We set off in our chairs, our luggage being carried on frames called “giggies” on the backs of coolies, and the Chinese interpreter, whom we had brought from Tai Yuan Fu (Mr. Chiao, pronounced “jow,” as in jowl) walking with a friendly Korean evangelist sent to meet us. We had been told that Chinese was understood everywhere, but this proved entirely incorrect (like most of the information we had received), and we were vastly entertained to see that these two could only communicate by writing; this they did on the surface of the dusty road as they went along. Our pace was fortunately slow, as Korean carriers are not like the Chinese, and they set us down pretty frequently for a rest, which was an opportunity for communication eagerly seized by the writers. Near the station are handsome large new red brick barracks, and a Japanese suburb is growing up: it is sad to see every place being disfigured by European-looking erections of the ugliest and most aggressive type. The American Presbyterian group of buildings are a delightful contrast to these, and are Korean in style with necessary adaptation for Western requirements, but there is a hideous new school on the brow of the hill facing them, which stands in conspicuous nakedness like a blot on the landscape. A sort of building epidemic seems to have broken out, which threatens to sweep away all picturesqueness from the important towns in Korea.
The city of Pyöng Yang is of great antiquity, and is said to date back as far as 1122 B.C., when the celebrated Ki Cha reigned there.
KOREAN IN MOURNING
The streets still retain a great charm, but each day sees it lessening. The stalls contain all sorts of strange comestibles, among which fish occupy a prominent position, and various seaweeds are a natural accompaniment to them. Dried cuttle fish hang up in rows, and are a tasty dish in the eyes of the natives, and all kinds of other fish are dried and hung up in strings to form artistic designs for the adornment of the shops, as well as for the benefit of purchasers. Next in number to fish shops are those for hats, I should think, and these are quite unique. I understand that a book has been written on the subject, so numerous are the varieties in Korea. The common hat is made of black crinoline, rather like the old Welsh hat, but not so tall, and it is tied with black strings under the chin. As the whole of the rest of a Korean’s costume is white, the black hat forms a telling contrast. The hair is allowed to grow long, and is gathered into a top knot, which is visible within the transparent crown of the hat. A closely fitting cap of horsehair rising into a peak is worn indoors, and below it is a tight band of horsehair about a quarter of an inch wide, bound round the head, greatly to the detriment of the circulation. The mourning cap or hat is white, or rather cream colour, and still more commonly is a large hat worn as mourning, looking like an inverted flower, and accompanied by a long coat of stiff undressed cotton to match (see sketch). Scholars wear a somewhat different shaped crinoline hat, and boys celebrate their engagement by wearing a special little straw hat. Official hats again are quite different, of which an example may be seen in the design on the book cover.
One of the most familiar sights passing along the streets is the water-carrier, for up to the present time the water-supply of Pyöng Yang has been entirely drawn from the river, and the men carry the water in pails on their backs; in fact, unlike China, everything almost is carried on the back in Korea, and frequently the loads are of a great weight. The old tradition is that Pyöng Yang is a floating city (it was built boat-shaped), and no one is supposed to dig in it, for fear of sinking the ship.
One of the most interesting places outside the town is a famous temple beautifully situated on the brow of a hill, set up to the god of war. It was small and fairly well kept, and the priest made some fuss before allowing us to enter. Like all the temples here, there is but scant space within the building for any worshippers, but as they have no conception of congregational worship, this is a matter of no importance. The original religion of Korea was Shamanism, the worship of evil spirits, and although it is supposed to have been superseded first by Confucianism and later on by Buddhism (A.D. 550), it still retains its hold over the people, and is carried on side by side with Confucianism and Buddhism. Its shrines are to be found in Seoul itself and also by the wayside in all parts of the country. The main point in the religion of the educated Korean, as of the Chinese, is ancestor worship, and in the courtyard of every large house may be seen the ancestral tablet house, where are the tablets of two or three generations. There seem to be considerably fewer temples in Korea than in China; they are less imposing, and less frequented.
We next visited the fine new waterworks built by the Japanese, and they have selected a beautiful spot on the summit of a hill overlooking the town, as well as an island in the river which they have connected with the mainland by a bridge. Soon that picturesque being—the water-carrier—will be nothing more than a memory; but undoubtedly the advantages of a good water-supply will reconcile the inhabitants to the change. I am greatly astonished at the charge of dirtiness so frequently brought against the Koreans, for on the whole they would bear comparison with almost any European nation. They lavish endless time and energy on getting their clothes white and well laundered, for which they possess the most primitive implements imaginable. The garment is folded quite wet, placed on a board, and beaten rapidly with two flat sticks for any length of time. The sound greets one’s ears all day and every day in the streets, and resembles that of a stick being drawn across palings; if you happen to be lying ill, the endless sound is apt to be as nerve racking as the notes of the brain-fever bird in India.
After climbing down to the river-bed by the waterworks, we proceeded to climb up the opposite slope, where numbers of people seemed bent on holiday-making, and there was a Japanese tea-house half-way up to Pioneer Point, whence a magnificent view is gained over a large stretch of country. The old city walls and a watch-tower surmount the pine-clad hill, and a short walk brings one to a tomb of historic interest. In the heart of the pine forest is Kicha’s grave, but the entrance was tightly shut and barred, so that we were only able to get a glimpse of it. Like all important Korean graves, it is a mound surrounded by stone animals and figures of servants for the use of the deceased, and an altar on which sacrificial food is placed. Kicha is said to have come to Korea in 1122 B.C. as a refugee from China, to be the founder of the empire, and to have given it its name of “Land of Morning Freshness.” His dynasty lasted nearly a thousand years. The old city wall of Pyöng Yang is said to date from Kicha or Kuei-ja’s reign, but it is, alas, now in course of demolition. This synchronises with the coming of the first party of Cook’s personally conducted tours!