The Diamond Mountains
Our friends had kindly begun before our arrival at Wonsan to make
arrangements for the trip which we wished to take through the Diamond
Mountains, so that a few hours sufficed to complete them. An attractive
route was suggested by a native who knew the passes; the time at our
disposal was only eight days, so we were obliged to give up all hope of
doing the principal pass, which is lofty and very arduous for travellers.
The one selected took us through a fine part of the chain of mountains
which runs down the eastern coast of Korea, and enabled us to visit an
important monastery. We started with four ponies and three men to look
after them, and the price stipulated was 64 yen (a little over £6), the
distance to be covered being approximately 225 miles. It was probable
that the men would get some loads for the return journey, but that could
not be counted on. We had no saddles, so our bed bags had to take their
place, but they made precarious seats. At first one thought it would be
only possible to retain one’s seat by holding on all the time, and the
thought of the necessity of using a handkerchief owing to a severe cold
in the head was an anxious one, but time soon made us able to dispense
with any grip. Mr. Chiao found his bedding a much more satisfactory seat
than ours, for the usual Chinese bed bag seems to have been specially
devised for the purpose; he looked completely at his ease, though he had
never ridden before, and he hopped on and off his pony with astonishing
rapidity. The fourth beast carried our two modest baskets of stores and
clothing, and the cots which had been kindly lent to us for the occasion.
Having lost our umbrellas we bought Korean paper waterproof coats, at
the cost of about one shilling each, and waterproof paper for lining our
other things, as there was some fear of wet weather on the mountains.
We set off about 2 o’clock with the intention of doing fifteen miles that
evening, but it is always difficult to make a good start, and various
hindrances delayed us, such as a ferry-boat with no ferryman, and the
boat on the wrong side of the river. After a little time a woman came
slowly down to the ferry and got into the boat, so our men exhorted her
to pull herself across by means of the rope; this, however, she declined
to do, and sat patiently waiting for some one else to come and take her
across. It was only when we saw her close at hand that we discovered she
was blind, so probably that had made her afraid of crossing alone. We
became very impatient as time went on and no one appeared; I urged our
men to ford the stream higher up, which was evidently a frequented route.
However, they were too timorous, and were afraid of trying an unknown
path, so we lost much valuable time. It was only at the close of our
journey that we learned that none of the men had traversed any part of
our route previously; naturally the result was that they constantly made
mistakes and took us out of the direct route. At last, just as we were
beginning to despair, some one arrived who towed the ferry-boat over the
river, and we set off across some ploughed fields towards the foot of
the hills. It was dusk when we reached a village which our men said was
the halting-place, and only next day we discovered that they had stopped
three miles short of the right stage. We were shown into a small room
about twelve feet square, from which the women of the house were ejected
though their clothing draped the walls, and big chests further diminished
our space. All Korean houses have a small platform outside them, either
planking or made of dried mud, on which the shoes are left before any
one enters. The floors are heated from below and covered with matting,
so that chairs are considered unnecessary, and the Koreans enjoy the
heat which penetrates through the bedding on which they lie at nights.
We found it decidedly trying, despite having the door open and cots
to sleep on; but we were delighted to find the houses so much cleaner
than we expected. On the whole they look unquestionably cleaner in the
country villages than in the corresponding ones at home. It was a little
difficult to sleep, what with the heat and the noise, for the men require
two hours to get up and breakfast, and we were off by 6 o’clock.
The second day we travelled mostly parallel with the seashore, and got
more accustomed to riding our steeds. It was a perfect day with radiant
sunshine, and one received an impression of universal content and
comfort. The people looked for the most part respectably dressed and
housed, and “every prospect pleased.” The villages seemed well supplied
with cattle, pigs, fowls, and firewood, and within the houses were
goodly array of bowls and brass utensils brilliantly polished. When we
stopped at midday the horses were unloaded and given a hot sort of bran
mash. The Korean pony is a hardy creature, capable of great labour and
wonderfully sure-footed, but he requires three hot meals per day, that
is to say, a large quantity of hot water with more or less of boiled
beans and rice chaff in it. He appears to be eating all night long except
when he is fighting his next-door neighbour. His mapoo or groom brushes
him assiduously with a little round brush before loading, though it
never has any visible effect on the beast’s coat—a more unkempt-looking
animal is not to be found anywhere. The stable and kitchen of Korean inns
seem to consist in a single room, one wall having a long row of stoves
so that various big pans can be cooking at the same time. The chimney
of a house is generally quite detached from the building, for it is
connected with flues which underlie the whole house, heating every room
(see illustration, p. 10). At meal-times the men each had a little round
table, about four inches in diameter, on which were a large brass bowl
of rice, another of water, and two or three small earthenware dishes of
vegetable, or fish, or other condiments. These little tables are very
neat, and the food attractively served. The Koreans required two hours
always at midday, for the men lie down and go to sleep after they have
eaten.
Our way led us up hill and down dale, and in the course of the day we
walked down five precipitous hills, on two of which there were large
gangs of navvies making the road. They use a peculiar spade with a long
handle, partly shod at the spatula-shaped end with iron, to which was
attached a rope on each side worked by separate individuals, so that it
required three men to wield it. Everywhere the country was being prepared
for the crops. The rice fields seemed to occupy the main part of the land
under cultivation, and were being ploughed by cattle. None of the ground
was pasture land—we have not seen a single sheep since we came to Korea;
there were some flocks of goats to be seen from the railway, but no other
animals grazing. The cattle are singularly fine, but are only used in
agriculture and as beasts of burden; the loads of wood that they carry
are so large that hardly more of the beast is to be seen than the legs.
The same may be said of the loads carried by men and boys.
We were delighted by the wild flowers just coming into blossom—hepaticas
of shades varying from purest white to deep blue; large round-faced
yellow heartsease; various colours of violets, and the sweetest large
white ones; deep-red hairy anemones, and white crocus.
As we had only come twelve instead of fifteen miles the previous night
we decided that we must make it up, or the other stages arranged would
be impossible, but at such a suggestion our men looked black and greatly
demurred. They said thirty-seven miles was too long a journey; and when
we came to a village nestling under the slope of a hill covered with
fine pine-trees in which numbers of herons were clamorously preparing
to roost, we were obliged to admit that it was no wonder the men were
anxious to stop there. The place was thoroughly picturesque and showed
signs of activity; there was even a police officer standing near the
invariable notice board which adorns every village in Korea since the
Japanese occupation. We pushed on and only stopped a moment to sketch a
particularly good specimen of devil posts, of which we had seen numbers
on the road. It is considered meritorious to add a stone to one of these
wayside heaps, which takes the place of shrines. We spent the night at
a small village, only arriving at dusk after thirteen and a half hours’
travelling; and we were not sorry to tumble into our cots after a short
meal, to put out our lights, and so escape the curiosity of the natives,
which we find a great trial. It is well-nigh impossible to shut the doors
for more than a few minutes, or you feel asphyxiated, and it is only when
the light is out that the eager villagers cease to gaze. One was reduced
to the necessity of washing in the dark or getting up in the middle of
the night to do it.
[Illustration: DEVIL POSTS]
[Illustration: ‘TEN PARTS IMPERFECT ONE’]
The third day’s journey began under a grey and uncertain-looking sky, but
the sun shone out at intervals as we made our way along the seashore. My
guide insisted I should ride with a foot on each side of my good beast’s
neck, but that brought disaster, for it meant nothing to cling to, so a
sudden spring forward of the beast, resultant on an unseen prod in the
back, landed me promptly in the dust. My mapoo tried to break the fall,
but only succeeded in getting a blow on his mouth. Seeing I was not
seriously damaged he made a pitiable appeal to my sympathy, opening a
wide mouth in which I expected to see several teeth lying about. There
was no sign of disaster except a few drops of blood, which seemed to
distress him acutely, but the other men all roared with laughter and
told him to wash in the stream close by. He didn’t cease being sorry for
himself for quite a long while, and the weird songs with which he had
previously beguiled the road ceased for half a day. We passed many small
fishing hamlets, and were interested to see what a variety of fish the
women had in their baskets, of which many were unknown to us. Flounders
seem quite common, and in Seoul we noticed much larger herrings than any
seen at home; all fish is much more expensive there than in London, owing
to the Japanese monopoly, but happily for the little villages, they are
so far beyond the beat of the foreigner that they are left unmolested;
indeed we saw no Japanese after leaving Wonsan till that afternoon,
when we were astonished at the sound of a siren, and turning a corner
came into an exquisite little land-locked harbour, evidently a naval
base, and completely concealed from the sea. Numbers of sea-gulls and
oyster-catchers were disporting themselves in the shallow basin leading
from it, but our attention was riveted on the boats where gun practice
was going on, though it sounded muffled.
The village of Tschagu-Tschiendogu (accordingly to the spelling in our
German map) boasts of a Japanese post-office, and a Japanese woman was
trotting along with a baby on her back. Passing through it we plodded
through deep silver sand for some distance before turning inland, but we
had a long way still to go to reach the secluded monastery, which was our
resting-place for the night. We wound in among the precipitous mountains
of granite formation. The rocks stood out like mammoth beasts in all
sorts of strange shapes, and they looked black and forbidding in the
gloom. A green serpent mottled with black gave our men quite a fright,
and they continually asked the way, getting not much enlightenment. At
last we penetrated into an ideal valley with cliffs towering steeply
upwards to a considerable height, and showing the jagged outlines
which have given the Diamond Mountains their name. The narrow track
changed into a broad well-kept road, leading through a pine forest, and
we had not gone more than a mile or so when we met a party of monks
taking their evening stroll. The youthful looking abbot wore a chain
which distinguished him from the rest, and he stepped forward, bowing
politely. It was rather difficult to know how next to proceed, as none of
the party seemed to understand English or Chinese; however, Mr. Chiao at
once began a conversation by writing on the ground and asking if we could
receive accommodation for the night. The request was readily granted, and
the party of monks escorted us back.
As we approached the monastery there was a small open space by the
roadside in which were stone vases and tablets, but with the exception
of that and the avenue there was no sign to mark the neighbourhood of
the buildings. They were situated up a short path at right angles to
the road, and were by no means impressive. The temple stood slightly to
the rear, and we were taken to a series of rooms opening on to a raised
terrace, and ushered into the central one, where a Buddha occupied the
post of honour. A screen was produced to divide off a part of the room
for us, and the monks arranged themselves all round to watch proceedings,
namely, the cooking of our supper. One of them wrote an inquiry whether
we were “Jesus missionaries,” another brought us a Japanese-English
primer, and said a few sentences which he had learned fairly accurately,
but could not understand anything we said.
While we had our supper in one part of the room some monks had theirs
in another, and it became obvious that we should have no privacy, so we
had our things removed to a small room which had been allotted to Mr.
Chiao, which was very hot but clean, and which possessed some rings on
the door that we could padlock and yet get fresh air. Mr. Chiao was kept
busy writing for a long time, and we begged him to find out what they
considered the best route to Seoul. However, they said that none of their
number had ever been there, and that the monastery to which we proposed
going next day was forty miles distant over a lofty pass, so we had to
give it up. We were glad to have Mr. Chiao sleeping in the verandah just
outside our door to guard us. They showed the rapacity which is said to
characterise the Buddhist monks in Korea, and we heard none too good an
account of them. The night stillness was only disturbed by the croaking
of frogs in quite a different tongue from that of European ones, and the
periodic beating of the fish gong which betokens the hour of prayer.
In the morning we were up betimes and off before 6 o’clock; already
the monks were busy outside spreading great heaps of grain on matting,
perhaps in preparation for sowing. It was a perfect morning as we wended
our way down the valley for about three miles of the same way we had
come the night before, and soon we left the lovely valley behind us. Our
pathway was full of funny little green frogs spotted with black, and with
their underside brilliant scarlet. Heavy clouds hung over the precipitous
ravine through which lay our way, and we soon outdistanced our ponies as
we tramped over a rough path surrounded by most fascinating flowers.
Besides those mentioned above there were glades full of large cyclamen,
white crocus and wood anemones, purple iris, saxifrage, &c.
Lilies of the valley and strawberry leaves showed promise of future
beauty, and many kinds of ferns were beginning to unfold their fronds.
Pheasants and wood-pigeons were calling from the rocks, and many birds
trying their notes in a tentative way. Chipmunks sat up eyeing us with
great unconcern, and the treasures of the woods seemed limitless. A
babbling brook kept us in constant temptation as our path crossed and
recrossed it, and before we reached the top we passed through more than
one drift of snow. The views were wonderful, but we could have seen them
better by travelling in the opposite direction, and one of the great
charms in that case is the way that the traveller suddenly gets a view
of the distant sea as he climbs over the summit of the pass. We were
three hours climbing up, for the ascent is very stiff, but the descent
is much more gradual, and we were glad to be able to mount our beasts,
for the midday halt only came after a stage of seven hours. Brilliant
gleams of sunshine occasionally burst forth, but the clouds blew up for
rain, and we were thankful to reach our resting-place at night before the
storm broke. We only managed 90 li (27 miles) in eleven hours, and on our
arrival we were surprised and provoked to find in the little village a
Japanese encampment, and officers occupying the best inn. After a slight
demur we were taken in, and were soon after discussing a light meal, when
the door was thrust rudely open, and a Japanese soldier prepared to watch
us have it. As he declined to take our hint to go, it became necessary to
shut the door in his face. The rain fell heavily in the night, and the
wind blew, but a dark morning was a prelude to a fine day.
We started late next morning, and only got as far as the end of the
village when two Japanese officers, who seemed to be superintending the
building of a house, stopped us and inquired our destination. They went
into long explanations in writing on the ground with Mr. Chiao. They said
there was a much better road than the one we were on, and that by it
the distance was only 80 li. They spoke a few words of English, and we
hoped that they had no ulterior object in sending us the other way, as
it proved an execrable road and at least 110 li as to distance. We soon
found ourselves going up another pass, but not nearly so long and arduous
as the last. The flowers were not so numerous, and we found nothing much
of fresh interest. Swallow-tails and butterflies of various colours
flitted about the path, and the panoramic view as we gained the summit
was fine, showing what a land of hills this is. As we descended into the
valleys we found them scantily populated and cultivated, but the singular
number of streams and brooks kept many grinding-mills at work. The
commonest kind of mill is worked by a runnel of water discharging itself
into a wooden cradle; when this is full it descends and empties itself,
then rises again, bringing down its other end, as a hammer on the grain
beneath. The hammer is inside a little round hut with a pointed roof
thatched with straw. Others of the mills are worked by wheels, and there
is a constant sound of groaning and hammering in every valley. Ploughing
and sowing go on simultaneously, and this requires a gang of from four to
six men; they work on a cooperative system, and one man treads along the
newly-turned furrow, with bare feet, widening it out, and dropping in the
grain and fertiliser mixed, while another follows to cover it with soil,
and it is finally stamped down by yet another man. The birds have a poor
chance of getting any grain. Some fresh ground was being brought under
cultivation by having the brushwood on it burnt and then being ploughed,
but to judge from appearances there is no little ground still left waste,
which would be cultivated if, for example, it were in Chinese hands. The
Koreans take life much more easily, and there is none of the elaborate
care and use of materials which are such a striking feature of Chinese
industry.
It was only after a somewhat prolonged midday halt that we made the
trying discovery that we still had fifteen miles to travel to Tschang Do,
where we joined the main road, and meanwhile it became darker and darker.
Happily later on the moon shone out brightly and illumined us across a
barren moor. Passengers were few and far between, but a couple of men
came along silently carrying a white swathed corpse on a stretcher. Our
own party had fallen silent, for we were tired and disappointed; the
gloom prevented our seeing the steepness of some of the descents, but we
clung desperately to our steeds, for we were too weary to walk. At last
we came into a high road, which proved to be the main road running from
Seoul to Wonsan, and on this it was easy travelling. Few gleams of light
were to be seen in the village, but the inhabitants had not gone to rest,
so our men set about finding quarters—a not altogether easy matter. While
we were discussing it outside an inn, the beasts began quarrelling, and a
man was sent flying headlong into the ditch by the heels of one of them.
He picked himself up without any ado, and as if it were quite a matter of
course. Perhaps this settled the vexed question, for we were forthwith
admitted to the house, and the family turned out of a room which they
allotted to our use. This sort of thing happened wherever we stayed, for
apparently there are no spare rooms for travellers, and as there is no
furniture in the living rooms it is not so objectionable an arrangement
as it sounds. The best hats of the family are hung on the rafters, a
shelf runs round the wall about two feet from the ceiling; it is full of
miscellaneous objects, while the clothing of the family appears to be
stored in boxes piled on one another. There is generally a door on each
side of the room consisting of papered lattice work, and in the side a
glass peep-hole varying in size from one to four inches.
The night passed all too soon, and we woke to the consciousness of a
sharp frosty morning. As we wended our way down the valley it might
easily have been midwinter. The brown hill-sides, and the brown earth and
stubble thick with rime, showed no suggestion of spring, though it was
nearing the end of April. On every side the pheasants were calling, and
the bold fellows were hardly to be put up by a well-aimed stone from my
man, but trotted unconcernedly away, as though conscious that now they
are under Japanese protection. We met a man with a falcon, but even the
falconer’s trade is eyed with suspicion, lest he use it as a blind. There
have been several cases of poisoned pheasants noted lately in Seoul, so
that it is necessary to be careful in buying them, to see that they have
really been shot.
Our sixth day was again a thirteen hours’ journey, and as we sat resting
by a rill of water at midday, a young mother with a baby on her back came
up, beaming with eagerness to talk to us. No doubt she expected we could
understand and answer, and we were doubly sorry not to be able to do so
when she carefully unfolded a handkerchief and showed us her Testament
and hymn book. The only possibly means of sympathy was by dumb show, and
by the headings of the hymns, which were in English as well as Korean.
That evening we found our innkeeper was a Christian, by whom we were
received with the utmost warm-heartedness, and every request so
willingly granted, that it was quite cheering after a tiring day. One
of the girls had thoroughly acquired the English hand-shake, and when I
stretched out a hand to shut the door, to my great surprise I found it
warmly grasped instead. A little clucking on my friend’s part caused them
to go out and fetch us lovely new-laid eggs, a great contrast to most of
those we had been able to buy on the road, and they watched my cooking
operations with lively interest. We began to feel it would be difficult
to shut the door at all on their friendly faces, when an interruption
came and rendered it unnecessary; this was a summons to them from the
head of the house to come to family worship. First they sang a hymn
(would that our good missionary friends could be content to let them sing
their own tunes!)—then came Scripture reading, prayer, and the Lord’s
Prayer repeated by all; I imagine that what followed next must have been
exhortation and a suggestion of another hymn, but they decided not to
sing it. The utmost devoutness characterised their worship, which was
carried on in the adjoining room, so that we felt we were sharers in it,
and it was good to be there.
We parted next morning with hearty hand-shakes, and we wished we had
met with more Christian innkeepers on our journey, if this were a
typical one. Just as we were starting a nice-looking young girl showed
us her Bible with great pride, and I found that she could write quite
well. Education seems to be almost entirely neglected in the country
districts, and we have only passed one school so far as we know during
our eight days’ journey. The road continued excellent, but always winds
through narrow valleys and over ridges into other valleys, showing how
large a part of the country is uninhabited. The hill-sides are only used
as cemeteries and for producing firewood. Until we reached the high road
at the end of our fifth day’s journey we met no ponies and only few
pedlars; after that there were many people and animals. The pedlars seem
to carry mainly cotton goods (“superior sheeting K K K” being much to
the fore), summer hats, umbrellas, haberdashery, mirrors, matches, and
cigarettes. The people have little money, and the things they use are of
the cheapest.
Shortly after starting we met three mounted soldiers, evidently the
military escort of a weary-looking Westerner seated in a ricksha,
followed by another ricksha in which was seated a Korean in pale blue
attire. This was the only Westerner we met during our eight days’
journey, and from this time onward we occasionally met a ricksha, though
on some parts of the road it looks quite impossible for them to travel.
For a distance of perhaps twenty miles the road has been planted on both
sides with twigs at a distance of about a foot from one another. They
look unpromising, but we were assured that they are likely to grow all
right, in which case they will convert the dull road in the course of a
few years to a pleasant shady avenue. Towards dusk we came to Po Chan,
a Japanese military outpost. It struck us that this was probably the
last opportunity of sending a telegram to announce our return to Seoul,
so we at once dismounted at the telegraph office. Almost everywhere
the one notice up in English is “Post—Telegraph,” but here it was in
Japanese. When our wishes, however, had been explained by Mr. Chiao in
writing, a telegraph form entirely made out in English was produced and
the message written. It seemed such a simple matter to send it, that we
were astonished at the amount of correspondence it entailed. Our names,
destinations, ages, &c. &c. were demanded by the military authorities,
and the little job took at least twenty minutes. At last we got away and
it was quite dark before we reached our destination.
We sighed for our friendly hosts of the night before, for this time we
encountered a horde of inquisitive people, who allowed us no peace; in
vain we closed three doors out of the four which led from one tiny room
eighteen feet square, and the paper on them was soon in shreds. At last
we were driven to distraction, and closed all the peep-holes by curtains,
preferring to be stifled than to endure the people any longer.
[Illustration: NORTH GATE, SEOUL]
The eighth and last morning of our journey dawned grey and unpromising.
How often have we sighed for our comfortable Chinese travelling chairs,
never more than as the weary hours wore slowly away under a drizzling
rain. For the last few days we had seen scarcely a flower and heard few
birds; the dear larks were silent, and the passengers hurried along under
umbrellas, waterproof-covered hats, and an occasional grass coat. The
villages were more numerous, and wonderful groups of devil posts, ten
or twelve in a row, faced each other at each end of them; many of these
looked comparatively new, and were painted brick-red and green, with
white markings. A noticeable feature of Korea is the absence of temples,
and the disrepair of the shrines; we never saw any sign of worship by the
people at these wayside shrines. They are, many of them, simply empty
huts, or have a little writing on the walls, and occasionally a picture.
On sacred trees strips of paper are hung, and the passer-by, if devout,
adds a stone to the heap round its roots.
We donned our shilling paper coats and found them an admirable protection
from the rain, but we must have been a funny sight. As we rode along
we came to a Japanese regiment on the march, headed by its officers in
military capes. One of the officers, despite the rain, threw his cape
back in a _négligé_ way before he met us, so that a dazzling row of
decorations should not pass unobserved. Certainly his appearance was in
striking contrast to ours.
We entered the city of Seoul from the north by a fine old gateway, the
whole scene being most picturesque. I returned to sketch it the following
day.
The impression of the country people gained by our trip was that they
were not particularly friendly, but thoroughly inquisitive; it looked as
if there were little extreme poverty, but a general air of comfort seemed
to prevail everywhere. The village street is swept daily, so that in the
early morning there is a pleasant look of tidiness about it. The cattle
are sleek and well cared for, and even the dogs have a prosperous air.
Any one thinking of visiting the Diamond Mountains would do well to
try and secure a competent Korean to go with them, who would be able
to secure the daily fowl for dinner of which we heard, but which we
never met, and to procure any other requisite. We saw no cultivation of
vegetables, except small plots of onions, so that we had to rely entirely
on the stores that we took with us for everything except eggs. We were
told (too late) that a guide may easily be heard of at the Y.M.C.A. in
Seoul. As to means of transit—there are only three; a _pony_, but let me
add a warning on this score, namely, that one gets deadly tired of its
slow walk; a _native chair_, consisting of a square box like an Indian
dhoolie, with carriers who groan all the time; and _shanks’s pony_, which
in the mountains is the only pleasant one. Residents in Korea have their
own carrying chairs, but these are not to be hired. As regards the time
of year most suitable for travelling in Korea, May is the most beautiful,
or early autumn we were told, but in case of the former, mosquito
curtains are a necessity. We found winter clothing requisite for April;
thick tweeds and fur coat were none too warm.
We had been told that the country districts were quite unsafe on account
of Japanese vagrants, but we saw nothing of them, and as far as we could
judge there is excellent order everywhere. Although Mr. Chiao was unable
to communicate directly with the Koreans, his presence was of undoubted
value to us in more ways than one. It lent prestige to our small party,
for the Koreans hold the Chinese in great respect; and for them to see
such a man as Mr. Chiao in a subordinate position to us, was equivalent
to raising us to high rank.