THE COREAN TIGER.
The one royal quadruped associated with Corea, as the white elephant is
with Siam, the bison with the United States, or the dromedary with
Egypt, is the tiger. Unlike his relative in India that roams in the hot
jungles and along the river bottoms, the Corean “king of the mountains”
is seen oftenest in the snow and forests of the north, ranging as far
as the fiftieth parallel.
Both actually and ideally the tiger is the symbol of power and
fierceness. The flag of the tiger-hunters, from the northern provinces
of Ping-an or Ham-kiung, who so bravely faced the rifles of the United
States marines and sailors in “our little war with the heathen,” in
1871, was a winged tiger rampant, spitting fire, holding the lightnings
in his lifted fore-claws, and thus embodying the powers of earth, air,
and heaven. It reminds one of the winged leopard in the vision of
Daniel, “After this, I beheld, and lo another like a leopard, which had
upon the back of it four wings of a fowl.” It is the tutelary genius of
the descendants of the aboriginal worshippers of the tiger, who even
yet cling to the religion of the soil. [11]
The caps of the body-guard of the sovereign are decorated with the
cheek and whiskers of the tiger, in order to inspire terror among
beholders. The Corean beauty carries among the jewelry and “charms” in
the reticule at her waist, a claw of the dreaded pem or tiger, nor can
the hardy mountaineer put in the hand of his bride a more eloquent
proof of his valor than one of these weapons of a man-eater. It means
even more than the edelweiss of other mountain lands. On the floors of
the better class of houses the tiger-skin rug not only adorns the best
room, but makes the children’s play-ground, or the baby’s cushion in
lieu of cradles, which are unknown. The soft hair of these natural rugs
is often a finger long. Curious toys are made of the fur.
The most prized articles among the tribute offerings (in these days,
rather a “bonus” or bribe, than a tax or humiliation) presented at the
court of Peking, as of old at Kiōto or Yedo, are these gorgeous pelts.
One of them, which the writer saw recently, the property of a Japanese
merchant, measured twelve feet long, exclusive of the tail. The symbol
of military rank in old Japan, as indicative as our shoulder-straps,
was a tiger-skin scabbard. Especially was it honorable to wear it if
captured with one’s own hands on “frontier service.” The hair of these
animals seems to have more of a woolly quality than those from India,
while the orange tint is far less predominant, white taking its place.
The black bars are, however, of equal magnificence with the tropical
product, and the tail seems to be rather longer. Some idea of the great
numbers and awful ravages of these huge felidæ in the two northern
provinces of the Peninsular Kingdom, may be gained from the common
saying of the Chinese that “the Coreans hunt the tiger during one half
the year and the tigers hunt the Coreans during the other half.” The
Coreans retort by the proverb born of the desolation that has so often
followed the presence of a Chinese army on their soil, whether as
invaders or allies: “After the Chinese, the tigers.” As a single man
can create the gigantic spectre of the Brocken, so in the national
literature this one animal seems to have cast a measureless shadow of
evil influence upon this hermit nation. From the most ancient times it
has been an object of religious reverence. “They also worshipped the
tiger, which they looked on as a god,” was written of the people living
on the sea of Japan before the Christian era. “They had also the
many-spotted leopard.” A few of the national proverbs will illustrate
the amount of attention which the subject receives in daily life, in
art, religion, and language, and how often it serves to point the
morals and adorn the tales told around Corean hearths. “A wooden
tiger,” is the ass in the lion’s skin.
“A broken-backed tiger” describes impotent and raging malice.
“To give wings to a tiger,” is to add shrewdness to force.
“If you don’t enter the tiger’s lair, you can’t get her cubs,” is said
to spur on the faint heart, “to beard the tiger in his cave.”
“A tiger’s repast,” describes excess in eating, or the gorging which
follows after fasting. “To nourish a tiger, and have him devour you,”
probably states a common fact of history, as well as it depicts
ingratitude. “If you tread on the tail of a tiger, you’ll know it,”
explains itself. “It is hard to let go the tail of a tiger,” suggests
our “fire” after the “frying-pan,” or the “other horn of the dilemma;”
while over-cautious people “in avoiding a deer, meet a tiger.” Men of
irascible temper or violent disposition are given the pet name of
maing-ho, which means an unusually ferocious tiger or “man-eater.”
Corean shrewdness utilizes the phenomena of local experience, and
equals the craft of the sellers of Joseph. So common is the
disappearance of a villager through visitations of the tiger, that the
standard method of escaping creditors or processes of law is to leave
bits of one’s torn clothes in the woods, and then to abscond. Obliging
friends or relatives quickly report, “Devoured by a tiger,” and too
often it is believed that “Joseph is without doubt rent in pieces.”
This local substitute for our former G. T. T., or the usual trip to
Europe, is especially fashionable in places where “tigers as big as a
mountain” are plentiful. To drive away the dreaded kal-pem, the people
invoke the aid of the tu-e′, a fabulous monster, which is the enemy of
the tiger, and which the latter greatly fears. The cry of his name
tu-e′, tu-e′, is believed to act as a charm, and is often raised by
villagers at night.
In art, though the native picture-maker may draw a lion in such
preposterous shape and with such impossible attributes as to show at
once that no living model was ever before his eyes, yet in those
pictures of the tiger drawn by Corean artists which we have examined,
accuracy and vigor of treatment predominate over artistic grace.
The hunters who are familiar with every habit, trait of character, and
physical detail of the species, carefully distinguish his parts and
varieties. Ho-rang-i is the generic name for the felis tigris. Kal-pem,
is a mature fellow in full claw, scratchy and ferocious. Maing-ho is a
large one of unusual size and in the full rampancy of his vigor.
Mil-pal is an old brute that can no longer scratch, and is most
probably mangy, and well gouged and scarred from numerous household
quarrels and frequent tussles with rivals. Pi-ho is one agile in
turning tail to escape, rather than in showing teeth to fight—the term
being sometimes applied to the leopard. San-tol is a huge fellow that
makes annual visits to one place, making his lightning strike more than
once in the same spot. Siyo-ho is a little, and hal-pem is a female,
tiger. A “stone” tigress is sterile. Special terms suggestive, and even
poetical, for the murders, calamities, or ravages of the beast, for
traps or ditches, for the skin, tail (used for banners and
spear-sheaths), beard, moustaches, and the noises of purring, growling,
nocturnal caterwauling, and even for lashing the tail, enrich and
vivify the Chō-sen vocabulary.
Tiger-shooting is not a favorite sport among the nobles or young
bloods. Hunting in general is considered a servile occupation. Nobles,
except those of a few poor families in the northern provinces, never
practise it as sport. Yet it is free to all. There are no game laws, no
proscription of arms, no game preserves, no seasons interdicted.
The only animal which it is forbidden to kill is the falcon, whose life
is protected by stringent laws. From the most ancient times this bird
of the golden wing has been held in high honor. The hunting-grounds are
almost entirely among the mountains, as the valleys are too densely
occupied with rice and millet fields and cultivated soil, to allow game
to exist or be hunted. The chief weapon used is the flint-lock,
imported from Japan. With this a single hunter will attack the huge
game, although the animal, when not immediately killed, leaps right
upon his enemy and easily makes him his prey. When a tiger has caused
great ravages in a district, the local magistrate calls together all
the professional hunters and organizes a hunt in the mountains. In such
cases, the chase is usually, and of intent, without results; for the
skin is the property of the government, and the official always looks
out for himself, coming in first for the spoils. Hence it is that a
government hunt is usually a farce. Most of the tiger-hunters prefer to
meet the royal game alone, for then the prized skin, which they sell
secretly, is theirs. They eat the meat, and the bones stripped and
boiled make various medicines.
The number of human lives lost, and the value of property destroyed by
their ravages, is so great as at times to depopulate certain districts.
A hungry tiger will often penetrate a village in which the houses are
well secured, and will prowl around a hovel or ill-secured dwelling,
during several entire nights. If hunger presses he will not raise the
siege until he leaps upon the thatched roof. Through the hole thus made
by tearing through, he bounds upon the terrified household. In this
case a hand-to-claw fight ensues, in which the tiger is killed or comes
off victorious after glutting himself upon one or more human victims.
Rarely, however, need this king of Corean beasts resort to this
expedient, for such is the carelessness of the villagers that in spite
of the man-eater’s presence in their neighborhood, they habitually
sleep during the summer with the doors of their houses wide open, and
oftentimes even in the sheds in the open fields without dreaming of
taking the precaution to light a fire.
This sense of security is especially apt to follow after a grand hunt
successfully pursued. Then the prey is supposed to have been all killed
off in the vicinity or driven to the distant mountains. The Coreans are
as careless of tigers as the Japanese are of fires. Sometimes the tiger
is caught in a snare, without danger and by very simple means. A deep
pit is covered over with branches, leaves, and earth. At the bottom a
sharp stake is set up. This, however, is only rarely used. During the
winter the snow is half frozen over and strong enough to bear the
weight of a man, but is broken through by the paws of the tiger. The
beast sinks to the belly, and not being able to move fast, or escape,
is as helpless as a fly in molasses. It is then apparently quite easy
to approach the creature at bay, though woe be to the hunter who is too
sure of his prey. To be well-equipped for this method of mountain
sport, the hunter must have a short sword, lance, and snow-shoes. These
sel-mai, or racquettes, are of slightly curved elastic board, well
fitted with loops and thongs. With dogs, trained to the work, the
san-chang (lanceman) starts the game, and following up the trail
usually finishes him with a thrust of his spear; or, in bravado, with a
sword-stroke. This method of sport was the favorite one pursued by the
Japanese invaders. Though occasionally a man-at-arms was chewed up, or
clawed into ribbons, scores of glossy skins were carried back to Nippon
as trophies by the veterans. Indeed, it may be said, to most Japanese
children, the nearest country west of them has no other association in
their minds than as a land of tigers. At Gensan, the merchants from
Tōkiō had their dreary homesickness, about the time of their first New
Year’s season in the strange land, rather unpleasantly enlivened by the
advent of several striped man-eaters. These promenaded the settlement
at night, and seemed highly desirous of tasting a Japanese, after
having already feasted on several natives. The prospect of playing
Little Red Riding Hood to a whiskered man-eater was not a very pleasant
experience, though a possible one at any time. A tiger ten feet long
can easily stow away two five-feet Japanese without grievous symptoms
of indigestion. For an untrained hand, even when armed with a
Winchester breech-loader, to attempt hunting this Corean emblem of
power is not attractive sport. The tiger is more apt to hunt the man,
for elephants are not at hand to furnish the shelter of their backs.
The Japanese do not seem to hanker after tiger-claws or skins while in
the flesh, but prefer to buy for cash over their own counters at
Gensan. The “crop” of these costly pelts averages five hundred a year
at this one port.
Few experiences tend more to develop all the manly virtues than facing
a tiger on foot in his native wilds. The Coreans know this, and in
their lack of drilled troops capable of meeting the soldiers of
Europe—their “army” consisting almost entirely of archers, spearmen,
and jingal-firers—they summoned the tiger-hunters from Ping-an to fight
the Frenchmen of Admiral Roze’s expedition of 1866. Underrating their
enemy, the Frenchmen, in attempting to storm a fortified monastery
garrisoned by the hunters, were completely defeated. When the marines
and sailors of the American naval expedition of 1871 assaulted “Fort
McKee,” after it had been swept by the shells of the fleet, they were
amazed at the stern courage of their dark-visaged enemies, who, with
matchlock, spear, and sword, fought against the shells and
breech-loaders to the last. The Americans speak admiringly of these
brave fellows, so worthy of their lead and steel.