Korea's Fight for Freedom

by Fred A. McKenzie

VIII

A JOURNEY TO THE "RIGHTEOUS ARMY"

It was in the autumn of 1906. The Korean Emperor had been deposed and his army disbanded. The people of Seoul, sullen, resentful, yet powerless, victims of the apathy and folly of their sires, and of their own indolence, saw their national existence filched from them, and scarce dared utter a protest. The triumphant Japanese soldiers stood at the city gates and within the palace. Princes must obey their slightest wish, even to the cutting of their hair and the fashioning of their clothes. General Hasegawa's guns commanded every street, and all men dressed in white need walk softly.

But it soon became clear that there were men who had not taken the filching of their national independence lightly. Refugees from distant villages, creeping after nightfall over the city wall, brought with them marvellous tales of the happenings in the provinces. District after district, they said, had risen against the Japanese. A "Righteous Army" had been formed, and was accomplishing amazing things. Detachments of Japanese had been annihilated and others driven back. Sometimes the Japanese, it is true, were victorious, and then they took bitter vengeance, destroying a whole countryside and slaughtering the people in wholesale fashion. So the refugees said.

How far were these stories true? I am bound to say that I, for one, regarded them with much scepticism. Familiar as I was with the offences of individual Japanese in the country, it seemed impossible that outrages could be carried on systematically by the Japanese Army under the direction of its officers. I was with a Japanese army during the war against Russia, and had marked and admired the restraint and discipline of the men of all ranks there. They neither stole nor outraged. Still more recently I had noted the action of the Japanese soldiers when repressing the uprising in Seoul itself. Yet, whether the stories of the refugees were true or false, undeniably some interesting fighting was going on.

By the first week in September it was clear that the area of trouble covered the eastern provinces from near Fusan to the north of Seoul. The rebels were evidently mainly composed of discharged soldiers and of hunters from the hills. We heard in Seoul that trained officers of the old Korean Army were drilling and organizing them into volunteer companies. The Japanese were pouring fresh troops into these centres of trouble, but the rebels, by an elaborate system of mountain-top signalling, were avoiding the troops and making their attacks on undefended spots. Reports showed that they were badly armed and lacked ammunition, and there seemed to be no effective organization for sending them weapons from the outside.

The first rallying-place of the malcontent Koreans was in a mountain district from eighty to ninety miles east of Seoul. Here lived many famous Korean tiger-hunters. These banded themselves together under the title of Eui-pyung (the "Righteous Army"). They had conflicts with small parties of Japanese troops and secured some minor successes. When considerable Japanese reinforcements arrived they retired to some mountain passes further back.

The tiger-hunters, sons of the hills, iron-nerved, and operating in their own country, were naturally awkward antagonists even for the best regular troops. They were probably amongst the boldest sportsmen in the world, and they formed the most picturesque and, romantic section of the rebels. Their only weapon was an old-fashioned percussion gun, with long barrel and a brass trigger seven to eight inches in length. Many of them fired not from the shoulder, but from the hip. They never missed. They could only fire one charge in an attack, owing to the time required to load. They were trained to stalk the tiger, to come quite close to it, and then to kill it at one shot The man who failed once died; the tiger attended to that.

Some of the stories of Korean successes reaching Seoul were at the best improbable. The tale of one fight, however, came to me through so many different and independent sources that there was reason to suspect it had substantial foundation. It recalled the doings of the people of the Tyrol in their struggle against Napoleon. A party of Japanese soldiers, forty-eight in number, were guarding a quantity of supplies from point to point. The Koreans prepared an ambuscade in a mountain valley overshadowed by precipitous hills on either side. When the troops reached the centre of the valley they were overwhelmed by a flight of great boulders rolled on them from the hilltops, and before the survivors could rally a host of Koreans rushed upon them and did them to death.

Proclamations by Koreans were smuggled into the capital. Parties of Japanese troops were constantly leaving Chinkokai, the Japanese quarter in Seoul, for the provinces. There came a public notice from General Hasegawa himself, which showed the real gravity of the rural situation. It ran as follows:—

"I, General Baron Yoshimichi Hasegawa, Commander of the Army of Occupation in Korea, make the following announcement to each and every one of the people of Korea throughout all the provinces. Taught by the natural trend of affairs in the world and impelled by the national need of political regeneration, the Government of Korea, in obedience to His Imperial Majesty's wishes, is now engaged in the task of reorganizing the various institutions of State. But those who are ignorant of the march of events in the world and who fail correctly to distinguish loyalty from treason have by wild and baseless rumours instigated people's minds and caused the rowdies in various places to rise in insurrection. These insurgents commit all sorts of horrible crimes, such as murdering peaceful people, both native and foreign, robbing their property, burning official and private buildings, and destroying means of communication. Their offences are such as are not tolerated by Heaven or earth. They affect to be loyal and patriotic and call themselves volunteers. But none the less they are lawbreakers, who oppose their Sovereign's wishes concerning political regeneration and who work the worst possible harm to their country and people.

"Unless they are promptly suppressed the trouble may assume really calamitous proportions. I am charged by His Majesty, the Emperor of Korea, with the task of rescuing you from such disasters by thoroughly stamping out the insurrection. I charge all of you, law-abiding people of Korea, to prosecute your respective peaceful avocations and be troubled with no fears. As for those who have joined the insurgents from mistaken motives, if they honestly repent and promptly surrender they will be pardoned of their offence. Any of you who will seize insurgents or will give information concerning their whereabouts will be handsomely rewarded. In case of those who wilfully join insurgents, or afford them refuge, or conceal weapons, they shall be severely punished. More than that, the villages to which such offenders belong shall be held collectively responsible and punished with rigour. I call upon each and every one of the people of Korea to understand clearly what I have herewith said to you and avoid all reprehensible action."

The Koreans in America circulated a manifesto directed against those of their countrymen who were working with Japan, under the expressive title of "explosive thunder," which breathed fury and vengeance. Groups of Koreans in the provinces issued other statements which, if not quite so picturesque, were quite forcible enough. Here is one:—

"Our numbers are twenty million, and we have over ten million strong men, excluding old, sick, and children. Now, the Japanese soldiers in Korea are not more than eight thousand, and Japanese merchants at various places are not more than some thousands. Though their weapons are sharp, how can one man kill a thousand? We beg you our brothers not to act in a foolish way and not to kill any innocent persons. We will fix the day and the hour for you to strike. Some of us, disguised as beggars and merchants, will go into Seoul. We will destroy the railway, we will kindle flames in every port, we will destroy Chinkokai, kill Ito and all the Japanese, Yi Wan-yong and his underlings, and will not leave a single rebel against our Emperor alive. Then Japan will bring out all her troops to fight us. We have no weapons at our hands, but we will keep our own patriotism. We may not be able to fight against the sharp weapons of the Japanese, but we will ask the Foreign Consuls to help us with their troops, and maybe they will assist the right persons and destroy the wicked; otherwise let us die. Let us strike against Japan, and then, if must be, all die together with our country and with our Emperor, for there is no other course open to us. It is better to lose our lives now than to live miserably a little time longer, for the Emperor and our brothers will all surely be killed by the abominable plans of Ito, Yi Wan-yong, and their associates. It is better to die as a patriot than to live having abandoned one's country. Mr. Yi Chun went to foreign lands to plead for our country, and his plans did not carry well, so he cut his stomach asunder with a sword and poured out his blood among the foreign nations to proclaim his patriotism to the world. These of our twenty million people who do not unite offend against the memory of Mr. Yi Chun. We have to choose between destruction or the maintenance of our country. Whether we live or die is a small thing, the great thing is that we make up our minds at once whether we work for or against our country."

A group of Koreans in the southern provinces petitioned Prince Ito, in the frankest fashion:—

"You spoke much of the kindness and friendship between Japan and Korea, but actually you have drawn away the profits from province after province and district after district until nothing is left wherever the hand of the Japanese falls. The Korean has been brought to ruin, and the Japanese shall be made to follow him downwards. We pity you very much; but you shall not enjoy the profits of the ruin of our land. When Japan and Korea fall together it will be a misfortune indeed for you. If you would secure safety for yourself follow this rule: memorialize our Majesty to impeach the traitors and put them to right punishment. Then every Korean will regard you with favour, and the Europeans will be loud in your praise. Advise the Korean authorities to carry out reforms in various directions, help them to enlarge the schools, and to select capable men for the Government service; then the three countries, Korea, China, and Japan, shall stand in the same line, strongly united and esteemed by foreign nations. If you will not do this, and if you continue to encroach on our rights, then we will be destroyed together, thanks to you.

"You thought there were no men left in Korea; you will see. We country people are resolved to destroy your railways and your settlements and your authorities. On a fixed day we shall send word to our patriots in the north, in the south, in Pyeng-yang and Kyung Sang, to rise and drive away all Japanese from the various ports, and although your soldiers are skillful with their guns it will be very hard for them to stand against our twenty million people. We will first attack the Japanese in Korea, but when we have finished them we will appeal to the Foreign Powers to assure the independence and freedom of our country. Before we send the word to our fellow-countrymen we give you this advice."

I resolved to try to see the fighting. This, I soon found, was easier attempted than done.

The first difficulty came from the Japanese authorities. They refused to grant me a passport, declaring that, owing to the disturbances, they could not guarantee my safety in the interior. An interview followed at the Residency-General, in which I was duly warned that if I travelled without a passport I would be liable, under International treaties, to "arrest at any point on the journey and punishment."

This did not trouble me very much. My real fear had been that the Japanese would consent to my going, but would insist on sending a guard of Japanese soldiers with me. It was more than doubtful if, at that time, the Japanese had any right to stop a foreigner from travelling in Korea, for the passport regulations had long been virtually obsolete. This was a point that I was prepared to argue out at leisure after my arrest and confinement in a Consular jail. So the preparations for my departure were continued.

The traveller in Korea, away from the railroads, must carry everything he wants with him, except food for his horses. He must have at least three horses or ponies: one for himself, one pack-pony, and one for his bedding and his "boy," Each pony needs its own "mafoo," or groom, to cook its food and to attend to it. So, although travelling lightly and in a hurry, I would be obliged to take two horses, one pony, and four attendants with me.

My friends in Seoul, both white and Korean, were of opinion that if I attempted the trip I would probably never return. Korean tiger-hunters and disbanded soldiers were scattered about the hills, waiting for the chance of pot-shots at passing Japanese. They would certainly in the distance take me for a Japanese, since the Japanese soldiers and leaders all wear foreign clothes, and they would make me their target before they found out their mistake. A score of suggestions were proffered as to how I should avoid this. One old servant of mine begged me to travel in a native chair, like a Korean gentleman. This chair is a kind of small box, carried by two or four bearers, in which the traveller sits all the time crouched up on his haunches. Its average speed is less than two miles an hour. I preferred the bullets. A member of the Korean Court urged me to send out messengers each night to the villages where I would be going next day, telling the people that I was "Yong guk ta-in" (Englishman) and so they must not shoot me. And so on and so forth.

This exaggerated idea of the risks of the trip unfortunately spread abroad. The horse merchant demanded specially high terms for the hire of his beasts, because he might never see them again. I needed a "boy," or native servant, and although there are plenty of "boys" in Seoul none at first was to be had.

I engaged one servant, a fine upstanding young Korean, Wo by name, who had been out on many hunting and mining expeditions. I noticed that he was looking uneasy, and I was scarcely surprised when at the end of the third day he came to me with downcast eyes. "Master," he said, "my heart is very much frightened. Please excuse me this time."

"What is there to be frightened about?" I demanded.

"Korean men will shoot you and then will kill me because my hair is cut"
The rebels were reported to be killing all men not wearing topknots.

Exit Wo. Some one recommended Han, also with a great hunting record. But when Han heard the destination he promptly withdrew. Sin was a good boy out of place. Sin was sent for, but forwarded apologies for not coming.

One Korean was longing to accompany me—my old servant in the war, Kim Min-gun. But Kim was in permanent employment and could not obtain leave. "Master," he said contemptuously, when he heard of the refusals, "these men plenty much afraid," At last Kim's master very kindly gave him permission to accompany me, and the servant difficulty was surmounted.

My preparations were now almost completed, provisions bought, horses hired, and saddles overhauled. The Japanese authorities had made no sign, but they knew what was going on. It seemed likely that they would stop me when I started out.

Then fortune favoured me. A cablegram arrived for me from London. It was brief and emphatic:—

"Proceed forthwith Siberia."

My expedition was abandoned, the horses sent away, and the saddles thrown into a corner. I cabled home that I would soon be back. I made the hotel ring with my public and private complaints about this interference with my plans. I visited the shipping offices to learn of the next steamer to Vladivostock.

A few hours before I was to start I chanced to meet an old friend, who questioned me confidentially, "I suppose it is really true that you are going away, and that this is not a trick on your part?" I left him thoughtful, for his words had shown me the splendid opportunity in my hands. Early next morning, long before dawn, my ponies came back, the boys assembled, the saddles were quickly fixed and the packs adjusted, and soon we were riding as hard as we could for the mountains. The regrettable part of the affair is that many people are still convinced that the whole business of the cablegram was arranged by me in advance as a blind, and no assurances of mine will convince them to the contrary.

As in duty bound, I sent word to the acting British Consul-General, telling him of my departure. My letter was not delivered to him until after I had left. On my return I found his reply awaiting me at my hotel.

"I consider it my duty to inform you," he wrote, "that I received a communication on the 7th inst. from the Residency-General informing me that, in view of the disturbed conditions in the interior, it is deemed inadvisable that foreign subjects should be allowed to travel in the disturbed districts for the present I would also call your attention to the stipulation in Article V. of the treaty between Great Britain and Korea, under which British subjects travelling in the interior of the country without a passport are liable to arrest and to a penalty."

In Seoul no one could tell where or how the "Righteous Army" might be found. The information doled out by the Japanese authorities was fragmentary, and was obviously and naturally framed in such a manner as to minimize and discredit the disturbances. It was admitted that the Korean volunteers had a day or two earlier destroyed a small railway station on the line to Fusan. We knew that a small party of them had attacked the Japanese guard of a store of rifles, not twenty miles from the capital, and had driven them off and captured the arms and ammunition. Most of the fighting, so far as one could judge, appeared to have been around the town of Chung-ju, four days' journey from Seoul. It was for there I aimed, travelling by an indirect bridle-path in order to avoid the Japanese as far as possible.

The country in which I soon found myself presented a field of industry and of prosperity such as I had seen nowhere else in Korea. Between the somewhat desolate mountain ranges and great stretches of sandy soil we came upon innumerable thriving villages. Every possible bit of land, right up the hillsides, was carefully cultivated. Here were stretches of cotton, with bursting pods all ready for picking, and here great fields of buckwheat white with flower. The two most common crops were rice and barley, and the fields were heavy with their harvest. Near the villages were ornamental lines of chilies and beans and seed plants for oil, with occasional clusters of kowliang, fully twelve and thirteen feet high.

In the centre of the fields was a double-storied summer-house, made of straw, the centre of a system of high ropes, decked with bits of rag, running over the crops in all directions. Two lads would sit on the upper floor of each of these houses, pulling the ropes, flapping the rags, and making all kinds of harsh noises, to frighten away the birds preying on the crops.

The villages themselves were pictures of beauty and of peace. Most of them were surrounded by a high fence of wands and matting. At the entrance there sometimes stood the village "joss," although many villages had destroyed their idols. This "joss" was a thick stake of wood, six or eight feet high, with the upper part roughly carved into the shape of a very ugly human face, and crudely coloured in vermilion and green. It was supposed to frighten away the evil spirits.

The village houses, low, mud-walled, and thatch-roofed, were seen this season at their best. Gay flowers grew around. Melons and pumpkins, weighted with fruit, ran over the walls. Nearly every roof displayed a patch of vivid scarlet, for the chilies had just been gathered, and were spread out on the housetops to dry. In front of the houses were boards covered with sliced pumpkins and gherkins drying in the sun for winter use. Every courtyard had its line of black earthenware jars, four to six feet high, stored with all manner of good things, mostly preserved vegetables of many varieties, for the coming year.

I had heard much of the province of Chung-Chong-Do as the Italy of Korea, but its beauty and prosperity required seeing to be believed. It afforded an amazing contrast to the dirt and apathy of Seoul. Here every one worked. In the fields the young women were toiling in groups, weeding or harvesting. The young men were cutting bushes on the hillsides, the father of the family preparing new ground for the fresh crop, and the very children frightening off the birds. At home the housewife was busy with her children and preparing her simples and stores; and even the old men busied themselves over light tasks, such as mat-making. Every one seemed prosperous, busy, and happy. There were no signs of poverty. The uprising had not touched this district, save in the most incidental fashion.

My inquiries as to where I should find any signs of the fighting always met with the same reply—"The Japanese have been to Ichon, and have burned many villages there." So we pushed on for Ichon as hard as we could.

The chief problem that faced the traveller in Korea who ventured away from the railways in those days was how to hasten the speed of his party. "You cannot travel faster than your pack," is one of those indisputable axioms against which the impatient man fretted in vain. The pack-pony was led by a horseman, who really controlled the situation. If he sulked and determined to go slowly nothing could be done. If he hurried, the whole party must move quickly.

The Korean mafoo regards seventy li (about twenty-one miles) as a fair day's work. He prefers to average sixty li, but if you are very insistent he may go eighty. It was imperative that I should cover from a hundred to a hundred and twenty li a day.

I tried a mixture of harsh words, praise, and liberal tips. I was up at three in the morning, setting the boys to work at cooking the animals' food, and I kept them on the road until dark. Still the record was not satisfactory. It is necessary in Korea to allow at least six hours each day for the cooking of the horses' food and feeding them. This is a time that no wise traveller attempts to cut. Including feeding-times, we were on the go from sixteen to eighteen hours a day. Notwithstanding this, the most we had reached was a hundred and ten li a day.

Then came a series of little hindrances. The pack-pony would not eat its dinner; its load was too heavy. "Hire a boy to carry part of its load," I replied. A hundred reasons would be found for halting, and still more for slow departure.

It was clear that something more must be done. I called the pack-pony leader on one side. He was a fine, broad-framed giant, a man who had in his time gone through many fights and adventures. "You and I understand one another," I said to him. "These others with their moanings and cries are but as children. Now let us make a compact. You hurry all the time and I will give you" (here I whispered a figure into his ear that sent a gratified smile over his face) "at the end of the journey. The others need know nothing. This is between men."

He nodded assent. From that moment the trouble was over. Footsore mafoos, lame horses, grumbling innkeepers—nothing mattered. "Let the fires burn quickly." "Out with the horses," The other horse-keepers, not understanding his changed attitude, toiled wearily after him. At night-time he would look up, as he led his pack-pony in at the end of a record day, and his grim smile would proclaim that he was keeping his end of the bargain.

"It is necessary for us to show these men something of the strong hand of Japan," one of the leading Japanese in Seoul, a close associate of the Prince Ito, told me shortly before I left that city. "The people of the eastern mountain districts have seen few or no Japanese soldiers, and they have no idea of our strength. We must convince them how strong we are."

As I stood on a mountain-pass, looking down on the valley leading to Ichon, I recalled these words of my friend. The "strong hand of Japan" was certainly being shown here. I beheld in front of me village after village reduced to ashes.

I rode down to the nearest heap of ruins. The place had been quite a large village, with probably seventy or eighty houses. Destruction, thorough and complete, had fallen upon it. Not a single house was left, and not a single wall of a house. Every pot with the winter stores was broken. The very earthen fireplaces were wrecked.

The villagers had come back to the ruins again, and were already rebuilding. They had put up temporary refuges of straw. The young men were out on the hills cutting wood, and every one else was toiling at house-making. The crops were ready to harvest, but there was no time to gather them in. First of all, make a shelter.

During the next few days sights like these were to be too common to arouse much emotion. But for the moment I looked around on these people, ruined and homeless, with quick pity. The old men, venerable and dignified, as Korean old men mostly are, the young wives, many with babes at their breasts, the sturdy men, had composed, if I could judge by what I saw, an exceptionally clean and peaceful community.

There was no house in which I could rest, so I sat down under a tree, and while Min-gun was cooking my dinner the village elders came around with their story. One thing especially struck me. Usually the Korean woman was shy, retiring, and afraid to open her mouth in the presence of a stranger. Here the women spoke up as freely as the men. The great calamity had broken down the barriers of their silence.

"We are glad," they said, "that a European man has come to see what has befallen us. We hope you will tell your people, so that all men may know.

"There had been some fighting on the hills beyond our village," and they pointed to the hills a mile or two further on. "The Eui-pyung" (the volunteers) "had been there, and had torn up some telegraph poles. The Eui-pyung came down from the eastern hills. They were not our men, and had nothing to do with us. The Japanese soldiers came, and there was a fight, and the Eui-pyung fell back.

"Then the Japanese soldiers marched out to our village, and to seven other villages. Look around and you can see the ruins of all. They spoke many harsh words to us. 'The Eui-pyung broke down the telegraph poles and you did not stop them,' they said. 'Therefore you are all the same as Eui-pyung. Why have you eyes if you do not watch, why have you strength if you do not prevent the Eui-pyung from doing-mischief? The Eui-pyung came to your houses and you fed them. They have gone, but we will punish you.'

"And they went from house to house, taking what they wanted and setting all alight. One old man—he had lived in his house since he was a babe suckled by his mother—saw a soldier lighting up his house. He fell on his knees and caught the foot of the soldier. 'Excuse me, excuse me,' he said, with many tears. 'Please do not burn my house. Leave it for me that I may die there. I am an old man, and near my end.'

"The soldier tried to shake him off, but the old man prayed the more. 'Excuse me, excuse me,' he moaned. Then the soldier lifted his gun and shot the old man, and we buried him.

"One who was near to her hour of child-birth was lying in a house. Alas for her! One of our young men was working in the field cutting grass. He was working and had not noticed the soldiers come. He lifted his knife, sharpening it in the sun. 'There is a Eui-pyung,' he said, and he fired and killed him. One man, seeing the fire, noticed that all his family records were burning. He rushed in to try and pull them out, but as he rushed a soldier fired, and he fell."

A man, whose appearance proclaimed him to be of a higher class than most of the villagers, then spoke in bitter tones. "We are rebuilding our houses," he said, "but of what use is it for us to do so? I was a man of family. My fathers and fathers' fathers had their record. Our family papers are destroyed. Henceforth we are a people without a name, disgraced and outcast."

I found, when I went further into the country, that this view was fairly common. The Koreans regard their family existence with peculiar veneration. The family record means everything to them. When it is destroyed, the family is wiped out It no longer exists, even though there are many members of it still living. As the province of Chung-Chong-Do prides itself on the large number of its substantial families, there could be no more effective way of striking at them than this.

I rode out of the village heavy-hearted. What struck me most about this form of punishment, however, was not the suffering of the villagers so much as the futility of the proceedings, from the Japanese point of view. In place of pacifying a people, they were turning hundreds of quiet families into rebels. During the next few days I was to see at least one town and many scores of villages treated as this one. To what end? The villagers were certainly not the people fighting the Japanese. All they wanted to do was to look quietly after their own affairs. Japan professed a desire to conciliate Korea and to win the affection and support of her people. In one province at least the policy of house-burning had reduced a prosperous community to ruin, increased the rebel forces, and sown a crop of bitter hatred which it would take generations to root out.

We rode on through village after village and hamlet after hamlet burned to the ground. The very attitude of the people told me that the hand of Japan had struck hard there. We would come upon a boy carrying a load of wood. He would run quickly to the side of the road when he saw us, expecting he knew not what. We passed a village with a few houses left. The women flew to shelter as I drew near. Some of the stories that I heard later helped me to understand why they should run. Of course they took me for a Japanese.

All along the route I heard tales of the Japanese plundering, where they had not destroyed. At places the village elders would bring me an old man badly beaten by a Japanese soldier because he resisted being robbed. Then came darker stories. In Seoul I had laughed at them. Now, face to face with the victims, I could laugh no more.

That afternoon we rode into Ichon itself. This is quite a large town. I found it practically deserted. Most of the people had fled to the hills, to escape from the Japanese. I slept that night in a schoolhouse, now deserted and unused. There were the cartoons and animal pictures and pious mottoes around, but the children were far away. I passed through the market-place, usually a very busy spot. There was no sign of life there.

I turned to some of the Koreans.

"Where are your women? Where are your children?" I demanded. They pointed to the high and barren hills looming against the distant heavens.

"They are up there," they said. "Better for them to lie on the barren hillsides than to be outraged here."