IN THE LAND OF THE MORNING CALM
By daybreak the worst of the blow was over, and shortly before noon the
snow ceased to fall, and the sun began to struggle through the clouds.
Still it was bitterly cold and those on deck had to keep muffled up.
As it was, one of the sailors had had a hand frozen during the night
and several were suffering from nipped noses and ears. The blood in
Gilbert’s left foot refused to circulate properly and that member felt
as if half dead.
The storm had opened the seams of the vessel worse than ever, and
the sailors had all they could do to keep the craft from becoming
water-logged. The pump was in constant use, one gang of pumpers
relieved another, and in addition some water was drawn from the hold
by means of big pails and ropes. All realized that their very lives
depended upon keeping the water below the safety-line, and all worked
like Trojans in consequence.
“Let me work too,” said Gilbert, and the others were glad enough to let
him take hold and do his share. The work warmed him up, and presently
the foot that was numb began to feel better.
The day proved a long and uncertain one for all on board of the
_O-Taka_. Whether they would float or go down was a problem which any
moment might answer to their undoing. In the afternoon the water in the
hold began to gain rapidly.
“We are lost!” cried one of the sailors. “We shall go down in another
hour!”
Two of the men on board, one a carpenter and the other a cabinet maker,
went below and made an examination of the leaks for the third time.
They reported two new leaks, but said both might be stopped up. Canvas
was brought out for that purpose, and several planks torn from the
cabin, and the pair set to work. In the end the worst leaks were mended
and then the water came in no more rapidly than it had early in the
morning.
Yet the prospect was a gloomy one, and as night came on the fears of
those on board increased. The wind had driven the ship for miles out of
her course, and even the captain could not tell how close they were to
land.
“We may be thirty, and we may be sixty miles,” said he, in reply to a
question from Gilbert.
“Then there is no danger of our striking on the rocks?”
“I will not say that. There are a great number of rocks and sunken
reefs in this vicinity.”
Utterly worn out with watching, a few on board of the _O-Taka_ fell
asleep. Gilbert could scarcely keep his eyes open, yet he felt in
no mental condition to retire. Some of the children cried bitterly,
especially because of the scantiness of the rations provided.
Everything to eat and to drink was dealt out sparingly, for nobody
could tell how long the stores would have to last.
It was a night that appeared to have no end, and when at last day broke
it found the watchers all but exhausted. Now some of the sailors slept,
only awaking when their strength was needed at the pump or the water
buckets.
All day long an anxious lookout was kept for a sail, but none came
within hailing distance. Once a bark passed to the southward, and they
saw the smoke of a steamer to the westward, but that was all.
With the mainmast gone the _O-Taka_ merely crawled along at a speed
of less than five knots an hour. To rig a jury mast was out of the
question, since most of the canvas belonging to the ship had either
been lost overboard or used to stop up the worst of the leaks.
“We’ll not sink, unless another storm strikes us,” said the captain.
“The worst enemy we have to fear at present is hunger.”
“How much longer will the stores last?” asked Gilbert.
“I shall make them last three days, although we could use everything up
to-day.”
“And after that?”
“I’ll try to make land somehow.”
“On the coast of Korea?”
“To be sure—that is the only land that is near.”
Again night came on, and two sailors, who had been permitted to sleep
the greater part of the day, were placed on the lookout. Gilbert tried
to rest, and almost before he knew it he was in a heavy slumber.
His awakening was a rude one. There came a sudden shock that bowled him
over and over and almost sent him into the sea. Then, as he grasped a
stanchion for support, the _O-Taka_ struck again and almost went over.
Yells of alarm arose on the air, and men, women, and children came
pouring from the cabin.
“What have we struck?”
“The gods defend us! Is it another warship?”
“Are we all to be drowned at last?”
So the cries ran on. In the meantime the vessel righted herself once
more, and then it could be seen that she had slipped over a reef.
Another reef was ahead, and again she pounded and scraped, and more
cries arose, until it was as if Bedlam had been let loose. In terror a
few leaped overboard, and sad to relate, these people were never seen
again.
But the immediate danger was now over, and directly ahead was a long,
low stretch of marsh land, with several little bays and inlets.
Straight for one of the inlets went the ship, and soon reached a spot
only a few feet from solid ground. Then an anchor was thrown out, what
little sail was up was lowered; and the perilous voyage came to an end.
At first those who were on the ship could not realize the truth of what
had occurred—that the vessel had come to a tolerably safe landing, and
that the dangers of shipwreck or starvation were past. They stared at
one another and at the captain.
“We have struck somewhere on the southwest coast of Korea,” said
Captain Toyano. “The vessel will be as safe here as if she was tied up
in Nagasaki harbor so far as our passengers are concerned. But I am
afraid that the gallant _O-Taka_ has seen the last of her sea trips,”
and he turned away sadly, for the vessel was his sole property and all
he had to depend upon for a living. Let it be added here that, later
on, the ship was drawn from the inlet and overhauled, and proved
almost as seaworthy as ever, much to the old salt’s satisfaction.
There was nothing to do but to wait until daylight, and, once the
vessel was properly secured, by the anchor and by ropes tied to stakes
driven into the marsh land, all on board but a few sailors went to
sleep. Gilbert was glad to rest once again, and now made up for the
greater part of the sleep lost during the voyage.
In the morning half a dozen Korean fishermen appeared, well bundled up,
and with their queer-looking hats pulled well down over their ears.
They were much surprised to find a ship at hand, but promised to do
what they could for those on board. None of them had heard of the war
between Russia and Japan, but when they did they at once took sides
with their Japanese neighbors. They promised to bring dried fish, and
some rice, as well as fresh water, and out of his own pocket Gilbert
paid for some flour, some dried fruits, and some beans.
“I don’t mind your rice and dried fish,” he said to Jiru Siko, “but I
can’t live on it right along.”
“Rice and fish very good,” replied the little brown man, who, now that
the danger was over, was quite himself once more. “Make much muscle,
good wind—can live on rice and fish.”
From one of the fishermen Gilbert learned that the ship had been
stranded at a point about sixty miles south of Chemulpo, and that there
was a fairly good road leading to the latter named seaport. There
was also another road leading over the mountains to Fu-san, on the
southeast coast of the Land of the Morning Calm, as Korea is locally
called.
“Japanese steamers stop at both Chemulpo and at Fu-san,” said Captain
Toyano, “or at least, they did so before this war broke out. If you
wish to leave us I should advise you to go to Chemulpo, which is close
to Seoul, the capital. All trade centers at Seoul, and if you get into
any further trouble it will be best for you to be within call of that
city.”
Matters were talked over for several hours, and in the end Gilbert
arranged to be taken in a pony cart to Chemulpo. Jiru Siko remained
behind with his family, and it was a long time before the young
American saw his faithful Japanese friend again.
“I shan’t forget you, Siko,” said Gilbert, on parting. “You did a great
deal for me.”
“Master Pennington do much for me,” was the reply. “Send Russian rent
man ’bout business—make rent man give up money—nice thing to do—not
forget dat! We come together some day—when Jiru Siko soldier, maybe;”
and so they parted.
Gilbert had with him for company a sailor named Nouye, sent to Chemulpo
by Captain Toyano. There was also the driver of the cart, an elderly
Korean, who insisted upon having his pay for the trip before they
started. As the amount was less than two dollars and fifty cents in our
money Gilbert furnished the cash without hesitation. It was likewise
agreed that the young American should pay about forty cents for a
night’s lodging for himself and his companion, and twenty cents for
food for the driver and his ponies.
Under other circumstances Gilbert would have noted many things on that
trip through a new country. But the weather remained cold, with another
light fall of snow, and he was glad to bundle himself up and huddle
down in the cart to keep warm. Yet he noticed that in general the air
was much drier than in Manchuria and consequently more healthful. As
a whole, the climate of the Land of the Morning Calm is delightful,
the spring and autumn being unexcelled anywhere for clearness and
balminess, and the summer being far from sultry. To be sure, there is
some bad weather, and a few days when the thermometer climbs into the
nineties in the shade, but these are the exceptions.
The night’s stop was at a long row of _nipa_ huts, some used as
dwellings and others as stages. Much to his surprise, Gilbert was
offered a fairly good bed and also a supper and a breakfast with which
he could find no fault. He also met a Korean who could speak fairly
good English.
“I learned your tongue from a missionary,” said the Korean. “I worked
for him at his church. He was a nice man.”
“And where is the missionary now?” questioned Gilbert.
“He has gone away. The Russians came here and they made it unpleasant
for him.”
“Why?”
“I know not, excepting it might be that they wanted to establish their
own church.”
“And have they done that?”
“Not yet. But they are coming sooner or later. They are now in the
north of my land. They are pressing us hard.”
“But the Japanese may drive them out.”
“I trust they do. We do not want any Russians in the Land of the
Morning Calm.” And there the talk came to an end.