YUNG PAK'S HOME
Ki Pak, Yung Pak's father, was one of the king's officials. On this
account his home was near the great palace of the king, in the city of
Seoul, the capital of the country.
This city did not look much like the ones in which you live. There were
no wide streets, no high buildings, no street-cars. Instead, there were
narrow, dirty lanes and open gutters. Shopkeepers not only occupied both
sides of the crowded streets, but half their wares were exposed in and
over the dirty gutters. Grain merchants and vegetable dealers jostled
each other in the streets themselves. In and about among them played the
boys of the city, not even half-clothed in most cases. There were no
parks and playgrounds for them such as you have. Often, too, boys would
be seen cantering through the streets, seated sidewise on the bare backs
of ponies, caring nothing for passers-by, ponies, or each
other--laughing, chatting, eating chestnuts. Other boys would be
carrying on their heads small round tables covered with dishes of rice,
pork, cabbage, wine, and other things.
[Illustration: A STREET IN SEOUL]
Around the city was a great wall of stone fourteen miles in length. In
some places it clung to the edges of the mountains, and then dropped
into a deep ravine, again to climb a still higher mountain, perhaps. In
one direction it enclosed a forest, in another a barren plain. Great
blocks were the stones, that had been in place many, many years. It must
have taken hundreds and thousands of men to put them in position, and,
though the wall was hundreds of years old, it was still well preserved.
It was from twenty-five to forty feet high. The wall was hung from one
end of the city to the other with ivy, which looked as if it had been
growing in its place centuries before Yung Pak was born.
In the wall were eight gates, and at each one a keeper was stationed at
all hours of the day and night. No persons could come in or go out
unless their business was known to those who had charge of the passage.
Every evening, at sunset, the gates were closed, and during the night no
one was allowed to pass through in either direction.
A curious ceremony attended the closing of these gates. They were never
shut till the king had been notified that all was well on the north, on
the south, on the east, and on the west. As there were no telegraph
lines, another way had to be provided by which messages might be quickly
sent. Bonfires upon the surrounding hills were used as signals. By
these fires the king was told if all were well in his kingdom, and every
evening, as soon as the sun was set, four beacon-fires on a hill within
the walls told the news as it was flashed to them from the mountains
outside. Then four officers, whose business it was to report to the king
the message of the fires, hastened to him, and with great ceremony and
much humility announced that all was well. On this the royal band of
music would strike up its liveliest airs, and a great bell would toll
its evening warning. This bell was the third largest in the world, and
for five centuries it had given the signal for opening and closing the
gates of Seoul, the chief city of the "Land of the Morning Radiance."
At the stroke of the bell, with a great clang the gates were shut, and
strong bars were placed across the inner sides, not to be removed until
at early dawn the bell again gave its signal to the keepers.
To little Yung Pak, the loud tones of the bell meant more even than to
the sentinels at the gates. He knew that not only was it a signal for
the closing of the city gates, but it was also a warning that bedtime
was at hand.
The house in which Yung Pak lived was a very fine one, although the
grounds were not as spacious as those of many houses in the outskirts of
the city. But its walls were of stone, whereas many of the houses of
Seoul had walls of paper.
Yes, actually walls of paper!
But this paper was a very tough, fibrous substance, and would resist
quite a heavy blow as well as keep out the cold. Its slight cost brought
it within the means of the poorer people.
In some parts of Korea the houses were built of stout timbers, the
chinks covered with woven cane and plastered with mud. Neat hedges of
interlaced boughs surrounded them. The chimney was often simply a
hollow tree, not attached to the house.
Ki Pak's house was not only built of stone, but about it were four walls
of stone, about five feet high, to help keep out intruders. The wall was
surmounted by a rampart of plaited bamboo. In this wall were three
gates, corresponding to entrances into the house itself. One gate, the
largest, on the north side, was used only by Ki Pak himself, though
after he grew older Yung Pak could enter this gate with his father. The
second gate, on the east, was used by the family and friends of Ki Pak.
The third and smallest gate was reserved for the use of the servants.
The roof of this house was not covered with shingles, but with clay
tiles, coloured red. Many houses in the city had simply a roof-covering
of thatched straw.
The house was but a single story high, but in this respect the king's
palace itself was no better. There were three divisions to the house.
One was for the use of the men, a second for the women of the family,
and a third for the servants. Each division had a suitable number of
rooms for its occupants.
Yung Pak's own sleeping-room was a dainty affair, with its paper walls,
tiger-skin rugs upon the stone floor, and the softest of mats and silk
and wadded cotton coverings for his couch.
This couch, by the way, was another queer affair. It was built of brick!
Beneath it were pipes or flues connected with other pipes which ran
beneath the whole house. Through these flues were forced currents of hot
air from a blaze in a large fireplace at one end of the house. The
chimney was at the other end, and thus a draught of hot air constantly
passed beneath the floors in cold weather. On warm nights Yung Pak would
pile his mats upon the floor and sleep as comfortably as ever you did
on the softest feather bed your grandmother could make.
The windows of Ki Pak's house were not made of glass, but were small
square frames covered with oiled paper. These frames fitted into grooves
so that they could be slid back and forth, and in warm weather the
windows were always left open. The doors were made of wood, though in
many houses paper or plaited bamboo was used.
When Yung Pak ate his meals, he sat upon a rug on the floor with his
father and such male guests as might be in the house. The women never
ate with them. Their meals were served in their own rooms.
A servant would bring to each person a _sang_, or small low table.
Instead of a cloth, on each table was a sheet of fine glazed paper which
had the appearance of oiled silk. This paper was made from the bark of
the mulberry-tree. It was soft and pliable, and of such a texture that
it could be washed easier than anything else, either paper or cloth. On
this were placed dishes of porcelain and earthen ware. There were no
knives or forks, but in their place were chop-sticks such as the Chinese
used. Spoons also were on the table. A tall and long-spouted teapot was
always the finest piece of ware.
On the dining-tables of the poorer people of Korea the teapot was never
seen, for, strange as it may seem, in this land situated between the two
greatest tea-producing countries of the world, tea is not in common use.
All Koreans have splendid appetites, and probably if you should see Yung
Pak eating his dinner you would criticize his table manners. He not only
ate a large amount of food, but ate it very rapidly--almost as if he
feared that some one might steal his dinner before he could dispose of
it. And you would think that he never expected to get another square
meal!
But it was not Yung Pak's fault that he was such a little glutton. In
his youngest days, when his mother used to regulate his food, she would
stuff him full of rice. Then she would turn him over on his back and
paddle his stomach with a ladle to make sure that he was well filled!