NATURAL BEAUTY--THE RAPIDS
In superb weather, and in the full glory of spring, we continued the
exploration of the Han above Tan-Yang, encountering innumerable rapids,
some of them very severe and horrible to look upon. The river valley,
continually narrowing into gorges, rarely admits of hamlets, and the
population is relegated to lateral and parallel valleys. On the 30th
of April we tugged and poled the boat up seven long and severe rapids,
with deep still stretches of water between them. The flora increased in
variety, and the shapes of the mountains became very definite. Among
other trees there were a large branching _Acanthopanax ricinifolia_,
two species of euonymus, mistletoe on the walnut and mulberry, the
_Rhus semi-alata_ and _Rhus vernicifera_, pines, firs, the _Abies
microsperma_, the _Actinidia pueraria_, _Elæagnus_, Spanish chestnuts
in great groves, alders, birches, maples, elms, limes, and a tree
infrequently seen which I believe to be a _Zelkawa_. Among the flowers,
there were marigolds, buttercups, scentless white and purple violets,
yellow violas, white aconite, lady’s slipper, hawkweed, camomile,
red and white dandelions, guelder roses, wygelias, mountain peonies,
martagon and tiger lilies, gentians, pink spirea, yellow day lilies,
white honeysuckle, the _Iris Rossii_, and many others.
The day after leaving Tan-Yang we entered on the most beautiful part
of the river. Great limestone cliffs swing open at times to reveal
glorious glimpses, through fantastic gorges, of peaks and ranges,
partly forest-covered, fading in the far distance into the delicious
blue veil of dreamland; the river, occasionally compressed by its
colossal walls, vents its fury in flurry and foam, or expands into
broad reaches 20 and even 30 feet in depth, where pure emerald water
laps gently upon crags festooned with roses and honeysuckle, or in
fairy bays on pebbly beaches and white sand. The air was full of
gladness. The loud call of the fearless ringed pheasant was heard
everywhere, bees hummed and butterflies and dragon-flies flashed
through the fragrant air. What mattered it that our ropes broke three
times, that we stuck on a rock in a rapid and hung there for an hour in
a deafening din and a lather of foam, and that we “beat the record” in
only making 5 miles in twelve hours!
The limestone cliffs are much caverned, and near the village of To-tam,
where they fall back considerably from the river, we explored one
cave worthy of notice, with a fine entrance arch 43 feet in height,
admitting into a vault considerably higher, with a roof of stalagmites.
We ascended this cavern for 315 feet, and then had to return for lack
of light. Near the mouth a natural shaft and rock-ladder give access to
a fine upper gallery 12 feet high, only 60 feet of which we were able
to investigate. Just above To-tam there is another limestone freak on
the river bank, a natural bridge or arch, 127 feet in height and 30
feet wide, below which a fair green lawn slopes up to a height above.
The bridge is admirably buttressed, and draped with roses, honeysuckle,
and clematis, and various fantastic specimens of coniferæ grow out of
its rifts.
The beauty of the Han culminates at To-tam in the finest river view
I had then ever seen, a broad stretch, with a deep bay and lofty
limestone cliffs, between which, on a green slope, the picturesque,
deep-eaved, brown-roofed houses of the village are built. The gray
cliff is crowned with a goodly group of umbrella pines, in Korea called
“Parasol Pines,” because they resemble in shape those carried before
the King. Guarding the entrance of the bay are three picturesque jagged
pyramidal rocks much covered with the _Ampelopsis Veitchiana_, and of
course sacred to dæmon-worship. These sentinels are from 40 to 83 feet
high. To the southwest the Han, dark and deep, rolls out of sight round
a pine-clad bluff, among the magnificent ranges of the Sol-rak-San
mountains--masses of partially pine-clothed peaks and pinnacles of
naked rock. To the northeast the river makes an abrupt bend below
superb limestone cliffs, and disappears at the foot of Sölmi-San, a
triplet of lofty peaks. To-tam on its park-like slopes embraces this
view, and were it not for the rapids and their delays and risks, might
be a delightful summer resort from Seoul.
There is fertility as well as grandeur, for the ridge behind the
village, abrupt on the riverside, falls gently down on the other to
a broad, well-watered level valley, cultivated for rice with extreme
neatness and care, and which, after gladdening the eye with its
productiveness for several miles, winds out of view among the mountains.
There, and in most parts of the Han valley, I was much surprised with
the neatness of the cultivation. It was not what the reports of other
travellers had led me to expect, and it gives me the impression that
the river passes through one of the most productive and prosperous
portions of Korea. The crops of wheat and barley were usually superb,
and remarkably free from weeds--in fact, the cleanliness would do
credit to “high farming” in the Lothians. It was no uncommon thing
to find from 12 to 18 stalks as the product of one grain. At the
end of April the barley was in ear, and beginning to change color,
and the wheat was 6 inches high. As a general rule the stones were
carefully picked off the land and were used for retaining walls
for the rice terraces, or piled in heaps. Steep hillsides were
being cleared of scrub and stones for cotton planting, and in many
instances the cultivation is carried to a height of 1,000 feet, the
cultivators always, however, living in the holes. All the parallel
valleys are neatly and carefully cultivated. The favorable climate,
with its abundant, but not superabundant, rainfall, renders irrigation
needless, except in the case of rice. Every valley has its streamlet,
and is barred across by dykes of mud from its head down to the Han,
rice, with tobacco, beans, hemp, and cotton, being the great articles
of export. On the whole, I was very agreeably surprised with the
agriculture of the Han valley, and doubt not that it is capable of
enormous development if the earnings of industry were secure. The
soil is most prolific, heavy crops being raised without the aid of
fertilizers.
After leaving beautiful To-tam, the rapids become more and more
frequent and exasperating, and when Kim sank down, playing upon my
feelings by well-simulated exhaustion, I feared it would soon become
real. The ropes broke frequently, and the constant scraping and bumping
over rocks increased the leakiness of the boat so much, that in a
lovely reach, where crystal water rippled on the white sand, I pitched
my tent, and unloaded and beached the craft for repairs. In one strong
deep rapid that day the rope parted, and the boat swirled down the
surges, striking rocks as she spun down with such effect as to spoil a
number of photographic negatives and soak my bedding.
At the beautifully situated village of Pa-ka Mi, a post bore the
following inscription in large characters--“If any servant of a
_yang-ban_ passing through Pa-ka Mi is polite and behaves well, all
right, but if he behaves badly he will be beaten,” an assertion of
independence as refreshing as it is rare!
For among the curses of Korea is the existence of this privileged class
of _yang-bans_ or nobles, who must not work for their own living,
though it is no disgrace to be supported by their relations, and who
often live on the clandestine industry of their wives in sewing and
laundry work. A _yang-ban_ carries nothing for himself, not even his
pipe. _Yang-ban_ students do not even carry their books from their
studies to the classroom. Custom insist that when a member of this
class travels he shall take with him as many attendants as he can
muster. He is supported on his led horse, and supreme helplessness
is the conventional requirement. His servants brow-beat and bully the
people and take their fowls and eggs without payment, which explains
the meaning of the notice at Pa-ka Mi.[17]
There is no doubt that the people, _i.e._ the vast mass of the
unprivileged, on whose shoulders rests the burden of taxation, are
hard pressed by the _yang-bans_, who not only use their labor without
paying for it, but make merciless exactions under the name of loans.
As soon as it is rumored or known that a merchant or peasant has laid
up a certain amount of _cash_, a _yang-ban_ or official seeks a loan.
Practically it is a levy, for if it is refused the man is either thrown
into prison on a false charge and whipped every morning until he or
his relations pay the sum demanded, or he is seized and practically
imprisoned on low diet in the _yang-ban’s_ house until the money is
forthcoming. It is the best of the nobles who disguise their exactions
under the name of loans, but the lender never sees principal or
interest. It is a very common thing for a noble, when he buys a house
or field, to dispense with paying for it, and no mandarin will enforce
payment. At Paik-kui Mi, where I paid off my boatmen, the _yang-ban’s_
servants were impressing all the boats for the purpose of taking
roofing tiles to Seoul without payment. Kim begged me to give him some
trifle to take down the river, with a few _cash_ as payment, and a line
to say that the boat was in my employment, service with a foreigner
being a protection from such an exaction.
There were two days more of most severe toil, in which it was scarcely
possible to make any progress. The rapids were frightful, and when we
reached a very bad one below the town of Yöng-chhun, Kim, after making
several abortive efforts, not, I think, in good faith, to ascend it,
collapsed, and said he could not get up any higher. At another season
boats of light draught can ascend to Yang-wöl, 20 _li_ farther. We
had performed a great feat in getting up to Yöng-chhun in early May.
There were no boats on the higher waters, and for much of the distance
my _sampan_ could hardly be said to be afloat. At Yöng-chhun we were
within 40 miles of the Sea of Japan.
Wind and heavy rain which raised the river forbade all locomotion
until the following evening, when we crossed the Han and reached the
Yöng-chhun ferry by a pretty road through a village and a wood, most
attractive country, with many novelties in its flora. At the ferry a
still expanse of the Han is over 10 feet deep, but the roar of another
rapid is heard immediately above. A double avenue of noble elms with
fine turf underneath them leads to the town, a magistracy of 1,500
people, a quiet market-place without shops, situated in a rich farming
basin of alluvial soil, covered in May with heavy crops of barley and
wheat, among which were fields hillocked for melons.
The magistracy buildings are large and rambling, with what has been
a fine entrance gate, with a drum and other instruments of aural
torture for making the deafening din with which the _yamen_ is closed
and opened at sunrise and sunset. There are many stone tablets (not
spontaneously erected) to worthy officials, a large enclosure in which
sacrifices are offered to “Heaven” (probably to the Spirits of the
Land), a Confucian temple, and a king’s pavilion, all very squalid and
ruinous.
A crowd not altogether polite followed us to the _yamen_, where I
hoped that some information regarding an overland route to the Diamond
Mountain might be obtained. On entering the _yamen_ precincts the
underling officials were most insolent, and it was only after enduring
their unpleasant behavior for some time that we were conducted to a
squalid inner room, where a deputy-mandarin sat on the floor with
a smoking apparatus beside him, a man with a scornful and sinister
physiognomy, who took not the slightest notice of us, and when he
deigned to speak gave curt replies through an underling, while we stood
outside the entrance, withstanding with difficulty the pressure of the
crowd, which had surged in after us, private interviews being rare in
the East. This was my last visit to a Korean _yamen_.
As we walked back to the town, the crowd followed us closely, led by
some “swells” of the literary class. One young man came up behind me
and kicked me on the ankle, stepping back and then coming forward and
repeating the offense. He was about to give me a third kick, when
Mr. Miller turned round and very quietly, without anger, dealt him a
scientific blow on the chest, which sent him off the road upon his back
into a barley field. There was a roar of laughter from the crowd, and
the young bully’s companions begged Mr. Miller not to punish him any
more. The crowd dispersed, the bullies, cowards like all their species,
fell far behind, and we had a pleasant walk back to the ferry, where,
although we had to wait a long time in the ferryboat, there was no
assemblage, and the ferryman and passengers were very civil. Mr. Miller
regretted the necessity for inflicting punishment. It was Lynch law no
doubt, but it was summary justice, and the perfect coolness with which
it was administered would no doubt leave a salutary impression. The
ferryman told us that a tiger had carried off a pig from Yöng-chhun the
previous night, and said that the walk to our boat through the wood
without lanterns was very unsafe. Our boatmen had become alarmed and
were hunting for us with torches. The circumstances were eerie, and I
was glad to see the lights.
Ferries are free. The Government provides the broad, strong boats
which are used for ferrying cattle as well as people, and the villages
provide the ferrymen with food. Passengers who are not poor usually
give a small _douceur_.
A gale of wind with torrents of rain set in that night, and the rain
continued till the next afternoon, giving me an opportunity of seeing
more of the detail of the magnificent cliffs of laminated limestone,
which occur frequently, and are the most striking geological features
of the Han valley, continually presenting the appearance of the leaves
of a colossal book. Above the Yöng-chhun rapid, on a steep and almost
inaccessible declivity, buttressed by these cliffs, are the remains
of a very ancient fortress, the outer wall of which, enclosing the
summit of the hill, is 2,500 feet in circumference, 25 feet high on the
outside, from 1 to 12 feet on the inside, and from 9 to 12 feet thick.
It is so arranged that its two gates, which open on nearly direct
descents of 20 feet, and are approached by very narrow pathways, could
only admit one man at a time. It was obviously incapable of reduction
by any force but starvation. No mortar is used in the walls, which
are very efficiently built of small slabs of stone never more than 6
inches thick. The people have no traditions of its construction, but
Mr. Miller, who is familiar with the fortresses of Nam-San and Puk-han,
thinks that it is of a much earlier date than either. One of the signal
fire stations is visible from this point on the river.
On the 3rd of May we began the descent of the Han. The worn-out ropes
were used for the cooking fire, the poles were stowed away, and paddles
took their place. The heavy rains had raised the river a foot, and
changed its bright waters into a turbid flood, down which we often
descended in two minutes distances which had taken two laborious hours
on the upward journey, flying down the centre of the stream instead of
crawling up the sides. Many small disasters occurred. Several times the
boat was nearly swamped by heavy surges, or shivered by striking sunken
rocks; or, losing steerage way, spun round and round, progressing
downwards with many gyrations, usually stern foremost, amidst billows
and foam, but Kim, who was at his best on such occasions, usually
contrived to bring her to shore, bow on, at the foot of the rapid.
On one occasion, however, in a long rapid, in which the surges were
high and strong, by some mismanagement, regarding which the boatmen
quarrelled for an hour afterwards, the _sampan_ shipped such heavy seas
from both sides as nearly to swamp her. I was all but washed off my
camp-bed, which was on a level with the gunwale; a number of sheets
of geographical notes were washed away, some instruments belonging to
the R.G.S. were drowned in their box, more than forty photographic
negatives were destroyed, and clothing, bedding, and flour were all
soaked! The rapids were in fact most exciting, and their risks throw
those of the Fu and the Yangtze from Cheng-tu to Ichang quite into the
shade.
In spite of a delay of half a day at Tan-Yang, owing to a futile
attempt to get _cash_ for silver, and another half-day spent in
beaching and repairing the boat, which had been badly bumped on a rock,
we did the distance from Nang-chhön to Ma-chai on the forks in four and
a half days, or less than a third of the time taken by the laborious
ascent.
The penniless situation became so serious that one day before reaching
Ma-chai I had to decide on returning to Seoul for _cash_! The
treasuries were said to be empty; no one believed in silver or knew
anything about it, and supplies could not be obtained. Fortunately
we arrived at the market-place of Ma-Kyo, a village of 1,850 people,
on the market-day, and the pedlars gladly exchanged _cash_ for 35
silver _yen_ at the rate of 3,000, and would willingly have changed
70. It took six men to carry the coin to the boat, which was once
more substantially ballasted. Ma-Kyo is the river port of Che-chön,
and has an unusually flourishing aspect, boasting of many good houses
with tiled roofs. It exports rice, beans, and grain from the very rich
agricultural country on both sides of the river, and imports foreign
cottons, Korean sackcloth, and salt. Cotton in 20 _cash_ the measure of
20 inches dearer at Ma-Kyo than in Seoul, and at Nang-chhön 70 _cash_
dearer.
When we reached the forks at Ma-chai, the boatmen, who were tired of
the trip, wanted to go back, but eventually they were induced to fulfil
their contract, and we entered the north branch of the Han on a cool,
glorious afternoon, following on a night and morning of wind and rain.
This north branch also rises in the Keum-kang San or Diamond Mountain
in the province of Kong-wön, and after a turbulent course of about
98 miles unites with the southern and larger branch of the Han about
two days’ journey from Seoul. For a considerable distance the country
which it drains is populous and well cultivated, and the hills of its
higher reaches provide much of the timber which is used in Seoul, as
well as a large proportion of the firewood and charcoal. The timber is
made up into very peculiar rafts, which come down at high water, but
even then are frequently demolished in the rapids. The river widens out
above Ma-chai, and for a considerable distance has an average breadth
of 440 yards, but as a rule it is shallow, and its bottom dangerously
rocky, and it has incessant rapids full of jagged rocks, some of which
are very dangerous, and so “ugly” that as I went up them I was truly
glad that I had not to descend them. Many a long, hard tug and broken
hawser we had, but succeeded in hauling the _sampan_ 7 miles above the
limit of low water navigation, which is the same distance from the
termination of boat traffic at high water. I estimate the distance
from Ma-chai to Ut-Kiri, where further progress was stopped by an
insurmountable rapid, at 76 miles, which took nine days, though Kim and
his man, anxious to go home, worked much harder than on our earlier
trip.
For the first few days there are villages every quarter of a mile,
and lateral and parallel valleys, then rich in clean crops of barley
and wheat. The river villages are surrounded by groves of Spanish
chestnut, mulberry, cherry, persimmons, and weeping willows. There are
deep crateriform cavities, now full of trees and abundant vegetation.
The hills are covered with oak scrub, affording cover for tigers,
which appear to abound. The characteristics of the villages and the
agriculture hardly vary from those on the south branch, except that the
potato is more extensively grown. The absence of provincial and local
peculiarities is a feature of Korea. An alley in Seoul may serve for a
village street anywhere else.
Gold in small quantities is found along the river, and rumor says that
Ur-röp-so, a conical hill near the dangerous rapid of Chum-yöl, is
rich in it, but that the district official prohibits digging. Higher
up a number of men were washing for gold. Their apparatus consists of
a wooden sieve or gridiron, on which the supposed auriferous earth
is placed above a deep wooden tray, and rocked under water till the
heavier stuff passes through, to be again rocked in search of the
glittering particles. The results are placed on the river bank in
pieces of broken pottery, each watched by a man. The earth is obtained
by removing the heavy shingle of the river bank and digging up the
sand to a depth of about 2 feet, when rock is reached. From 60 to 100
trays are equal to a bushel and a half, and the yield of this quantity
averages half a thimbleful of gold in a state of fine subdivision.
These gold-washers seldom make more than 16s. per month, and only about
50s. when working in the best goldfields.
Gold ornaments are rarely seen in Korea, gold is scarcely if at all
used in the arts (if arts there are), and gold coins do not exist.
Nevertheless, as is shown by the Customs Reports, the quantity of gold
dust exported, chiefly to Japan, is very far from being despicable,
although the reefs which presumably contain the metal, of which the
washings are the proof, have not yet been touched. The fees paid by
the miners to the Government vary with the locality. Gold-digging
without Government authorization is prohibited by law under most severe
penalties. Among the richest goldfields in Korea are Phyöng Kang,
not far from the Han, and Keum-San in Phyöng-an Do, not far from the
Tai-döng. The larger washings collect as elsewhere the scum of the
country, and riots often occur among the miners. I know not on which
subject the Korean is the more voluble, tigers or gold. He is proud
of Korea as a gold-producing country, and speaks as if its dust were
golden sand!
The groves of Spanish chestnuts with which the North Han is fringed
gave off an overpowering odor. Their fruit is an important article of
diet. Usually the arable land below the villages is little more than a
terrace, but on the hillsides above the grain rippled in long yellow
waves in the breeze, and the hills constantly swing apart and reveal
terraced valleys and brown orchard embowered hamlets; or slightly
receding, expose stretches of white sand or heaps of fantastic boulders.
After two days of severe work we reached the beautifully situated town
of Ka-phyöng, which straggles along the valley of a small tributary
of the Han on slopes backed by high mountains which, following the
usual Korean custom, are without names. The bright green of the wheat
fields, varied by the darker green of clumps of conifers and chestnuts,
arranged as if by a landscape gardener, and the lines of trees along
the river bank were enchanting, but Ka-phyöng does not bear close
inspection. The telegraph wire from Seoul to Wön-san crosses the
river at Sin-gang Kam, and there is actually a telegraph station at
Chun-chön, the most important town of that region, at which messages
are received and sent about once a month!
Chun-chön is four miles from the Han on its left bank. It is fortified,
and has nominally a garrison of 300 men. Having a population of 3,000,
and being in the centre of a fine agricultural district, it is a place
of some trade, as trade is understood in Korea. Just below it the Han,
after running for some distance below a lofty quartz ridge, makes an
abrupt turn and penetrates it, the walls of the passage having the
regularity of a railway cutting, while the bed of the stream is of pure
white quartz.
Beyond this singular gateway the river valley opens out, and the
spectacle, rare in Korea, of cattle is to be seen. Indeed, I only once
saw cattle feeding elsewhere. The grass is coarse and sour, and hand
feeding is customary. It was most pleasant to be awoke in the dewy
morning by bellowing of cattle, shouts and laughter of boys and yelping
of dogs, as bulls old and young were driven to the river bank to be
tethered in the flowery grass. The frolicsome bull calves, which are
brought up in the Korean home, and are attended to by the children, who
are their natural playmates, develop under such treatment into that
maturity of mingled gentleness and stateliness which is characteristic
of the Korean bull,--the one grand thing remaining to Korea. When full
grown a bull can carry from 350 to 500 lbs. They are fed on boiled
beans, cut millet stalks, and cut pea haulm, and the water in which
the beans are boiled. They are led by a rope passed round the horns
from a bamboo ring in the nose. The prevailing color is a warm red, and
the huge animal in build much resembles the shorthorn. The Korean cow,
which is to be seen carrying loads in Northern Korea, is a worthy dam
of such a splendid progeny.
The scenery, though always pretty, becomes monotonous after a few
days, and monotonous too were the adventures in the rapids, which were
innumerable, and the ceaseless toiling, dragging, and tugging they
involved. Reaching Won-chön, a post station on the road to Wön-san,
we halted and engaged horses for a land journey, at a very high rate,
but they and their _mapu_ or grooms turned out well, and as Wong
sententiously remarked, “If you pay well, you will be served well.” The
agreement, which I caused to be put into writing, and which I made use
of in other journeys, with much mutual satisfaction, was duly signed,
and we continued the boat journey.
After spending half a day at the prefectural town of Nang-chhön,
where I am glad to record that the officials were very courteous, we
ascended the Han to a point above the wild hamlet of Ut-Kiri, on a
severe rapid full of jagged rocks. Ut-Kiri is above the head of low
water navigation, but in two summer months during the rains small boats
can reach Ku-mu-nio, “the last village,” 20 _li_ higher. It was a wild
termination of the long boat journey. An abrupt turn of the river,
and its monotonous prettiness is left behind, and there is a superb
mountain view of saddleback ridges and lofty gray peaks surrounding
a dark expanse of water, with a margin of gray boulders and needles
of gray rock draped with the _Ampelopsis_, a yellow clematis, and a
white honeysuckle. It was somewhat sad not to be able to penetrate the
grim austerity to the northward, but the rapids were so severe and the
water ofttimes so shallow that it was impossible to drag the _sampan_
farther, though at that time she only drew 2 inches of water. From
Ma-chai on the forks she had been poled and dragged up forty rapids,
making eighty-six on the whole journey.
From the thinly peopled solitudes of these upper waters we descended
rapidly, though not without some severe bumps, to the populous river
banks, where villages are half hidden among orchards and chestnut and
mulberry groves, and the crops are heavy, and that abundance of the
necessaries of life which in Korea passes for prosperity is the rule.
Ta-rai, a neat, prosperous place of 240 people, among orchards, and
hillsides terraced and bearing superb crops, is an example of the
riverine villages. Its houses are built step above step along the sides
of a ravine, down which a perennial stream flows, affording water power
for an automatic rice hulling machine. For exports and imports the
Han at high water is a cheap and convenient highway. The hill slopes
above the village, with their rich soil, afford space for agricultural
expansion for years to come. And not to dwell altogether on the
material, there is a shrine of much repute on a fork-like slope near
the river. It contains a group of _mirioks_, in this case stones worn
by the action of water into the semblance of human beings. The central
figure, larger than life, may even to a dull imagination represent a
person carrying an infant, and its eyes, nose, and mouth are touched
in with China ink. It is surrounded by Phallic symbols and _mirioks_,
which may be supposed to represent children, and women make prayers
and offerings in this shrine in the hope of obtaining a much coveted
increase in their families, for male children are still regarded as a
blessing in Korea, and “happy is the man that hath his quiver full of
them.”
Ka-phyöng again, a small prefectural town of 400 houses 1¹⁄₂ miles
from the river, is a good specimen of the small towns of the Han
valley, with a ruinous _yamen_, of course, with its non-producing mob
of hangers-on. It is on the verge of an alluvial plain, rolling up to
picturesque hills, gashed by valleys, abounding in hamlets surrounded
by chestnut groves and careful cultivation. The slopes above Ka-phyöng
break up into knolls richly wooded with conifers and hard-wood trees,
fringing off into clumps and groups which would not do discredit to the
slopes of Windsor. The people of a large district bring their produce
into the town, and barter it for goods in the market. The telegraph
wire to Wön-san crosses the affluent on which Ka-phyöng is built, and
is carried along a bridle path which for some _li_ runs along the
river bank. Junks loaded 10 feet above their gunwales, as well as 4
feet outside of them with firewood, and large rafts were waiting for
the water to rise. Boats were being built and great quantities of the
strong rope used for towing and other purposes, which is made from a
“creeper” which grows profusely in Central Korea, were awaiting water
carriage. Yet Ka-phyöng, like other small Korean towns, has no life or
go. Its “merchants” are but pedlars, its commercial ideas do not rise
above those of the huckster, and though poverty, as we understand it,
is unknown, prosperity as we understand it is absent. There are no
special industries in any of the riverine towns, and if they were all
to disappear in some catastrophe it would not cause a ripple on the
surface of the general commercial apathy of the country.
Similar remarks apply to the prefectural town of Nang-chhön, where we
again wasted some hours, while Kim’s rice was first bargained for and
then cleaned. At that point there is a fine deep stretch of the river
230 yards broad abounding in fish. From Nang-chhön we dropped down the
Han to a deep and pretty bay on which the small village of Paik-kui Mi
is situated, where we halted for Sunday, our last day in the _sampan_,
which had been a not altogether comfortless home for five weeks and a
half.
FOOTNOTES:
[17] Class privileges are now abolished, on paper at least, but their
tradition carries weight.