Admiral Yi Sun-sin is protecting us!"
"Long live Admiral Yi!"
"Joseon has defeated the Westerners who defeated China!"
No one was quite sure why Admiral Yi was being invoked—or why China had suddenly entered the story.
But the important thing was this:
the barbarian fleet was trapped helplessly offshore.
The soldiers roared in celebration.
Several days later, Kim Jwa-geun, who had rushed from Hanseong to prevent a war with France, stood on the coast staring at the warship stuck on a reef.
He sighed deeply.
"…So you're telling me I rushed all the way here from the capital because I was afraid of that?"
"…."
"…."
Unfortunately—
no one had an answer.