THE DUTCHMEN IN EXILE.
The old saw which tells us that “truth is stranger than fiction”
receives many a new and unexpected confirmation whenever a traveller
into strange countries comes back to tell his tale. Marco Polo was
denominated “Signor Milliano” (Lord Millions) by his incredulous
hearers, because, in speaking of China, he very properly used this
lofty numeral so frequently in his narratives. Mendez Pinto, though
speaking truthfully of Japan’s wonders, was dubbed by a pun on his
Christian name, the “Mendacious,” because he told what were thought to
be very unchristian stories. In our own day, when Paul Du Chaillu came
back from the African wilds and told of the gorilla which walked
upright like a man, and could dent a gun-barrel with his teeth, most
people believed, as a college professor of belles lettres, dropping
elegant words for the nonce, once stated, that “he lied like the
mischief.” When lo! the once mythic gorillas have come as live guests
at Berlin and Philadelphia, while their skeletons are commonplaces in
our museums. Even Stanley’s African discoveries were, at first,
discredited.
The first European travellers in Corea, who lived to tell their tale at
home, met the same fate as Polo, Pinto, Du Chaillu, and Stanley. The
narratives were long doubted, and by some set down as pure fiction.
Like the Indian braves that listen to Red Cloud and Spotted Tail, who,
in the lodges of the plains, recount the wonders of Washington and
civilization, the hearers are sure that they have taken “bad medicine.”
Later reports or personal experience, however, corroborate the first
accounts, and by the very commonplaceness of simple truth the first
reports are robbed alike of novelty and suspicion.
The first known entrance of any number of Europeans into Corea was that
of Hollanders, belonging to the crew of the Dutch ship Hollandia, which
was driven ashore in 1627. In those days the Dutch were pushing their
adventurous progress in the eastern seas as well as on the American
waters. They had forts, trading settlements, or prosperous cities in
Java, Sumatra, the Spice Islands, Formosa, and the ports of Southern
Japan. The shores of these archipelagoes and continents being then
little known, and slightly surveyed, shipwrecks were very frequent. The
profits of a prosperous voyage usually repaid all losses of ships,
though it is estimated that three out of five were lost. The passage
between China and Japan and up the seas south of Corea, has, from
ancient times, been difficult, even to a Chinese proverb.
A big, blue-eyed, red-bearded, robust Dutchman, named John Weltevree,
whose native town was De Rijp, in North Holland, volunteered on board
the Dutch ship Hollandia in 1626, in order to get to Japan. In that
wonderful country, during the previous seventeen years, his
fellow-countrymen had been trading and making rich fortunes,
occasionally fighting on the seas with the Portuguese and other
buccaneers of the period.
The good ship, after a long voyage around the Cape of Good Hope, and
through the Indian and Chinese Seas, was almost in sight of Japan.
Coasting along the Corean shores, Mr. John Weltevree and some
companions went ashore to get water, and there were captured by the
natives. The Coreans were evidently quite willing to have such a man at
hand, for use rather than ornament. After the Japanese invasions a
spasm of enterprise in the way of fortification, architecture, and
development of their military resources possessed them, and to have a
big-nosed and red-bearded foreigner, a genuine “Nam-ban,” or barbarian
of the south, was a prize. To both Coreans and Japanese, the Europeans,
as coming in ships from the southward, were called “Southerners,” or
“Southern savages.” Later on, after learning new lessons in geography,
they called them “Westerners,” or “Barbarians from the West.”
Like the black potentates of Africa, who like to possess a white man,
believing him to be a “spirit,” or a New Zealand chief, who values the
presence of a “paheka Maori” (Englishman), the Coreans of that day
considered their western “devil” a piece of property worth many tiger
skins. It may be remembered—and the Coreans may have borrowed the idea
thence—that the Japanese, then beginning their hermit policy, had also
a white foreigner in durance for their benefit. This was the Englishman
Will Adams, who had been a pilot on a Dutch ship that sailed from the
same Texel River. Perhaps the boy Weltevree had seen and talked with
the doughty Briton on the wharves of the Dutch port. Adams served the
Japanese as interpreter, state adviser, ship architect, mathematician,
and in various useful ways, but was never allowed to leave Japan. It is
highly probable that the ambassadors from Seoul, while in Yedo, saw
Will Adams, since he spent much of his time in public among the
officials and people, living there until May, 1620.
The magnates of Seoul probably desired to have a like factotum, and
this explains why Weltevree was treated with kindness and comparative
honor, though kept as a prisoner. When the Manchius invaded Corea, in
1635, his two companions were killed in the wars, and Weltevree was
left alone. Having no one with whom he could converse, he had almost
forgotten his native speech, when after twenty-seven years of exile, in
the fifty-ninth year of his age, he met some of his fellow-Hollanders
and acted as interpreter to the Coreans, under the following
circumstances:
In January, 1653, the Dutch ship Sperwer (Sparrowhawk) left Texel
Island, bound for Nagasaki. Among the crew was Hendrik Hamel, the
supercargo, who afterward became the historian of their adventures.
After nearly five months’ voyage, they reached Batavia, June 1st, and
Formosa July 16th. From this island they steered for Japan, fortunately
meeting no “wild Chinese” or pirates on their course. Off Quelpart
Island, a dreadful storm arose, and, being close on a lee shore with
death staring all in the face, the captain ordered them “to cut down
the mast and go to their prayers.” The ship went to pieces, but
thirty-six out of the sixty-four men composing the crew reached the
shore alive. The local magistrate, an elder of some seventy years of
age, who knew a little Dutch, met them with his retainers, and learned
their plight, who they were, and whence they came. The Hollanders were
first refreshed with rice-water. The Coreans then collected the pieces
of the broken ship, and all they could get from the hulk, and burned
them for the sake of the metal. One of the iron articles happened to be
a loaded cannon, which went off during the firing. The liquor casks
were speedily emptied into the gullets of the wreckers, and the result
was a very noisy set of heathen.
The old leader, however, evidently determined to draw the line between
virtue and vice somewhere. He had several of the thieves seized and
spanked on the spot, while others were bambooed on the soles of their
feet, one so severely that his toes dropped off.
On October 29th the survivors were brought by the officials to be
examined by the interpreter Weltevree. The huge noses, the red beards
and white faces were at once recognized by the lone exile as belonging
to his own countrymen. Weltevree was very “rusty” in his native
language, after twenty-seven years’ nearly complete disuse, but in
company with the new arrivals he regained it all in a month.
Of course, the first and last idea of the captives was how to escape.
The native fishing-smacks were frequently driven off to Japan, which
they knew must be almost in sight. One night they made an attempt to
reach the sea-shore. They at first thought they were secure, when the
dogs betrayed them by barking and alarming the guards.
It is evident that the European body has an odor entirely distinct from
a Mongolian. The Abbé Huc states that even when travelling through
Thibet and China, in disguise, the dogs continually barked at him and
almost betrayed him, even at night. In travelling, and especially when
living in the Japanese city of Fukui, the writer had the same
experience. In walking through the city streets at night, even when
many hundred yards off, the Japanese dogs would start up barking and
run toward him. This occurred repeatedly, when scores of native
pedestrians were not noticed by the beasts. The French missionaries in
Corea, even in disguise, report the same facts.
The baffled Hollanders were caught and officially punished after the
fashion of the nursery, but so severely that some had to keep their
beds for a month, in order to heal their battered flanks. Finally they
were ordered to proceed to the capital, which the Dutchmen call Sior
(Seoul).
Hamel gives a few names of the places through which he passed. These
are in the pronunciation of the local dialect, and written down in
Dutch spelling. Most of them are recognizable on the map, though the
real sound is nearly lost in a quagmire of Dutch letters, in which
Hamel has attempted to note the quavers and semi-demi-quavers of Corean
enunciation. He writes Coeree for Corea, and Tyocen-koeck for Chō-sen
kokŭ, and is probably the first European to mention Quelpart Island, on
which the ship was wrecked.
The first city on the mainland to which they came was Heynam (Hai-nam),
in the extreme southwest of Chulla. This was about the last of May.
Thence they marched to Jeham, spending the night at Na-diou (Nai-chiu).
The gunner of the ship died at Je-ham, or Je-ban. They passed through
San-siang (Chan-shon), and came to Tong-ap (Chon-wup?), after crossing
a high mountain, on the top of which was the spacious fortress of
Il-pam San-siang. The term “San-siang,” used twice here, means a
fortified stronghold in the mountains, to which, in time of war, the
neighboring villagers may fly for refuge. Teyn (Tai-in), was the next
place arrived at, after which, “having baited at the little town of
Kuniga” (Kumku), they reached Khin-tyo (Chon-chiu), where the governor
of Chillado (Chulla dō) resided. This city, though a hundred miles from
the sea, was very famous, and was a seat of great traffic. After this,
they came to the last town of the province, Jesan, and, passing through
Gunun and Jensan, reached Konsio (Kong-chiu), the capital of
Chung-chong province. They reached the border of Kiung-kei by a rapid
march, and, after crossing a wide river (the Han), they traversed a
league, and entered Sior (Seoul). They computed the length of the
journey at seventy-five leagues. This, by a rough reckoning, is about
the distance from Hainam to Seoul, as may be seen from the map.
In the capital, as they had been along the road, the Dutchmen were like
wild beasts on show. Crowds flocked to see the white-faced and
red-bearded foreigners. They must have appeared to the natives as Punch
looks to English children. The women were even more anxious than the
men to get a good look. Every one was especially curious to see the
Dutchmen drink, for it was generally believed that they tucked their
noses up over their ears when they drank. The size and prominence of
the nasal organ of a Caucasian first strikes a Turanian with awe and
fear. Thousands of people no doubt learned, for the first time, that
the western “devils” were men after all, and ate decent food and not
earthworms and toads. Some of the women, so Hamel flattered himself,
even went so far as to admire the fair complexions and ruddy cheeks of
the Dutchmen. At the palace, the king (Yo-chong, who reigned from 1648
to 1658) improved the opportunity for a little fun. It was too good a
show not to see how the animals could perform. The Dutchmen laughed,
sang, danced, leaped, and went through miscellaneous performances for
His Majesty’s benefit. For this they were rewarded with choice drink
and refreshments. They were then assigned to the body-guard of the king
as petty officers, and an allowance of rice was set apart for their
maintenance. Chinese and Dutchmen drilled and commanded the palace
troops, who were evidently the flower of the army. During their
residence at the capital the Hollanders learned many things about the
country and people, and began to be able to talk in the “Coresian”
language.
The ignorance and narrowness of the Coreans were almost incredible.
They could not believe what the captives told them of the size of the
earth. “How could it be possible,” said they, in sneering incredulity,
“that the sun can shine on all the many countries you tell us of at
once?” Thinking the foreigners told exaggerated lies, they fancied that
the “countries” were only counties and the “cities” villages. To them
Corea was very near the centre of the earth, which was China.
The cold was very severe. In November the river was frozen over, and
three hundred loaded horses passed over it on the ice.
After they had been in Seoul three years, the “Tartar” (Manchiu)
ambassador visited Seoul, but before his arrival the captives were sent
away to a fort, distant six or seven leagues, to be kept until the
ambassador left, which he did in March. This fort stood on a mountain,
called Numma, which required three hours to ascend. In time of war the
king sought shelter within it, and it was kept provisioned for three
years. Hamel does not state why he and his companions were sent away,
but it was probably to conceal the fact that foreigners were drilling
the royal troops. The suspicions of the new rulers at Peking were
easily roused.
When the Manchiu envoy was about to leave Seoul, some of the prisoners
determined to put in execution a plan of escape. They put on Dutch
clothes, under their Corean dress, and awaited their opportunity. As
the envoy was on the road about to depart, some of them seized the
bridle of his horse, and displaying their Dutch clothing, begged him to
take them to Peking. The plan ended in failure. The Dutchmen were
seized and thrown into prison. Nothing more was ever heard of them, and
it was believed by their companions that they had been put to death.
This was in March.
In June there was another shipwreck off Quelpart Island, and Weltevree
being now too old to make the journey, three of the Hollanders were
sent to act as interpreters. Hamel does not give us the result of their
mission.
The Manchiu ambassador came again to Seoul in August. The nobles urged
the king to put the Hollanders to death, and have no more trouble with
them. His Majesty refused, but sent them back into Chulla, allowing
them each fifty pounds of rice a month for their support.
They set out from Seoul in March, 1657, on horseback, passing through
the same towns as on their former journey. Reaching the castle-city of
“Diu-siong,” they were joined by their three comrades sent to
investigate the wreck at Quelpart, which made their number
thirty-three. Their chief occupation was that of keeping the castle and
official residence in order—an easy and congenial duty for the neat and
order-loving Dutchmen.
Hamel learned many of the ideas of the natives. They represented their
country as in the form of a long square, “in shape like a
playing-card”—perhaps the Dutchmen had a pack with them to beguile the
tedium of their exile. Certain it is that they still kept the arms and
flag of Orange, to be used again.
The exiles were not treated harshly, though in one case, after a change
of masters, the new magistrate “afflicted them with fresh crosses.”
This “rotation in office” was evidently on account of the change on the
throne. Yo-chong ceased to reign in 1658, and “a new king arose who
knew not Joseph.” Yen-chong succeeded his father, reigning from 1658 to
1676.
Two large comets appearing in the sky with their tails toward each
other, frightened the Coreans, and created intense alarm. The army was
ordered out, the guards were doubled, and no fires were allowed to be
kindled along the coast, lest they might attract or guide invaders or a
hostile force. In the last few decades, comets had appeared, said the
Coreans, and in each case they had presaged war. In the first, the
Japanese invasions from the east, and, in the second, the Manchius from
the west. They anxiously asked the Dutchmen how comets were regarded in
Holland, and probably received some new ideas in astronomy. No war,
however, followed, and the innocent comets gradually shrivelled up out
of sight, without shaking out of their fiery hair either pestilence or
war.
The Dutchmen saw many whales blowing off the coast, and in December
shoals of herring rushed by, keeping up an increasing stream of life
until January, when it slackened, and in March ceased. The whales made
sad havoc in these shoals, gorging themselves on the small fry. These
are the herring which arrive off the coast of Whang-hai, and feed on
the banks and shoals during the season. The catching of them affords
lucrative employment to hundreds of junks from North China.
From their observations, the Dutchmen argued—one hundred and twenty
years before La Perouse demonstrated the fact—that there must be a
strait north of Corea, connecting with the Arctic Ocean, like that of
Waigats (now called the Strait of Kara), between Nova Zemla and the
island lying off the northwestern end of Russia. They thus conjectured
the existence of the Straits of Tartary, west of Saghalin, before they
appeared on any European map. Waigats was discovered by the Englishman,
Stephen Burroughs, who had been sent out by the Muscovy company to find
a northwest passage to China. Their mention of it shows that they were
familiar with the progress of polar research, since it was discovered
in 1556, only seven years before they left Holland. It had even at that
time, however, become a famous hunting-place for whalers and herring
fishers.
These marine studies of the captives, coupled with the fact that they
had before attempted to escape, may have aroused the suspicions of the
government. In February, 1663, by orders from Seoul, they were
separated and put in three different towns. Twelve went to “Saysiano,”
five to Siun-schien, and five to Namman, their numbers being now
reduced to twenty-two. Two of these places are easily found on the
Japanese map. During all the years of their captivity, they seem not to
have known anything of the Japanese at Fusan, nor the latter of them.
Though thus scattered, the men were occasionally allowed to visit each
other, which they did, enjoying each other’s society, sweetened with
pipes and tobacco, and Hamel devoutly adds that “it was a great mercy
of God that they enjoyed good health.” A new governor having been
appointed over them, evidently was possessed with the idea of testing
the skill of the bearded foreigners, with a view of improving the art
productions of the country. He set the Dutchmen to work at moulding
clay—perhaps to have some pottery and tiles after Dutch patterns, and
the Delft system of illustrating the Bible at the fireplace. This was
so manifestly against the national policy of making no improvements on
anything, that the poor governor lost his place and suffered
punishment. The spies informed on him to the king. An explosion of
power took place, the ex-governor received ninety strokes on his
shin-bones, and was disgraced from rank and office. The quondam
improvers of the ceramic art of Corea were again set to work at pulling
up grass and other menial duties about the official residence.
As the years passed on, the poor exiles were in pitiful straits. Their
clothing had been worn to tatters, and they were reduced even to
beggary. They were accustomed to go off in companies to seek alms of
the people, for two or three weeks at a time. Those left at home,
during these trips, worked at various odd jobs to earn a pittance,
especially at making arrows. The next year, 1664, was somewhat easier
for them, their overseer being kind and gentle; but, in 1665, the
homesick fellows tried hard to escape. In 1666, they lost their
benefactor, the good governor. Now came the time for flight.
All possible preparations were made, in the way of hoarding provisions,
getting fresh water ready, and studying well the place of exit. They
waited for the sickness or absence of their overseer, to slacken the
vigilance of their guards.
In the latter part of August, or early in September, 1667, as the
fourteenth year of their captivity was drawing to a close, the governor
fell sick. The Dutchmen, taking time by the forelock, immediately, as
soon as dark, on the night of September 4th, climbed the city wall, and
reaching the seaside succeeded, after some parleying, in getting a
boat. “A Corean, blinded by the offer of double the value of it,” sold
them his fishing craft. They returned again to the city. At night they
crept along the city wall, and this time the dogs were asleep, absent,
or to windward, though the Dutchmen’s hearts were in their mouths all
the time. They carried pots of rice and water, and that darling of a
Dutchman—the frying-pan. Noiselessly they slipped the wood and stone
anchor, and glided out past the junks and boats in the harbor, none of
the crews waking from their mats.
They steered directly southeast, and on the 6th found themselves in a
current off the Goto Islands. They succeeded in landing, and cooked
some food. Not long after, some armed natives (probably from the
lingering influence of the comet) approached them cautiously, as the
Japanese feared they were Coreans, and forerunners of an invading band.
Hamel at once pulled out their flag, having the arms and colors of the
Prince of Orange. Surrendering themselves, they stated their history,
and condition, and their desire of getting home. The Japanese were
kind, “but made no return for the gifts” of the Dutchmen. They finally
got to Nagasaki in Japanese junks, and met their countrymen at Déshima.
The annual ship from Batavia was then just about to return, and in the
nick of time the waifs got on board, reached Batavia November 20th,
sailed for Holland December 28th, and on July 20, 1668, stepped ashore
at home.
Hamel, the supercargo of the ship, wrote a book on his return,
recounting his adventures in a simple and straightforward style. It was
written in Dutch and shortly after translated into French, German, and
English. Four editions in Dutch are known. The English version may be
found in full in the Astley, and in the Pinkerton, Collections of
Voyages and Travels.
The French translator indulges in skepticism concerning Hamel’s
narrative, questioning especially his geographical statements. Before a
map of Corea, with the native sounds even but approximated, it will be
seen that Hamel’s story is a piece of downright unembroidered truth. It
is indeed to be regretted that this actual observer of Corean life,
people, and customs gave us so little information concerning them.
The fate of the other survivors of the Sparrowhawk crew was never
known. Perhaps it never will be learned, as it is not likely that the
Coreans would take any pains to mark the site of their graves. Yet as
the tomb of Will Adams was found in Japan, by a reader of Hildreth’s
book, so perhaps some inquiring foreigner in Corea may discover the
site of the graves of these exiles, and mark their resting-places.
There is no improbability in supposing that other missing vessels,
previous to the second half of the nineteenth century, shared the fate
of the Sparrowhawk. The wrecks, burned for the sake of the iron, would
leave no trace; while perhaps many shipwrecked men have pined in
captivity, and dying lonely in a strange land have been put in unmarked
graves.
At this point, we bring to an end our sketch of the ancient and
mediæval history of Corea. Until the introduction of Christianity into
the peninsula, the hermit nation was uninfluenced by any ideas which
the best modern life claims as its own. As with the whole world, so
with its tiny fraction Corea, the door of ancient history shut, and the
gate of modern history opened, when the religion of Jesus moved the
hearts and minds of men. We now glance at the geography, politics,
social life, and religion of the Coreans; after which we shall narrate
the story of their national life from the implanting of Christianity
until their rivulet of history flowed into the stream of the world’s
history.
II.
POLITICAL AND SOCIAL COREA.