On Wednesday life was supposed to resume its normal aspects again.  The schools reopened, but there were no pupils.  The shops remained closed.  The coolies in official employ did not come to work.  The authorities sent police to order the shopkeepers to open.  They opened while the police were by, and closed immediately they were out of sight.  Finally troops were placed outside the shops to see that they remained open.  The shopkeepers sat passive, and informed any chance enquirer that they did not have what he wanted.  This continued for some weeks.

The authorities were specially disturbed by the refusal of the children to come to school.  In one large junior school, the boys were implored to come for their Commencement exercises, and to receive their certificates.  Let me tell the scene that followed, as described to me by people in the city.  The boys apparently yielded, and the Commencement ceremonies were begun, in the presence of a number of official and other distinguished Japanese guests.  The precious certificates were handed out to each lad.  Then the head boy, a little fellow of about twelve or thirteen, came to the front to make the school speech of thanks to his teachers and to the authorities.  He was the impersonation of courtesy.  Every bow was given to the full; he lingered over the honorifics, as though he loved the sound of them.  The distinguished guests were delighted.  Then came the end.  “I have only this now to say,” the lad concluded.  A change came over his voice.  He straightened himself up, and there was a look of resolution in his eyes.  He knew that the cry he was about to utter had brought death to many during the past few days.  “We beg one thing more of you.”  He plunged one hand in his garment, pulled out the Korean flag, the possession of which is a crime.  Waving the flag, he cried out, “Give us back our country.  May Korea live forever.  Mansei!”

All the boys jumped up from their seats, each one pulling out a flag from under his coat and waved it, calling, “Mansei!  Mansei!  Mansei!” They tore up their precious certificates, in front of the now horrified guests, threw them on the ground, and trooped out.

At nine o’clock that Wednesday morning there was a great demonstration of students and high school girls around the palace.  The girls had planned out their part ahead.  A big crowd gathered around.  Then a large force of police rushed on them, with drawn swords, knocking down, beating and arresting, lads and girls alike.  The girls were treated as roughly as the men.  Over four hundred, including one hundred girl students, were taken to the police station that morning.  What happened to the girls there, I tell in a later chapter.  Fifteen nurse-probationers of the Severance Hospital, one of the most famous missionary hospitals in the Far East, hurried out with bandages to bind up the wounded.  The police took them in custody also.  They were severely examined, to find if the foreigners had instigated them to take part in the demonstrations, but were released the same afternoon.