Korea

by A. Hamilton

WASHING CLOTHES IN A DRAIN

The geographical features of the island include four clearly-defined ranges of mountains, with peaks attaining to an altitude of some two thousand feet. Broad and fertile valleys, running from east to west, separate these ranges, the agricultural industry of the population being conducted in their open spaces. The villages and farmsteads, in which the farming population dwell, are folded away in little hollows along the sides of the valleys, securing shelter and protection from the severity of the winter. Many hundred acres of the flats, which form the approaches to these valleys from the coast, have been reclaimed from the sea during the last two centuries, the erection of sea dykes of considerable length and immense strength having proceeded apace. But for these heavy earthworks, what is now a flourishing agricultural area would be nothing but a sea of mud washed by every spring tide. The continuous encroachment of the sea threatened at one time the extinction of all the low-lying level land.

Kang-wha, with its curious monasteries and high protecting battlements, now reduced to picturesque decay, played a prominent part in the early history of Korea. It has repelled invasion, and afforded sanctuary to the Royal Family and the Government in days of trouble; the boldness of its position has made it the first outpost to be attacked and the most important to be defended. Twice in the thirteenth century the capital was removed to Kang-wha under stress of foreign invasion. With the exception of the terrible Japanese invasion under Hideyoshi in 1592, and the Chino-Japanese War in 1894-95, Kang-wha has felt the full force of nearly every foreign expedition which has disturbed the peace of the country during the past eight centuries, notably those of the Mongols in the thirteenth, of the Manchus in the seventeenth centuries, of the French in 1866, and of the Americans in 1871. Furthermore, Kang-wha was the scene of the affair between Koreans and Japanese which led to the conclusion of the first treaty between Korea and Japan in 1876. The actual signing of that instrument, the first of the series which has thrown open Korea to the world, took place in Kang-wha city. The predecessor of the present Emperor of Korea was born in Kang-wha in 1831, living in retirement in the capital city until he was called to the throne in 1849. Upon occasion, Kang-wha has been deemed a suitable place of exile for dethroned monarchs, inconvenient scions of Royalty, and disgraced Ministers.

At two points in the narrow strait upon the east are ferries to carry passengers to the mainland. Kang-song, where the stream makes an abrupt turn between low cliffs, is the scene of the American expedition of 1871; near the southern entrance of the strait, and close to the ferry, are the forts which repelled the American storming-party. The famous rapids and whirlpool of Son-dol-mok, whose evil reputation is the terror of the coast, are close by. There are numerous forts dotted round the coast of the island, recalling the Martello towers of Great Britain. They were not all erected at one time; the majority of them date only from the close of the seventeenth century, having been raised in the early years of Suk-chong. The rampart upon the eastern shore, which frowns down upon the straits and river below, was erected in 1253. Ko-chong, of the Ko-ryö dynasty, fled before the Mongol invasion of that date, removing his Court and capital from Song-do to Kang-wha. Kak-kot-chi, where there is a second ferry, is a few miles beyond Kang-song. At the point where the ferry plies, the hill of Mun-su rises twelve hundred feet high from the water’s edge. From a junk a short distance from the shore it appears to block the straits, so closely do the cliffs of Kang-wha gather to the mainland. This little place became the headquarters of the French expeditionary force in 1866.

The capital of the island, Kang-wha city, is a battlemented citadel, with walls fifteen li in circumference, and four pavilioned city gates. It is a garrison town, beautiful in its combination of green vistas and ancient, crumbling walls. The Chino-Japanese War, so fatal to many of the old institutions of Korea, diminished the ancient glory of Kang-wha. For two hundred and sixty years prior to this campaign, Kang-wha ranked with Song-do, Kang-chyu, Syu-won and Chyön-chyön as one of the O-to, or Five Citadels, upon which the safety of the Empire depended. It controlled a garrison of ten thousand troops; the various officials numbered nearly one thousand. The change in the destiny of the kingdom brought a turn in the fortunes of the island, and it is now administered by an official of little importance. It is still, however, the seat of government for a widely scattered region, and the centre of trade and industry for some thirty thousand people. Agriculture is the staple industry; stone-quarrying and mat-making are other means by which the population exists. At the water’s-side there are salt-pans; a certain amount of fishing, a little pottery-making, smelting, the weaving of coarse linen, to which work the wives of the farmers devote themselves, complete the occupation of the inhabitants. One pursuit, horse-breeding, for which Kang-wha was once famous, is now completely abandoned.

There are nine monasteries under the government of the island. Seven are situated upon the island; the chief of these is the fortified monastery of Chung-deung, the Temple of Histories, the sometime pillar of defence of the Kingdom, thirty li south of Kang-wha, famous as the scene of the reverse suffered by the French troops in 1866. Mun-su-sa, standing upon the mainland opposite, is included in this little colony of Buddhistic retreats, as is another, upon the island of Ma-eum-to, called Po-mun-sa, famous for the wildness of its scenery and for a natural rock temple in the side of the hill upon which it stands. The monks of Chung-deung-sa enjoyed military rank until quite recently. They were regarded as soldiers in times of national distress; they received Government allowances, food, and arms, in order to maintain them in a state of efficiency. Buddhism has lost much of its hold upon the islanders, although it existed before 1266. There is a branch of the English Mission (Seoul) in Kang-wha, under the administration of the Rev. Mark Napier Trollope, whose notes upon this island were presented in a paper which their author read before the local branch of the Royal Asiatic Society during my stay in Korea. They materially assisted me to collect the interesting data from which these few paragraphs have been compiled.

I stayed five weeks in Kang-wha monastery, preparing the skeleton of this present volume. Having gone there for a week at the outside, I found the quiet and solitude of the spot such a sanctuary from trouble, and such a panacea to the nerves, that I was loath to abandon it. After a few days in the cramped confinement of the native junk which had conveyed me from Chemulpo, delaying much en route, it was pleasant to stretch my limbs again upon the shore. Landing one morning at daybreak, I fell upon the unsuspecting guardian of the English Mission, Father Trollope, and moved off at a later hour in the day across country to the monastery. The monks were not at all disturbed by my intrusion. Although strangers are not such frequent visitors to this monastery as to those in the Diamond Mountains, their presence excites no comment, and they are allowed to go their way with that kindly indifference to their existence which is, under the circumstances, the height of courtesy. The Chief Abbot was informed of my arrival, and, after a little explanation, ordered a very airy building to be prepared for my reception. It was well raised from the ground, and, situated just below the main courtyard, afforded a magnificent view of the entire domain. In the distance I could see the farm-lands of the island and the sparkle of the sunlight upon the water; more within the picture, and quite near to my new home, were two wells, a running stream, and a stretch of mountain slopes, cool, fragrant, and overgrown with scrub and bush. Temples revealed themselves in a sea of foliage, through which the drifting breezes played soft music. At one end of this Hall of Entertainment were placed the cooking and eating paraphernalia, in the middle my camp-bed, and, overlooking the landscape, an improvised writing table with my books and papers. There was no element of unrest in the setting of my little camp. Every morning the Chief Abbot welcomed me to the glories of another day; in the evening we, through the medium of my interpreter, talked together upon an amazing variety of subjects—Buddha and Christ, this world and the next, Paris, London, America. Duties in the monastery would prevent these new friends from coming on certain nights; but they always forewarned me of their absence, never disturbing me at my work, never taking me by surprise. The sense of consideration and courtesy which their kindly hospitality displayed was manifested in countless ways. The small return which it was possible to make quite shamed me before them. Frequently, at midnight, when my lights were burning, the Abbot would walk across from his own apartments and force me to bed with many smiles and much gentle pressure, covering my manuscript with his hands and nodding towards my camp-bed. There was no screen to the front of my building, so it was always possible for them to observe the stranger within their gates. This inspection was most quietly carried on; indeed, if I turned to the open courtyard, those who, perhaps, had been noting the structure of my camp-bed, or the contents of my valise, hanging to air upon a stout rope, flitted away like ghosts. I was left, as I wished, in peaceful contemplation of my work and the splendour of the scenery around me.

Catering arrangements were quite simple during my stay in this monastery. Rice and eggs and fowls were procurable from the villages beyond the walls of the temple, and rice-flour or vegetables could be procured from the butterman of the monastery. It was my plan to take breakfast about ten o’clock in the morning, and to dine about six o’clock in the evening. Between these hours was my time for writing, and I was always fully occupied. Before breakfast I walked abroad or prepared my notes of the work for the day; after dinner I received my callers, arranging anything of interest in my notes when they were gone. Usually I witnessed the midnight gathering of the monks, listening, with pleasure, to the booming of the great bell of the monastery and the accompanying peals of smaller bells of less melodious volume and much shriller tone. The vibration in the air, as these wonderful noises broke upon it, filled the high woods with melody and the deep valleys with haunted strains as of spirit-music. After the midnight mass, when the echoes had died away, the delight of the moment was supreme. In utter weariness and most absolute contentment I stretched myself to slumber beneath the protecting draperies of the mosquito-curtains, within the vaulted spaciousness of my Hall of Entertainment.