The Abomination of desolation—Across Korea—The east
coast—Fishing and filth
The peace, piety, and sublime earnestness of the monks of the monasteries
of Yu-chom and Chang-an is in startling contrast to the state of things
at Shin-ki-sa. The magnificence of Yu-chom-sa, and the charitable
benevolence of Chang-an-sa, engender a mood of sympathetic appreciation
and toleration towards those, whose lives are dedicated to the service
of Buddha, in these isolated retreats of the Diamond Mountains. The
spectacle presented by the monastery at the north-eastern base of the
Keum-kang-san, however, reveals the existence of certain evils which
happily do not disfigure the more important Buddhist centres in this
region. It is not time which alone has brought about the disorder; nor
would the material decay be so lamentable if the dignity and charm of a
picturesque ruin were not lacking. The tone of the monks here is totally
different. Everything is neglected, and every one is indifferent to the
needs of the temples. A litter of broken tiles lies about the buildings;
dirt and dust, the natural consequences of carelessness and neglect,
disgrace them within. The spirit of reverence is wanting. The scene is
changed.
Shin-ki is a small monastery. Perhaps its temples have never been
comparable with the shrines of Yu-chom-sa in grace and beauty. Nothing,
however, can excuse the disorder and neglect of its court-yards, and the
slovenliness of the temple service. There seems to be nothing in common
between this and those other monasteries, which rest within the heart
of the ranges. One looks in vain for the courtly dignity of the aged
Abbot of Yu-chom-sa, whose humanitarian spirit was so impressive. The
principles of consideration, politeness, and devotion that govern his
conduct are sadly lacking in the Abbot, the priests, and monks attached
to Shin-ki-sa. The contrast is indeed great. The most painful emotions
are excited by the decline which has taken place in the prosperity of
the temples. Anger and sorrow fill the soul. As one gazes beyond the
temples into the peace and beauty of the valley below, it is as if one
were looking across from a place of abomination into another and a better
world. The colourless skeleton of the past alone remains, and one longs
for the power to restore the fabric to its former self.
In its setting the monastery has caught something of the spirit of
nature. If there is any compensating element in its decadence, it is
found in the wild beauty of the rugged mountains, which tower above it
from across the valley. Beyond their granite faces lie the trials and
tribulations of the outer world; once enclosed within their grey embrace
the little ironies of life disappear. The hours are cool and undisturbed.
Primeval forests adorn the deep gullies of the ranges; a flood of colour
comes from the open spaces where wild flowers are growing and the tints
of the woodland foliage disclose an endless variety of green. In the
centre of a patch, cleared of its undergrowth and approached by a path
winding through deep woods, is Mum-sa-am. This retreat is given over to
the twenty nuns who are associated with Shin-ki-sa. I know nothing of
their lives, but from the state of their temples, and the roughness and
disorder of their surroundings, it did not appear to me that they, any
more than the sixty priests, monks, and boys of the lower monastery, find
the tenets of Buddha very elevating, or derive much satisfaction from the
surrounding scenery.
[Illustration: SHIN-KI-SA]
The history of our days in the more important monasteries of the Diamond
Mountains was uneventful. The anxious care and solicitude of the monks
for the welfare of their guests was hourly manifested, and some kindly
attention was shown to us at every possible opportunity. Cool and lofty
quarters were allotted for our entertainment; the resources of the
monastery were placed at our disposal. The Abbot of Chang-an-sa prepared
draughts of honey-water and cakes of pine-seeds for our refreshment.
Every morning supplies of honey, rice, and flour, and small bundles of
fresh vegetables were brought to the table; throughout the day nothing
was left undone, which, in the minds of these simple men, would be
conducive to our comfort. A deep pool in the tumbling mountain-stream
was reserved for our use, and when, in the fresh air of the morning, and
again when the cool winds of the evening had tempered the heat of the
day, we went to bathe, the Abbot, upon his own initiative, arranged that
we should be left in undisturbed possession of the water-hole.
The Temple, which we occupied during our stay at Chang-an-sa, contained
The Altar of the Three Buddhas. The building was spacious and impressive.
A wide verandah surrounded it, teak pillars supported a massive roof;
scrolls and allegorical pictures, illustrating incidents in the life of
Buddha, decorated the wall. Layers of oiled paper carpeted the floor;
an altar cloth of silk, richly embroidered, small mats, bronze incense
bowls and brass candelabra, embellished the altar, in the centre of which
was a large gilt image of the Three Buddhas. Every evening at sunset,
the monks who officiated in this Temple placed bowls of rice, honey, and
pine-seed cakes upon the altar, and lighted the small lamps and candles
which illuminated it. Prayers were not always said, nor were the services
always the same, the numbers of the monks varying nightly according to
the character of the special office. When the services concluded, there
were many who found something to attract them in our small encampment.
They gathered round the kitchen; they assisted the interpreter to cook,
and tasted his dishes. They handled with amazement the cooking utensils
of a camp-kitchen, the cutlery of a traveller’s table. Occasionally, as
their increasing familiarity brought about some small degree of intimacy
between us, the monks would display their beads and alms-bowls for our
inspection, requesting our acceptance of copies of their books in return
for photographs of their temples. The intricacies of a camera delighted
them, the appearance of a sporting rifle created consternation in their
breasts, and they were never tired of swinging in my camp-bed.
[Illustration: THE ABBOT AND MONKS OF CHANG-AN-SA]
Before the camp at Chang-an-sa was shifted to Yu-chom-sa, a fast
friendship, engendered by many kindly acts and the uninterrupted
expression of a thoughtful consideration for our needs, sprung up between
the monks and ourselves. They consulted us about their ailments, which
usually took the shape of an acute attack of indigestion or a form of
intermittent dysentery. My medicines were limited to some quinine pills
and a bottle of fruit salts; they accepted either prescription with
gratitude and much melancholy philosophy. But although they remained
always the same well-disposed visitors to our camp, I noted that they did
not frequently present themselves as candidates for treatment again. When
the moment came for our departure, many small gifts were pressed upon us.
For a long time, too, it seemed as if it would be impossible to obtain an
account of our indebtedness to the monastery. In the end the persuasion
of the interpreter prevailed. When we added to the reckoning a few
dollars for the funds of the monastery, the expressions of gratitude and
appreciation, to which our little gift gave rise, made it almost possible
to believe that the kindness and hospitality shown had been all on our
side.
Our quarters at Yu-chom-sa were in no sense inferior, and none the
less delightful in their situation, to those which we left behind at
Chang-an-sa. The guest-house in Yu-chom-sa affords views of the mountain
torrent as it dashes through the boulder-strewn, tree-clad slopes of
the valley. At Chang-an-sa we camped beneath the protecting eaves of
the spacious verandah which surrounds the Temple of The Three Buddhas,
avoiding whenever possible any general use of the sacred edifice. In the
case of Yu-chom-sa, this diffidence was unnecessary; the building placed
at our disposal being that usually set aside for the requirements of
those persons of official position who might be visiting the monastery.
The apartments were clean, comfortable, and bright. They were hung
with tablets, upon which had been inscribed the names and dignities of
previous visitors. High walls enclosed the buildings, and massive gates
preserved the compound from unexpected intrusion. The life in these
encampments is one of ideal peace and happiness. It was possible to work
undisturbed and unprovoked by any harrowing influences. Indeed, there
was no suggestion of any other existence. We lived in the seclusion of
a sanctuary, where mortal misgivings had not penetrated, and where the
tribulations, which oppress mankind, were unknown.
Beyond Shin-ki-sa, a journey of fifteen _li_, a well-made road leads
east north-east to the coast, which it touches at Syöng-chik. The sight
and scent of the sea, after the exhausting discomforts of Shin-ki-sa,
was peculiarly welcome. Between Yu-chom-sa and Shin-ki-sa the country is
intersected with marshes and rice-fields. The difficulties of marching
through these bogs and mud-holes greatly impeded the horses. The road
by the coast, if rough and stony in places, is at least free from these
obstacles, affording a tortuous, but none the less pleasant, course.
Wending across basaltic slopes, ascending their smooth surfaces by a
series of roughly-hewn steps, it drops to a level of burnished sand.
A sweep inland to the west and south-west avoids the rugged spurs
of a neighbouring range. The sea licks the white sand with gentle
murmurs and the slight breeze scarcely ripples the blue surface, the
constant variations, which the golden sands and glittering sea, the
open valleys and green hills present, adding to the charm and freshness
of the journey. The feeling of isolation, inseparable from travel in
regions where the sense of freedom is shut out by a world of enclosing
mountains, is at once lost in contact with the ocean and the ships that
go down to it. Far out, in the great expanse of the peaceful sea, were
fishing-boats, grey junks, hull down upon the horizon, their brown sails
bellying spasmodically in the fitful gusts of the breeze. In the shallows
off-shore men, brown and naked, dragged for herring and sprat while
their children gathered crabs, diving after their victims in the deep
pools with screams of delight.
Around the hovels, in all these clusters of small villages by the waves,
men slept in the blazing sunshine. While their lords reposed, the women
mended the rents in the nets, or busied themselves in constructing
crude traps, with the aid of which their husbands contrived to catch
fish. The aspect of these villages upon the beach was not inviting;
and they did not compare favourably with any of the inland villages
through which we had passed. They were dirty, tumble-down, and untidy;
the appearance of the people suggested great personal uncleanliness.
The air was laden with the smell of fish drying in the sun—of itself a
pleasant perfume, smacking of the salt of the sea—but here so mingled
with the odours of decaying offal, piles of rubbish, and varieties of
fish and seaweed in different stages of decomposition that the condensed
effluvium was sickening. The people, however, were neither curious nor
unkindly; for the great part they were indifferent, offering baskets
of fresh eggs, fish, and chickens readily for sale. The beach by these
villages was black with rows of fish, drying, upon the white sand, in
the most primitive fashion. The art of smoking fish is unknown, and the
careless manner in which the curing is done proves that the treatment has
neither principle nor system. Dogs lay upon these rows of fish, fowls
feed undisturbed off them, and, in many places, men slept peacefully with
a number of them heaped together, to serve as pillows for their weary
heads. Where such neglect prevails, it is perhaps not unnatural that much
of the disease among the Koreans should be attributed to the dried fish
which they eat so greedily.
The trade in salted and sun-dried fish is extensive and finds its way
all over the kingdom; an overland traffic of considerable importance
exists with the capital. Strings or stacks of dried fish are to be seen
in every village. Pack ponies, and coolies laden with loads of dried
fish, are met upon every road in the kingdom. The pedestrian who “humps
his own swag” almost always carries a small stock with him. The parallel
industry to the business of curing fish is the operation of making salt
from sea-water, a pursuit which is conducted in a manner equally rough
and casual. In both of these industries there is a crying need for simple
technical instruction, as well as for capital, the lack of which hinders
the work from achieving any particular success. There is so much fish
in the sea along the coast, that, if the catches were properly treated,
the beginning of a prosperous export trade could be readily laid. At the
present only a bare sufficiency is secured, the days of prosperity not
yet having begun to dawn. The industry is completely paralysed by the
exactions of the officials; the fishermen, like the peasants, knowing
only too well that an immunity from the demands of the _Yamen_ is found
only in a condition of extreme poverty.
Many fishing villages were passed through in the journey from the Diamond
Mountains. Each seemed to reflect the other, the sole difference between
them lying in their size, the number of fishing-boats drawn up on the
beach, the strength and density of their smells. The poverty and squalor
of these hamlets was astonishing. The people seemed without spirit,
content to live an idle, slatternly existence in sleeping, yawning, and
eating by turns. Despite offers of payment, it was impossible to secure
their services in a day’s fishing, although they generally admitted that
the boats, nets, and lines were not otherwise engaged. As the outcome
of this spirit of indifference among the natives, Japanese fishermen are
rapidly securing for themselves the fishing-grounds off the coast. Unless
these dreary, meditative, and dirty people arouse themselves soon, the
business of fishing in their own waters will have passed altogether from
their hands. The Japanese catch fish at all seasons; the Koreans at one
only—when it suits them. They have consequently a diminishing influence
in a trade so exceedingly profitable that some ten thousand Japanese
fishing-boats subsist by it.
[Illustration: A FAIR MAGICIAN]
The filthy condition of the villages renders any stay in them perilous.
It is wiser to camp beyond them in the open. It was my misfortune to
stay in several, but in the village of Wha-ding, seventy-five _li_ from
Won-san, the virulence and variety of the insects surpassed all my
experience in Australia, America, Africa, or Asia. Fleas were everywhere;
they floated through the atmosphere, much as the north-west winds of
New Zealand and the hot winds of Africa drive particles of fine sand
through the air. In this case, however, nothing remained without its
thin penetrating covering of fleas. One night in Wha-ding stands out as
the most awful of these experiences. It was impossible to stand; it was
impossible to sit; sleep was out of the question. We shook our clothes;
we bathed and washed and powdered. Every effort was a torture, and
each precaution increased the ironies of the situation. To add to the
plagues of this accursed place, we were deafened by the ear-splitting
incantations of a sorcerer, who had been hired by the proprietor of the
village inn to exorcise a devil that had bewitched him. We wondered,
afterwards, whether this accounted for the damnable activity among the
vermin. After a futile attempt to come to terms with the magician by
bribery and corruption through the medium of my interpreter, it was
arranged that one of the grooms should represent the evil spirit. He
passed out into the desolation of the night and howled plaintively, while
we, having collected the elders and the necromancer, solemnly fired our
revolvers into the darkness at the departing spirit. Unfortunately, we
did not convince the wizard that the devil had been expelled. It was not
until, losing my temper and my reason together, I dropped his gongs and
cymbals down a well, depositing him in it after them, that we were rid of
the agonies of this additional nuisance.
[Illustration: WITHOUT THE WALLS OF SEOUL]