CHEMULPO AND OTHER PLACES
Besides Seoul and Pyeng-yang the two most important seaports of Korea,
which are Chemulpo and Fusan, were the only places in the peninsula
where it seemed possible to arrange for even a single address. An honest
attempt was made by a personal visit of the foreign secretary of the
Young Men’s Christian Association to “negotiate” an invitation from the
Koreans of Song-do, the ancient capital under the dynasty preceding that
at present on the throne. But Song-do is an exceedingly conservative
city, and the family of Yun Chi-ho is influential there. Thus, even its
Korean Christians did not care to hear addresses on matters of morals and
religion from a guest of the Japanese Resident-General. It is well to
recall again in this connection the fact that, although Pyeng-yang has
actually suffered more at the hands of Japanese invaders than any other
city of Korea, the influence of the Christian missionaries and their
converts was so powerful there that the most sympathetic and crowded
native audiences greeted the “friend of Japan” in that city. There, too,
in connection with Dr. Noble, presiding elder of the Methodist missions
in all that part of the country, I was able to be of most service to
both countries in a time of rather unusual threatening and exigency.
This fact confirms the impression that, in Seoul, fear of the Court and
of the Yang-bans is cramping the work even of the foreign religious
teachers. But Chemulpo and Fusan are the places in Korea where the two
peoples have been longest in the compelling contact of common business
interests. Observation of results in these places had, therefore, some
special value. The visit to Fusan came later, and properly belongs to
the story of our departure from Korea. But the visit to Chemulpo and its
experiences may fitly be spoken of in this place.
The invitation to speak at Chemulpo came from the Japanese Resident and
from the Mayor, as official representatives of the educational interests
of the city. The affair was, therefore, conducted much more in the
familiar Japanese style than were the invitations to speak in Seoul or
Pyeng-yang. At the same time, it had been decided that I was to address
a Korean audience in Chemulpo, and Dr. Jones had consented to make this
possible by the help of his valuable skill in interpretation. It had been
arranged that we should meet him and Mr. Zumoto, who was to interpret
the address to the Japanese, at the South Gate station for the 11.40
A.M. express. But as the time of leaving approached, it appeared that
something was detaining the Doctor; finally we were obliged to go on
without him. In person he appeared at Chemulpo in the early afternoon and
explained that he had been detained in order to prepare for the funeral
of one of the native members of his church; several hours still later,
while we were taking tea at the Resident’s house, we were handed (as an
example of the despatch with which this service is at present rendered in
Korea) the explanatory telegram which had been sent in the early morning.
The fields between Seoul and Chemulpo, on the morning of May 6, 1907,
were beautifully green, for the spring rains had been unusually abundant
and the crops were correspondingly promising. Combined with the darker
green of the pines, and contrasted with the red and yellow of the sand
and rocks, they gave back to the eye that more vivid but less soothing
pleasure of the Korean landscape to which reference has already been so
frequently made. Along this line of railway, as everywhere, there is the
same impression of undeveloped agricultural resources; there is also the
same temptation to imagine how it will all look in the years to come,
when Korea has been lifted out of its low industrial condition.
At the station we were met by the official deputation and escorted to
the Japanese Club. The impression made by the streets through which we
passed was not pleasing; for there had been rain, the air was laden with
cold moisture, and the ground was either rough or torn up for repairs and
heavy for the jinrikisha pullers with its coating of mud. But it should
be remembered that this part of Chemulpo is in the making, whereas the
older part had a few weeks before been swept by a destructive fire. The
Chinese town, through which we now passed, bore a decayed air; but when
the Japanese quarter was reached, in spite of the recent loss of some
400 houses, there was a thrifty and prosperous look, an appearance of
determination, of not-to-mind-what-cannot-be-helped, so characteristic
of the people themselves. The work of rebuilding this quarter was going
briskly forward.
The population of Chemulpo consisted at that time of some 12,000
Japanese, from 15,000 to 20,000 Koreans, and about 2,000 Chinese (before
the Japan-China war the number of the Chinese was about 5,000). There
are less than 100 European and American residents. It is hoped by those
interested in the business prospects of the city that, after the through
all-rail route from Tairen to St. Petersburg is made in all respects
first-class—and the consummation of this project will quickly follow
under the management of Baron Goto and the Russian authorities, as soon
as the commercial treaty between Japan and Russia takes effect—Chemulpo
will be an important port of entry for the increasing trade of Korea.
But the harborage is now so poor that ships of any considerable size have
to lie far out in the offing, and the sand-bars between this anchorage
and the wharfs are constantly forming and shifting their location. This
coast of Korea is also made very dangerous by numerous rocky islands and
sunken reefs, by variable and strong currents, and by one of the highest
average tides to be found anywhere in the world. Plans for improving the
harbor are, therefore, very important. Right in front of the Chinese
hotel where we spent the night, the flats are being filled in, apparently
with the double purpose of securing an extension of building lots,
and also of shortening somewhat the distance between the city and the
shipping at low tide. But the permanent improvement of the harbor of
Chemulpo—and this is equivalent to securing one good port of entry for
the entire western coast of Korea—offers a difficult problem. Either of
the two ways of solving the problem which have hitherto been considered
would be exceedingly expensive. To enclose a basin with a sea-wall and
shut in the tide-water by gates, or to extend the wharf out some two
miles to deep water, would cost many millions of _yen_.
After an excellent tiffin at the club, where we met some twenty Japanese
ladies and gentlemen, I spoke to an audience of not more than one hundred
and fifty—of this nationality almost exclusively—but of both sexes. The
audience represented the educational and official interests of the city
which, as is customary in Japan and elsewhere, are not paramount in
places devoted to trade and commerce. Mr. Zumoto interpreted; the ethical
and hortatory turn given to the remarks made them, apparently, no less
but even more heartily received. I have already called attention to the
striking fact that the thoughtful Japanese are becoming more impressed
with the truth of the old-fashioned, but not as yet quite defunct,
thought that it is, after all, “righteousness which exalteth a nation.”
But the Koreans, as a people, have still to awake to the impression that
either science or morality has any important bearing on the material and
social welfare of the nation’s life. Following the lecture, there was
tea at the Residency House; after which we were taken to one of those
curious but by no means uncomfortable hostleries which one comes upon
in the Far East. It was under the sign of “E. D. Steward & Co., Store.
Keeper. & Hotel and Ship. Compradore.” The name “Steward” was assumed by
its Chinese owner because he had filled this office on a small steamship
for some years before. The advertisement did not at all exaggerate the
variety of enterprises carried on under the same extensive roof by this
example of a thrifty race. In the rooms over the store the representative
of Mr. “Steward” (for we did not learn his true designation, either for
this life of business or his “heavenly name”) cared for his guests as
well as could reasonably be expected.
Most of the following morning was spent in conversation with Mr. W. D.
Townsend, who has been in Korea since May, 1884, when he arrived at
Chemulpo to open a branch of the “American Trading Co.” He thus antedates
the founding of missionary work in Korea, although Dr. R. S. McClay had
visited Seoul in June, 1883, to make arrangements for a mission; and
Dr. Horace N. Allen, who afterward served as the representative of the
United States Government, reached Korea in the September following. This
conversation, continued on during luncheon at Mr. Townsend’s house, gave
me incidents and opinions illustrating the problem I was studying as it
appears to a shrewd and experienced man of business. Facts and opinions
from this point of view were, I believed, no less important and informing
than those to be learned from the missionary or the native or foreign
official.
In the afternoon I spoke on the “Five Elements of National Prosperity” to
an audience of about 600 Koreans, fully half of whom were children, and
part of whom kept coming and going. The Japanese Resident, Mr. Kenochi,
was present. The quality of the attention and interest did not seem to me
to reach the level of the audiences in Seoul; but this was only what was
to be expected from the nature of the population and the occupations of
the Koreans in Chemulpo. From the church we had a not unpleasant walk to
the suburban station, accompanied by a number of the Japanese gentlemen
and ladies who felt it their official but friendly duty to see us off for
Seoul. On reaching Miss Sontag’s house we dined with the German Consul,
Dr. Ney, Mr. Eckert, the skilful trainer of the Korean band, and other
German friends, on invitation of our hostess.
With reference to the improvements already accomplished in Korea, and to
a considerable extent through Japanese official influence and unofficial
example, Mr. Townsend called my attention to the following particulars.
Previous to the opening of the country to foreign trade there was no
possibility of accumulating wealth in Korea. For, as one of the few
thoughtful Koreans had remarked: “If there was a large crop of rice and
beans, there was no one to buy it, and it would not keep over for two
years. Therefore we ate more and worked less; for what could we do with
the surplus but eat it? But when the crops failed, we starved or died of
the pest that followed.” It so happened, in fact, that the year after
the opening of the country there was a large crop; and now for the first
time in the history of Korea, there was not only something to sell but
a market for it. There had, indeed, been trade for centuries between
the southern part of the country and the adjoining regions of Japan,
especially the island of Tsushima. But in this trade Korea parted with
its gold, out of which the Japanese themselves were subsequently cheated
by the Dutch, who took it off to Holland. Thus neither of the nations
in the Far East was enriched in any permanent way; both were the rather
impoverished as respects their store of resources for the future.
Under the Japanese, Mr. Townsend was confident—as is every one acquainted
with the past and present conditions—that there would soon be a very
considerable development of the country’s resources. This would take
place especially in the lines of silk-culture, raising rice and beans,
and grazing and dairy products. For all these forms of material
prosperity the country was by soil and climate admirably adapted. Up to
this time the rinderpest had been allowed to ravage the herds unchecked.
In a single year it had carried off thousands of bullocks, so that the
following spring the entire family of the peasants would have to join
forces—men, women, and children—to pull their rude ploughs through the
stiff mud. As to the culture of fruit, the outlook did not seem so
hopeful. The market was limited; the various pests were unlimited in
number of species and individuals, and in voracity. A certain kind of
caterpillars eat pine-needles only; and some gentlemen, in order to
protect the pine-trees in their yards, were obliged to hire Koreans
to pick these pests off the trees, one by one, by the pailful at a
time. It seems to me, however, that in time these difficulties may be
overcome by the very favorable character of soil and climate for many
kinds of fruits, by the possibility of ridding the country of the pests
and of improving the already excellent varieties of fruits, and by the
development of the canning industry.
As to the effect of the Japanese Protectorate upon the business of
foreign firms, Mr. Townsend assured me that the honorable firms were
pleased with it and considered it favorable to the extension of
legitimate business. Unscrupulous promoters do not, of course, enjoy
being checked by the Resident-General in their efforts to plunder the
Korean resources. In this conversation with Mr. Townsend I learned
the details of one of those dishonorable promoting schemes which have
been, and still are, the disgrace of some of the foreign residents in
Korea. But this is not the worst of them. They become the disgrace of
the countries from which the promoters come, so often as the latter can
successfully appeal to the consuls or other diplomatic representatives of
their nationals for official support in their nefarious schemes.
The relations, both business and social, between the Japanese and the
Koreans in Chemulpo are now much improved. Indeed, there is at present
an almost complete absence of race-hatred between the two. Formerly,
on some trifling occasion of a quarrel started between a Japanese and
a Korean, an angry mob of several hundred on each side would quickly
gather; and unless the other foreigners interfered in time, there
was sure to be serious fighting and even bloodshed. But the growing
number of those belonging to both nations who understand each other’s
language and each other’s customs has almost entirely done away with the
tendency to similar riots. Indeed, a positive feeling of friendliness
is springing up between certain individuals and families of the two
nationalities. All of which tends to confirm the statement of another
business man—this time of Seoul, where the hatred of the Koreans for the
Japanese is studiously kept aglow by Korean officialdom and by selfishly
interested foreigners—that in fifty years, or less, no difference
would be known between the two. There will then, perhaps, be Koreans
boasting of their Japanese descent and Japanese boasting of their Korean
descent; and a multitude of the people who will not even raise the
question for themselves as to which kind of blood is thickest in their
veins. Everywhere on the face of the earth ethnology is teaching the
lesson that “purity” of blood is as much a fiction as is the so-called
“primitive man.”
According to Mr. Townsend, one cause of the deforestation of so large
regions of Korea in former times was the fear of tigers; this fear was,
of course, greatly increased by the fact that the Government did not
dare to entrust the people with firearms. The tiger-hunters were, it
will be remembered, a species of officials who composed the bravest,
and oftentimes the only brave, troops in the king’s army. As late as
about sixty years ago the principal road to Pyeng-yang from Seoul passed
through a stretch of dense forest infested with tigers. As long as the
slaughter by these beasts did not average more than one man a week, the
people thought it could be borne; but when the number killed in this way
rose to one or two a day, they applied to the Tai Won Kun, and permission
was given to cut down the forest.
The prevalence of the tiger and also the method of governmental control
over their capture and over the sale of their skins is well illustrated
by the following amusing story. Recently, a foreigner who was fond of
hunting big game, brought a letter of introduction to Mr. Townsend and
asked him to negotiate for him with two tiger-hunters for a trip to the
region of Mokpo. Knowing well the Korean character as respects veracity,
it was necessary for the inquirer to discover in indirect ways whether
the men were really courageous and skilful hunters, as well as whether
tigers were really to be met in the region over which it was proposed to
hunt. Something like the following conversation then took place:—“You
claim to be brave tiger-hunters, but have you ever actually killed a
tiger?” “Yes, of course, many of them.” “But what are you hunting at the
present time?” “Just now we are hunting ducks.” “How much is a tiger
worth to you when you succeed in getting one?” “Well, if we can have
all there is of him—the skin, the bones” (which, when powdered, make a
medicine much prized by the Chinese on account of its supposed efficacy
in imparting vigor or restoring strength), “and all the rest, we should
make at least 110 _yen_.” “Why, then, do you hunt ducks which bring you
so little, when you might kill tigers, which are worth so much?” “Yes,
but if I kill a tiger, the magistrate hears of it and sends for me; and
he says: ‘You are a brave man, for you have killed a tiger. You deserve
a reward for your courage. Here are five _yen_; but the tiger, you know,
belongs to the Crown, and I will take that in the name of His Majesty.’
Now do you think I am going to risk my life to earn 120 _yen_ for the
magistrate, who squeezes me enough anyway, and get only 5 _yen_ for
myself?”
“But, tell me truly, are there really tigers to be found in that
neighborhood?” “Yes, indeed, there are.” “How do you know that?” “Why,
just recently two men of the neighborhood were eaten by tigers.” “Indeed,
that is certainly encouraging.” “It may be encouraging for the foreign
gentleman who wishes to hunt the tiger, but it was not very encouraging
for the Korean gentlemen who were eaten by tigers.” The grim humor of all
this will be the better appreciated when it is remembered how omniscient
and omnivorous are the Korean magistrates as “squeezers”; and how large
the chances of the tiger are against the hunter, when the latter is
equipped only with an old-fashioned musket and a slow-burning powder
which must be lighted by a fuse.
A story of a quite different order will always attach itself in my memory
to the name of Chemulpo. During the Chino-Japan War one of the missionary
families, now in Seoul, was living in the part near the barracks where
the Japanese soldiers were quartered until they could be sent by sea to
the front. One day a petty officer came up on the porch of the house,
uninvited; but after accepting gratefully the cup of tea offered to
him, being unable to speak any English, he went away, leaving the
object of his apparent intrusion quite unexplained. Soon after, however,
he returned with some twenty of his comrades, mostly petty officers,
accompanying him; and when the hostess was becoming somewhat alarmed
at the number for whom she might be expected to furnish tea and cakes,
one of the company, who could best express their wishes in the foreign
language, revealed the motive of the soldiers’ visit. He explained in
broken English that they had come to see the baby—a girl about two years
old. The little one was then brought out by the mother and placed in the
arms of the speaker, who carried the child along the line formed of his
comrades and gave each one a chance to see her, to smile at her, and to
say a few words to her in an unknown tongue. On going away, after this
somewhat formal paying of respects to “the baby,” the Japanese officer
still further explained: “Madam,” said he, “to-morrow morning we are
going to the front and we do not expect ever to return. But before we
go to die, we wanted to bid good-by to the baby.” In the Russo-Japanese
war nothing else so cheered the soldiers of Japan on their way to the
transports for Manchuria as the crowds of school-children at all the
railway stations, with their flags and their banzais. The number of the
regiment to which these soldiers, who bade good-by to the American baby
before they went forth to die, was taken note of by the mother. Their
expectation came true; they did not return.
The only other excursion by rail from Seoul which we made during
our visit to Korea was to attend the formal opening ceremony of the
Agricultural and Industrial Model Station at Suwon. The history of its
founding is copied from the account of the _Seoul Press_:
Shortly after the inauguration of the Residency-General last
year, the Korean Government was induced to engage a number
of Japanese experts well versed in agriculture and dendrology
with a view to the organizing and conducting a school for
training young Koreans in the principles and practice of
scientific husbandry and forestry. The establishment of such a
school was absolutely necessary in order to insure success to
the work of improving agriculture and forestry, to which the
Resident-General wisely attached great importance.
At the suggestion of these experts, it was decided to establish
the school in question at Suwon, on a site adjacent to the
Agricultural and Industrial Model Station there, the proximity
of these two institutions being attended by various obvious
advantages. The school-buildings and dormitories, together with
houses for members of the faculty, were erected at a total
outlay of a little over 44,000 _yen_, being completed by the
end of 1906.
Pending the completion of the buildings, instruction was,
for the time being, given in the class-rooms of the former
Agricultural, Commercial and Industrial School at Seoul from
the 10th of September, 1906. The last-mentioned school had
been established a few years ago under the control of the
Department of Education. Its organization was too imperfect to
make it possible for it to attain the object for which it was
established.
Early this year the School of Agriculture and Dendrology
removed to its new quarters at Suwon. The post of principal
is filled by the director of the Agricultural Bureau in the
Department of Agriculture, Commerce and Industry. The teaching
staff consists of five professors (Japanese) and two assistant
professors (Koreans).
There are two departments: (1) the Ordinary, and (2) the
Special. The Ordinary Department extends over two years and the
Special Department one year. The latter Department consists of
two separate courses, namely, agricultural and dendrological.
These courses are open to such of the graduates of the Ordinary
Department as may desire still further to prosecute their
studies in their respective special branches. Besides the
above-mentioned departments, there is a practical training
course for giving elementary instruction in some special
subjects connected with agriculture or forestry. The term is
not more than one year.
It may be interesting to tabulate the various subjects taught
in the respective departments. They are as follows:
ORDINARY DEPARTMENT:—Morals, Japanese, Mathematics, Physics and
Meteorology, Natural History, Outlines of Agriculture, Soil
and Manures, Crops, Dairy Produce, Sericulture, Agriculture,
Agricultural Manufacture, Outlines of Dendrology, Outlines of
Afforestation, Outlines of Veterinary Medicine, and Political
Economy and Law.
SPECIAL DEPARTMENT (Agricultural Course):—Soil, Manure,
Physiological Botany, Diseases of Crops, Injurious Insects,
Dairy Produce, Sericulture and Spinning of Silk Yarns,
Agricultural Manufactures, and Agronomy.
SPECIAL DEPARTMENT (Dendrological Course):—Dendrological
Mathematics, Afforestation and Forest Protection, Forest
Economy, Utilization of Forests, Forest Administration.
Instruction in these subjects is given through the medium of
interpreters, the last-mentioned office being fulfilled by the
Korean Assistant Professors. The number of students fixed for
the respective departments, is 80 for the Ordinary, and 40 for
the Special Department, the number for the practical Training
course being fixed each time according to the requirements.
The number of students at present receiving instruction is 26
in the Ordinary Department, and 12 in the Practical Training
course. It is very satisfactory to learn that these students
are highly commended for obedience, good conduct, and industry.
This promises well, not only for the success of the school, but
for the progress of the nation.
This lengthy account of the founding and progress of the school and
station, whose opening ceremonial was to be celebrated on Wednesday, May
15, 1907, is given because of the great importance of the relation which
every such enterprise sustains to the lasting success of the Japanese
Protectorate and to the welfare of Korea under this Protectorate.
Hitherto, the considerable sums of money which have been from time to
time obtained from the Korean Government to found and to foster schemes
for improved education or industrial development have almost without
exception been unfruitful expenditures. The appropriation has either
been absorbed by the promoters of the schemes, or if really spent upon
the objects for which it was appropriated, both interest and care have
ceased with the spending of the money. Even the missionary schools,
which have up to very recent times afforded the only means for obtaining
the elements of a good modern education—valuable as they have been,
especially as means of propagandism—have too often resulted in sending
out graduates who, if they could not get the coveted official positions,
were fit for nothing else. In Korea, as in India—to take a conspicuous
example—the students from these schools have sometimes become rather
more practically worthless for the service of their nation, or even
positively mischievous, than they could have been if left uneducated.
But what Korea now most imperatively needs is educated men, who are not
afraid of honest work; men, also, who will not accept official position
at the expense of their manly independence and moral character, or gain
it by means of intrigue and corruption. But “honest work” must, for a
considerable time to come, be chiefly connected with the agricultural
and industrial development of the country. Moreover, the institution
at Suwon is demonstrating that the Koreans can make good students
and skilful practitioners in the, to them, new sciences which give
control over nature’s resources for the benefit of man. The Confucian
education hitherto dominant in this country has chiefly resulted in
cultivating scholars who either sacrificed usefulness in service to the
false sentiment of honor, or else subordinated the most fundamental
principles of morality to that skill in official positions which secured
the _maximum_ of squeezes with the _minimum_ of resistance. And,
finally, nothing so undermines and destroys race-hatred as the prolonged
association of the two races in the peaceable relations of teacher and
pupil; or of teachers and pupils with their respective colleagues.
Six car-loads of invited guests, belonging to all classes of the most
influential people of Seoul and Chemulpo, left the South-Gate Station on
a special train at one and a half o’clock, on that Wednesday afternoon,
for Suwon. Marquis Ito and his staff, and other Japanese officials,
Korean Ministers and their guards, all the foreign Consuls, the principal
men of business, representatives of the press, and Christian missionaries
were of the party. The day was warm, but fine; the landscape was even
more beautiful in its coloring than usual. On arrival at the station
of Suwon, the guests were met by the Minister and Vice-Minister of
Agriculture, Commerce and Industry, by Dr. Honda, the director of the
Model Station, and others, who escorted them on foot over a newly made
road through the paddy fields belonging to the station. It did not
need an expert eye to see the immense difference, as regards economy
of arrangement and efficiency of culture, between these fields and the
relatively uneconomically arranged and unproductive fields along the
railway by which we had passed as we came to Suwon.
The Agricultural School and Station are beautifully located; the lake,
which has been made by damming a stream, with the plain under improved
cultivation, and the surrounding mountains, all combine to produce a
charming scene. On reaching the Model Station itself a brief time for
rest was allowed; this could be improved by those who wished to inspect
the rooms where the specimens were displayed, and the laboratories of
various kinds. The ceremonial proceedings were opened by the director,
Dr. Honda, who reported the progress already made and defined the work
which was to be attempted for the future. The work was to consist in
the improvement of the quality of the seeds, the introduction and
acclimatization of new varieties of farm products, the instruction of the
farmers, the supply of manures, the effecting of improved irrigation,
drainage, and protection against inundation, the improvement of poultry
and dairy farming, the introduction and encouragement of sericulture, and
the securing of more by-products on the farms.
After a few words from Mr. Song, the Korean Minister of Agriculture,
Marquis Ito made a somewhat lengthy address. He spoke frankly in
criticism of the failures which the Korean Government had hitherto
made in its various attempts to accomplish anything for improving the
miserable lot of the toiling millions of the Korean people. “Not only had
nothing been done to ameliorate their condition, but much had been done
to injure their interests and aggravate their miseries. Let those who
boasted of their knowledge of Chinese philosophy remember the well-known
teaching that the secret of statesmanship consists in securing the
contentment of the people.” His Excellency then referred to the example
of the great Okubo in Japan, who founded an agricultural college there
in 1875, spoke of the brilliant results which had followed this improved
instruction and practice, and hoped that the Korean officials, in whose
charge this well-equipped institution was now placed, would make it
equally useful to the Korean people.
The ceremonial part of the day was closed by an address by Mr. Kwon,
the Minister of War, who had formerly been, although, as he confessed,
without any knowledge of such matters, head of the Department of
Agriculture, Commerce and Industry. It was indeed fourteen years since
a department had been founded for the improvement of agriculture; but
“nothing worth speaking of had been initiated by that department.” After
spending 170,000 _yen_ on the station, Japan had kindly consented to
turn it over to the Korean Government. He was hopeful that the change
already beginning to be felt in the interests of the farming population
of his country would in the near future result in a large improvement in
their condition. [It does not need to be said to those acquainted with
the way in which such projects for developing the resources of Korea have
hitherto been conducted, that both the grave rebuke of Marquis Ito and
the confessions of the Korean Ministers are amply warranted.]
The ceremony concluded, refreshments were served in and about an old and
historically interesting Korean building, which is situated a few rods
below the farm station and just above the nearer end of the dam. After
this, the whole company walked back to the railway by a road laid out on
the back of the dam, which is shaded with young trees and made attractive
by views of lake, fertile plains, and hillsides and mountains in the
distance on every side. On the plain below the dam some Koreans were
holding a pantomimic celebration, or merry-making, of the sort which it
is their custom to commit to hired bands of men skilful in affording this
species of amusement. On the hillsides at the end of the dam, and above
the track of the railway, hundreds of other Koreans—adults in glistening
white and children in colors of varied and deepest dyes—were quietly
enjoying the scene. When the train stopped at the point nearest the end
of the pleasant walk, it was, I am sure, a well satisfied crowd of guests
which returned by it to Seoul.
With this ceremony at Suwon another which I had previously attended in
Seoul naturally connects itself. This was the opening of the Industrial
Training School, the initial outlay for which, including the cost of
buildings and apparatus, amounted to a little more than 110,000 _yen_.
The significance of this enterprise will be the better understood when
it is remarked that the native workmen of to-day make nothing whatever,
with the exception of a few cheap brasses and the attractive Korean
chests, that any foreigner would be inclined to buy. Moreover, their
own tools and machinery of every description are exceedingly crude and
old-fashioned. At the ceremony in Seoul addresses were made similar
to those listened to at the Suwon affair. Mr. Yamada, the principal
of the Institute, reported that out of the eleven hundred applicants
who had presented themselves for examination, fifty students had been
admitted. Marquis Ito and the Korean speakers dwelt upon the same
facts—namely, the deplorable backwardness of the nation in industrial
matters, the unsatisfactory results of past endeavors at improvement,
and the needs and hopes of the future. After the addresses, the guests
visited the different workshops, where the Korean students were to be
given manual training; and then resorted to the sides of the mountain
above, where refreshments were served. The decorative features of the
festivities—consisting of the Korean crowds on the upper mountain sides,
the uniformed officials in and around the refreshment booths, and the
brilliant bloom of the cherry bushes and plum trees—were even more
striking than at Suwon. On this occasion it was my pleasure to receive a
cordial greeting from some of the Korean officials, among whom was the
Minister of the Interior, the cousin of the Governor at Pyeng-yang. It
was evident that he had heard from his cousin of the assistance rendered
directly by the missionaries and indirectly by me, in the way of quieting
the excited condition of the Korean population at the time of our visit.
If official corruption can be kept aloof from these enterprises, and
an honest and intelligent endeavor made to carry out the plans of the
Japanese Government under Marquis Ito for the agricultural and industrial
development of Korea, there is little reason to doubt that a speedy and
great improvement will result. That the Korean common people, in spite
of their characteristic air of indifference and their appearance of
indolence, can be stirred with ambition, and that when aroused they will
make fairly industrious and apt learners, there is, in my judgment, no
good reason to deny. The experience of the “Seoul Electric Railway,” and
of other similar enterprises, favors this judgment. Not to speak of the
financial methods of this company, and after admitting that the physical
condition of its property and the character of its service leave much to
be desired, it has been, on the whole, successful in demonstrating the
possibility of conducting such business enterprises by means of Korean
labor. Mr. Morris, its manager, who came to Seoul in July, 1899, told
me the interesting story of his earlier experiences. The working of the
road during the first years of its running was accompanied by enormous
difficulties. Neither the passengers, nor the motormen and the conductors
had any respect for the value of time; most of the employees had even to
learn how to tell time by their watches. The populace thought it proper
for the cars to stop anywhere, and for any length of period which seemed
convenient to them. If the car did not stop, the passengers made a mad
rush for it and attempted to jump on; they also jumped off wherever they
wished, whether the car stopped or not. This practice resulted in serious
bruises and fractured skulls as an almost daily occurrence. Native
pedestrians in the streets of Seoul were not content to walk stolidly and
with a dignified strut (which is still the habit of the Korean before an
approaching Japanese jinrikisha) along the track in the daylight, with
the expectation that the car would go around them; but at evening they
utilized the road-bed by lying down to sleep on the track with their
heads on boards placed across its rails. One dark night in the first
summer three men were killed by the last trip between the river and the
city. In those days the broad thoroughfare, which is now kept open for
its entire length, was greatly narrowed by rows of booths and “chow”
shops on either side. Here the men from the country would tie their
ponies (the Korean pony is notable for his vicious temper when excited)
to the tables, and, reclining upon the same tables, would proceed to
enjoy their portion of food. When the electric car came through the
centre of the street, the beasts went wild with fright; sometimes they
dashed into the shops; sometimes they fled down the street dragging the
tables and scattering “chow” and men in every direction. At one place
the line to the river runs over a low hill which is, in the popular
superstition, a part of the body of the rain-bringing Dragon. In a dry
season the people became greatly excited and threatened violence to those
who had brought upon them the calamity of drought by such sacrilege done
to the body of this deity. Mr. Morris had himself fled for his life
before a Korean mob who were ready to tear him in pieces to avenge the
killing of a child by the car. At the present time, however, there were
fewer accidents in Seoul than on the electric car-lines of Japan; and
many fewer than those from the same cause in the larger cities of the
United States. In one of the more recent years they had carried 6,000,000
passengers and had only killed one. This is certainly not a bad record;
for while, on the one hand, the service of the road is relatively slow
and infrequent, on the other hand, in Seoul there are no sidewalks and
the streets are thronged with foot-passengers and with children at play.
One other excursion from Seoul is, perhaps, worthy of record as throwing
some sidelights upon Korea—this time, however, chiefly an affair of
recreation. This was the ascent of Puk Han, the ancient place of royal
refuge in cases of revolt or foreign invasion. The party consisted of
Mr. Cockburn, the British Consul-General; Mr. Davidson, the successor
of J. McLeavy Brown in the Department of Customs; Dr. and Mrs. Wm. B.
Scranton, and Madam Scranton, the mother of the Doctor. Mr. Cockburn and
Mr. Davidson made the ascent as far as was possible in jinrikishas, and
the rest of the party in chairs carried by four or six coolies each. By
the longer way out which the party took, there was, however, much walking
(but no hard climbing) to do; and by the shorter way home, with its much
steeper descent, there was little besides walking which could safely be
done by any one.
The actual start was preceded by the customary bargaining with the
coolies. This resulted in reducing by one-half the original charge—only
to find the head man applying late in the evening after our return for an
additional “present” direct from me, in reliance on my ignorance of the
fact that a handsome present had already been given through the friend
who made the arrangement. But, then, such squeezes are not confined
to Korea in the Far East, nor are they peculiar to the Far East and
infrequent in London, Paris, and New York.
Under “Independence Arch,” where, as we have already seen, the promise of
a new and really independent Korea is built into the form of a monument
of stone, the whole party were photographed. At a small village some
three miles from Seoul, the coolies made another stop; here they received
their first advance of money for “chow.” In the street of the village
was standing one of those gorgeous palanquins which serve as biers, and
which give the lifeless body of the poorest Korean his one ride in state
to the hillsides where the tombs of the dead hold the ground against
the fields needed for cultivation by the living. But these hillsides
at least serve the living to some good purpose as preferred places for
recreation and for intercourse with nature, as well as, in some sort,
with their deceased ancestors. In Korea, as in India, birth, marriage,
and death are expensive luxuries for the poor; to get into the world,
to beget an heir, and to get out of the world again, absorb all the
accumulated resources of a lifetime of toil for the average Korean.
Surely, under such circumstances, “the will to live” lays itself open
to the charge of Schopenhauer—that it is blind and working ever to the
production of increased misery. Industrial development, firmly coupled
with improved morality, and with the cheer and hopes of an elevating
religion, as a true “psychical uplift,” are the only sufficient cure for
such pessimistic tendencies.
[Illustration: West Gate or “Gate of Generous Righteousness.”]
Among the several attempts at photographing made on the way to Puk Han,
were some intended to catch one of the numerous Korean children who
appeared _puris in naturalibus_. These were uniformly unsuccessful.
Pictures of this characteristic sort were not to be had by us foreigners,
although the attempts were supported by the offer of sizable coins.
At the first motion to point the camera toward these features of
the landscape, they took to their heels and fled afar with urgent
precipitancy.
Within perhaps two miles of the Outer Gate of the mountain Fortress we
were obliged to dismount, the way having become too rough and difficult
even for chairs with four coolies each. Puk Han’s wall was built in
1711; although there is a not altogether improbable tradition that the
mountain, which is somewhat more than 2,000 feet high, was fortified long
before, under the Pakje kingdom. The gate through which one enters the
walled enclosure is picturesque and interesting. Not far inside the wall,
across a little valley, are to be seen the solid stone foundations of the
new Buddhist temple which is to take the place of one that was destroyed
by fire. This is one of several indications that the introduction of
modern civilization and of Christian missions is to be followed in
Korea, as it certainly has been followed in Japan and elsewhere, by a
revival of the spirit, and an improvement in the form and efficacy,
of the older religion of the country. Buddhism has, indeed, been for
centuries largely lacking in all moral force and spiritual satisfactions
in Korea. But I cannot agree with those who are so sure that it is not
capable of revival there, of improvement, and even of offering a vigorous
competition to Christian evangelizing.
As we climbed up toward the pavilion in which we were to take our
luncheon, we saw few ruins of the structures which were once scattered
over the area within the mountain’s wall; but everywhere was an abundance
of beautiful wild flowers and flowering shrubs. Among the many varieties
were wigelia, cypripedium, several kinds of iris, Solomon’s-seal,
syringa, hydrangea, giant saxifrage, large white clematis, hawthorne,
jassamine, lilies of the valley, many kinds of violets and azaleas, wild
white roses, viburnum, Allegheny vine, and wild cherry.
About twenty minutes before we reached the pavilion where it was proposed
to spread out our luncheon, great drops of rain caused us to quicken
our pace; and the following smart shower which crept by the brow of the
overhanging mountain, in spite of the protection of our umbrellas, gave
the party somewhat of a wetting before shelter was reached. But soon the
rain was over; the sun came gloriously out; the mountain stream which was
just below the outer wall of the pavilion ran fuller and more merrily;
and the food was more comforting in contrast with the slight preceding
discomfort.
Lying in the sun on a shelving rock, I had an interesting conversation
with the English Consul-General. In the course of this Mr. Cockburn
expressed the amazement of his country at what he graciously called the
“patience” of Americans in putting up so quietly with political and
social wrongs which the English had refused any longer to suffer, now
nearly a century ago. He seemed sincerely gratified at my assurance that
the feeling of the United States toward England is more cordial and
appreciative of our common good and common mission in the world than
was the case twenty-five and thirty years ago. I found myself also in
hearty agreement with his view that the treaty between Great Britain and
Japan, whether it should prove of commercial advantage to the former, or
not, was fruitful of good to the latter nation, to the Far East, and to
mankind as interested in the world’s peace.
At about four o’clock the party started on its return to Seoul. The
distance was some ten miles, most of which must be walked, by a rather
steep descent in places over barren surfaces of granite rock. But the
path at first led us still higher up the mountain until, having passed
through an inner gate, we reached the outer wall upon the other side of
the whole enclosure. For as much of the slope of Puk Han, as somewhat
more than two miles of rambling wall can embrace, constitutes this
fortified retreat of the Korean monarchy. Thus, with its stores of
provisions and implements of war, the cultivated fields, palaces, and
other official and unofficial residences inside, it was intended that Puk
Han, like its somewhat earlier colleague, the fortresses of Kang Wha,
should resist siege by any numbers and for any length of time. But from
prehistoric times to Port Arthur, and all over the earth from Sevastopol
to Daulatabad, the experiences of history have shown how vain is the
hope of the rulers of men to ward off the results of moral and political
degeneracy by walls of stone and implements of iron.
Far away on the very top of the mountain, to the left of our path, stood
a watch-tower which commanded a view of all this part of Korea. From both
of the gates in this portion of the wall, which, although they are only
a short distance apart, look toward different points of the compass,
the views are extensive and charming. To the southward one could look
down the steep mountain side, over a valley from which rose rocky but
brilliantly colored hills, bare for the most part of foliage, and through
which the silvery thread of the River Han wound its way, upon a series of
mountain ranges bounded only by the horizon. From the Western gate were
to be seen Chemulpo and its island-dotted harbor, and beyond the open sea.
The downward path of Puk Han winds around the mountain, from the Southern
gate in the wall toward the northwest; and although it is quite too
steep and rough for safe descent in chairs, it is not particularly
difficult for those who walk it with sound knee-joints and ordinarily
careful and judicious feet. For the first five or six miles it affords an
uninterrupted series of interesting and beautiful views. Here the colors
of the rock, when seen in full sunlight, were trying for all but the
most insensitive eyes. But as the light was modified by the occasional
passing of clouds, or by the changes in the relation of the path to the
points of the compass, the effect was kaleidoscopic in character on a
magnificent scale. On this side of the mountain the shapes of the rocks
are peculiar. In general, each mountain-ridge—supreme, subordinate, or
still inferior—is composed of a series of pyramidally-shaped granite
structures, rising higher and higher as to their visible summits; but
with their sides welded, as it were, together, and their surfaces of
disintegrated yellowish or reddish rock. Between the sides of the
pyramids in each series, and between the different series, and between
the higher ranges composed of the series, are dry ravines, down which
the summer rains descend in torrents, keeping the slopes of all these
rocky elevations almost bare of verdure. Thus there is produced an
aspect of severe grandeur quite out of proportion to the real height
of the mountains. But this aspect is relieved by an abundant growth of
wild flowers and flowering shrubs—such as have been already named and
still others—with more gorgeous blossoms than I have anywhere else seen
produced by the same species. With these the ladies filled all hands,
and all the luncheon baskets—and then even the chairs, which, however,
we took again as soon as it became practicable, to the relief of feet
and knees; and thus we entered the city by the North-West Gate, where we
stopped awhile to rest the men and to enjoy the magnificent view of Seoul
from the inside of the gate.
The excursion up Puk Han will certainly be remembered by some of the
party as one of the most enjoyable to be obtained anywhere. It far
surpasses most of those much-lauded by the guide-books in other more
frequented but really less rewarding portions of the world.
If time had permitted, by turning aside an hour or two, the ascent of
Puk Han might have been varied by a visit to the “Great White Buddha.”
This rather interesting relic of a long-time decaying, but possibly
now to be revived, Buddhism, I visited one morning in company with Mr.
Gillett. The path to it leaves the main road some miles out of the city;
where it begins to wind through the paddy fields it becomes somewhat
difficult for jinrikishas. On the way one passes shrines such as are
used not infrequently for the now forbidden exorcising ceremonies of the
sorceresses, and heaps of stones that are continually being piled upon
by the passers along the way, who wish thus to propitiate the spirits
and to obtain good luck. The Buddha itself is a large and rudely-shaped
figure, whitewashed on to the face of a rock, which has been escarped and
covered with a pavilion, having a highly decorative frieze and a roof
set on granite pillars. A few women were there worshipping in the manner
common to the ignorant populace in Korea and Japan—_i. e._, clapping the
hands, offering a small coin or two, and mumbling a prayer. A dirty,
disreputable-looking priest was assiduously gathering up the coins, for
they had merely been placed upon a table before the Buddha, instead
of being thrown into an enclosed box. He volunteered the explanation
that this was the most celebrated place in all Korea at which to offer
effective prayer for a son; childless women, and also men, came from
all over the land to worship at this shrine. In Korea, as well as in
India and China, this vulgar and degrading superstition is connected
with ancestor worship—namely, that the welfare of the living and the
dead, in this world and in the next, is somehow inseparably bound up
with begetting and bearing, or somehow possessing, a male descendant.
No heavier curse is put on woman; no subtler form of temptation to
lust for man; no more burdensome restriction on society; and no more
efficient check to a spiritual faith and a spiritual development exists
among the civilized peoples of the world than this ancient but unworthy
superstition. Even devil-worship is scarcely less cruel and socially
degrading.
It was with sincere regret that I left Korea without the opportunity to
see the country even more widely, to feel more profoundly the spirit
of its national life, and to become more acquainted in a relatively
“first-hand” way with its history and its antiquities. I was confident
that I had gained sufficient trustworthy information to judge fairly
of the character of the native government—Emperor and Court and
Yang-bans—to estimate in a measure the difficulties which encompassed the
position of the Resident-General, and to appreciate the sincerity and
self-sacrificing nature of his plans and the value of his achievements.
But there are few countries in the world to-day where richer rewards
await the expert and patient investigator of history and of antiquities.
The history of Korea remains to be written; its antiquities are there to
be explored.