In Korea with Marquis Ito

by George Trumbull Ladd

In the afternoon I spoke on the “Five Elements of National Prosperity” to an audience of about 600 Koreans, fully half of whom were children, and part of whom kept coming and going. The Japanese Resident, Mr. Kenochi, was present. The quality of the attention and interest did not seem to me to reach the level of the audiences in Seoul; but this was only what was to be expected from the nature of the population and the occupations of the Koreans in Chemulpo. From the church we had a not unpleasant walk to the suburban station, accompanied by a number of the Japanese gentlemen and ladies who felt it their official but friendly duty to see us off for Seoul. On reaching Miss Sontag’s house we dined with the German Consul, Dr. Ney, Mr. Eckert, the skilful trainer of the Korean band, and other German friends, on invitation of our hostess.

With reference to the improvements already accomplished in Korea, and to a considerable extent through Japanese official influence and unofficial example, Mr. Townsend called my attention to the following particulars. Previous to the opening of the country to foreign trade there was no possibility of accumulating wealth in Korea. For, as one of the few thoughtful Koreans had remarked: “If there was a large crop of rice and beans, there was no one to buy it, and it would not keep over for two years. Therefore we ate more and worked less; for what could we do with the surplus but eat it? But when the crops failed, we starved or died of the pest that followed.” It so happened, in fact, that the year after the opening of the country there was a large crop; and now for the first time in the history of Korea, there was not only something to sell but a market for it. There had, indeed, been trade for centuries between the southern part of the country and the adjoining regions of Japan, especially the island of Tsushima. But in this trade Korea parted with its gold, out of which the Japanese themselves were subsequently cheated by the Dutch, who took it off to Holland. Thus neither of the nations in the Far East was enriched in any permanent way; both were the rather impoverished as respects their store of resources for the future.

Under the Japanese, Mr. Townsend was confident—as is every one acquainted with the past and present conditions—that there would soon be a very considerable development of the country’s resources. This would take place especially in the lines of silk-culture, raising rice and beans, and grazing and dairy products. For all these forms of material prosperity the country was by soil and climate admirably adapted. Up to this time the rinderpest had been allowed to ravage the herds unchecked. In a single year it had carried off thousands of bullocks, so that the following spring the entire family of the peasants would have to join forces—men, women, and children—to pull their rude ploughs through the stiff mud. As to the culture of fruit, the outlook did not seem so hopeful. The market was limited; the various pests were unlimited in number of species and individuals, and in voracity. A certain kind of caterpillars eat pine-needles only; and some gentlemen, in order to protect the pine-trees in their yards, were obliged to hire Koreans to pick these pests off the trees, one by one, by the pailful at a time. It seems to me, however, that in time these difficulties may be overcome by the very favorable character of soil and climate for many kinds of fruits, by the possibility of ridding the country of the pests and of improving the already excellent varieties of fruits, and by the development of the canning industry.

As to the effect of the Japanese Protectorate upon the business of foreign firms, Mr. Townsend assured me that the honorable firms were pleased with it and considered it favorable to the extension of legitimate business. Unscrupulous promoters do not, of course, enjoy being checked by the Resident-General in their efforts to plunder the Korean resources. In this conversation with Mr. Townsend I learned the details of one of those dishonorable promoting schemes which have been, and still are, the disgrace of some of the foreign residents in Korea. But this is not the worst of them. They become the disgrace of the countries from which the promoters come, so often as the latter can successfully appeal to the consuls or other diplomatic representatives of their nationals for official support in their nefarious schemes.

The relations, both business and social, between the Japanese and the Koreans in Chemulpo are now much improved. Indeed, there is at present an almost complete absence of race-hatred between the two. Formerly, on some trifling occasion of a quarrel started between a Japanese and a Korean, an angry mob of several hundred on each side would quickly gather; and unless the other foreigners interfered in time, there was sure to be serious fighting and even bloodshed. But the growing number of those belonging to both nations who understand each other’s language and each other’s customs has almost entirely done away with the tendency to similar riots. Indeed, a positive feeling of friendliness is springing up between certain individuals and families of the two nationalities. All of which tends to confirm the statement of another business man—this time of Seoul, where the hatred of the Koreans for the Japanese is studiously kept aglow by Korean officialdom and by selfishly interested foreigners—that in fifty years, or less, no difference would be known between the two. There will then, perhaps, be Koreans boasting of their Japanese descent and Japanese boasting of their Korean descent; and a multitude of the people who will not even raise the question for themselves as to which kind of blood is thickest in their veins. Everywhere on the face of the earth ethnology is teaching the lesson that “purity” of blood is as much a fiction as is the so-called “primitive man.”

According to Mr. Townsend, one cause of the deforestation of so large regions of Korea in former times was the fear of tigers; this fear was, of course, greatly increased by the fact that the Government did not dare to entrust the people with firearms. The tiger-hunters were, it will be remembered, a species of officials who composed the bravest, and oftentimes the only brave, troops in the king’s army. As late as about sixty years ago the principal road to Pyeng-yang from Seoul passed through a stretch of dense forest infested with tigers. As long as the slaughter by these beasts did not average more than one man a week, the people thought it could be borne; but when the number killed in this way rose to one or two a day, they applied to the Tai Won Kun, and permission was given to cut down the forest.

The prevalence of the tiger and also the method of governmental control over their capture and over the sale of their skins is well illustrated by the following amusing story. Recently, a foreigner who was fond of hunting big game, brought a letter of introduction to Mr. Townsend and asked him to negotiate for him with two tiger-hunters for a trip to the region of Mokpo. Knowing well the Korean character as respects veracity, it was necessary for the inquirer to discover in indirect ways whether the men were really courageous and skilful hunters, as well as whether tigers were really to be met in the region over which it was proposed to hunt. Something like the following conversation then took place:—“You claim to be brave tiger-hunters, but have you ever actually killed a tiger?” “Yes, of course, many of them.” “But what are you hunting at the present time?” “Just now we are hunting ducks.” “How much is a tiger worth to you when you succeed in getting one?” “Well, if we can have all there is of him—the skin, the bones” (which, when powdered, make a medicine much prized by the Chinese on account of its supposed efficacy in imparting vigor or restoring strength), “and all the rest, we should make at least 110 yen.” “Why, then, do you hunt ducks which bring you so little, when you might kill tigers, which are worth so much?” “Yes, but if I kill a tiger, the magistrate hears of it and sends for me; and he says: ‘You are a brave man, for you have killed a tiger. You deserve a reward for your courage. Here are five yen; but the tiger, you know, belongs to the Crown, and I will take that in the name of His Majesty.’ Now do you think I am going to risk my life to earn 120 yen for the magistrate, who squeezes me enough anyway, and get only 5 yen for myself?”

“But, tell me truly, are there really tigers to be found in that neighborhood?” “Yes, indeed, there are.” “How do you know that?” “Why, just recently two men of the neighborhood were eaten by tigers.” “Indeed, that is certainly encouraging.” “It may be encouraging for the foreign gentleman who wishes to hunt the tiger, but it was not very encouraging for the Korean gentlemen who were eaten by tigers.” The grim humor of all this will be the better appreciated when it is remembered how omniscient and omnivorous are the Korean magistrates as “squeezers”; and how large the chances of the tiger are against the hunter, when the latter is equipped only with an old-fashioned musket and a slow-burning powder which must be lighted by a fuse.

A story of a quite different order will always attach itself in my memory to the name of Chemulpo. During the Chino-Japan War one of the missionary families, now in Seoul, was living in the part near the barracks where the Japanese soldiers were quartered until they could be sent by sea to the front. One day a petty officer came up on the porch of the house, uninvited; but after accepting gratefully the cup of tea offered to him, being unable to speak any English, he went away, leaving the object of his apparent intrusion quite unexplained. Soon after, however, he returned with some twenty of his comrades, mostly petty officers, accompanying him; and when the hostess was becoming somewhat alarmed at the number for whom she might be expected to furnish tea and cakes, one of the company, who could best express their wishes in the foreign language, revealed the motive of the soldiers’ visit. He explained in broken English that they had come to see the baby—a girl about two years old. The little one was then brought out by the mother and placed in the arms of the speaker, who carried the child along the line formed of his comrades and gave each one a chance to see her, to smile at her, and to say a few words to her in an unknown tongue. On going away, after this somewhat formal paying of respects to “the baby,” the Japanese officer still further explained: “Madam,” said he, “to-morrow morning we are going to the front and we do not expect ever to return. But before we go to die, we wanted to bid good-by to the baby.” In the Russo-Japanese war nothing else so cheered the soldiers of Japan on their way to the transports for Manchuria as the crowds of school-children at all the railway stations, with their flags and their banzais. The number of the regiment to which these soldiers, who bade good-by to the American baby before they went forth to die, was taken note of by the mother. Their expectation came true; they did not return.

The only other excursion by rail from Seoul which we made during our visit to Korea was to attend the formal opening ceremony of the Agricultural and Industrial Model Station at Suwon. The history of its founding is copied from the account of the Seoul Press: