Far away on the very top of the mountain, to the left of our path, stood a watch-tower which commanded a view of all this part of Korea. From both of the gates in this portion of the wall, which, although they are only a short distance apart, look toward different points of the compass, the views are extensive and charming. To the southward one could look down the steep mountain side, over a valley from which rose rocky but brilliantly colored hills, bare for the most part of foliage, and through which the silvery thread of the River Han wound its way, upon a series of mountain ranges bounded only by the horizon. From the Western gate were to be seen Chemulpo and its island-dotted harbor, and beyond the open sea.
The downward path of Puk Han winds around the mountain, from the Southern gate in the wall toward the northwest; and although it is quite too steep and rough for safe descent in chairs, it is not particularly difficult for those who walk it with sound knee-joints and ordinarily careful and judicious feet. For the first five or six miles it affords an uninterrupted series of interesting and beautiful views. Here the colors of the rock, when seen in full sunlight, were trying for all but the most insensitive eyes. But as the light was modified by the occasional passing of clouds, or by the changes in the relation of the path to the points of the compass, the effect was kaleidoscopic in character on a magnificent scale. On this side of the mountain the shapes of the rocks are peculiar. In general, each mountain-ridge—supreme, subordinate, or still inferior—is composed of a series of pyramidally-shaped granite structures, rising higher and higher as to their visible summits; but with their sides welded, as it were, together, and their surfaces of disintegrated yellowish or reddish rock. Between the sides of the pyramids in each series, and between the different series, and between the higher ranges composed of the series, are dry ravines, down which the summer rains descend in torrents, keeping the slopes of all these rocky elevations almost bare of verdure. Thus there is produced an aspect of severe grandeur quite out of proportion to the real height of the mountains. But this aspect is relieved by an abundant growth of wild flowers and flowering shrubs—such as have been already named and still others—with more gorgeous blossoms than I have anywhere else seen produced by the same species. With these the ladies filled all hands, and all the luncheon baskets—and then even the chairs, which, however, we took again as soon as it became practicable, to the relief of feet and knees; and thus we entered the city by the North-West Gate, where we stopped awhile to rest the men and to enjoy the magnificent view of Seoul from the inside of the gate.
The excursion up Puk Han will certainly be remembered by some of the party as one of the most enjoyable to be obtained anywhere. It far surpasses most of those much-lauded by the guide-books in other more frequented but really less rewarding portions of the world.
If time had permitted, by turning aside an hour or two, the ascent of Puk Han might have been varied by a visit to the “Great White Buddha.” This rather interesting relic of a long-time decaying, but possibly now to be revived, Buddhism, I visited one morning in company with Mr. Gillett. The path to it leaves the main road some miles out of the city; where it begins to wind through the paddy fields it becomes somewhat difficult for jinrikishas. On the way one passes shrines such as are used not infrequently for the now forbidden exorcising ceremonies of the sorceresses, and heaps of stones that are continually being piled upon by the passers along the way, who wish thus to propitiate the spirits and to obtain good luck. The Buddha itself is a large and rudely-shaped figure, whitewashed on to the face of a rock, which has been escarped and covered with a pavilion, having a highly decorative frieze and a roof set on granite pillars. A few women were there worshipping in the manner common to the ignorant populace in Korea and Japan—i. e., clapping the hands, offering a small coin or two, and mumbling a prayer. A dirty, disreputable-looking priest was assiduously gathering up the coins, for they had merely been placed upon a table before the Buddha, instead of being thrown into an enclosed box. He volunteered the explanation that this was the most celebrated place in all Korea at which to offer effective prayer for a son; childless women, and also men, came from all over the land to worship at this shrine. In Korea, as well as in India and China, this vulgar and degrading superstition is connected with ancestor worship—namely, that the welfare of the living and the dead, in this world and in the next, is somehow inseparably bound up with begetting and bearing, or somehow possessing, a male descendant. No heavier curse is put on woman; no subtler form of temptation to lust for man; no more burdensome restriction on society; and no more efficient check to a spiritual faith and a spiritual development exists among the civilized peoples of the world than this ancient but unworthy superstition. Even devil-worship is scarcely less cruel and socially degrading.
It was with sincere regret that I left Korea without the opportunity to see the country even more widely, to feel more profoundly the spirit of its national life, and to become more acquainted in a relatively “first-hand” way with its history and its antiquities. I was confident that I had gained sufficient trustworthy information to judge fairly of the character of the native government—Emperor and Court and Yang-bans—to estimate in a measure the difficulties which encompassed the position of the Resident-General, and to appreciate the sincerity and self-sacrificing nature of his plans and the value of his achievements. But there are few countries in the world to-day where richer rewards await the expert and patient investigator of history and of antiquities. The history of Korea remains to be written; its antiquities are there to be explored.
CHAPTER VII
THE DEPARTURE
Soon after breakfast on the morning of the day before our stay in Seoul came to an end (Monday, May 27th), a telephone message was reported with the inquiry whether we expected to be at home at ten o’clock. Contrary to the understanding of the servant who brought the report, it proved to be Marquis Ito himself who, accompanied by General Murata, had kindly taken the time from his always busy morning hours to call in person and bid his guests good-by. Speaking with his customary quiet deliberation, brevity, and sincerity, His Excellency thanked me for the services rendered to him and to his nation, both directly and indirectly, by the visit to Korea; and the words which added a promise of continued friendship will always remain among the choicest of memories. In reply—with more adequate reason but with no less sincerity and earnestness—I thanked the Marquis for the confidence he had reposed in me, and as well for the experience which his invitation had furnished. If I had been of some small service, I had received a much more than adequate reward in the opportunity of seeing an interesting side of human life which had hitherto been, for the most part, unfamiliar to me. I also expressed my belief in a universal and omnipotent Spirit of Righteousness, who shapes the destinies of men and of nations, and who uses us all in His service—if we so will—to our own real well-being and to the good of humanity. God has so bound together Japan and Korea, both physically and politically, that their interests cannot be separated, whether for weal or for woe.
In the afternoon of the same day, at the house of Mr. D. W. Stevens, whose hospitality we had before enjoyed and whose friendship we had learned highly to prize, we met at tea some twenty-five of the most intimate of the acquaintances made during the previous two months. This was not, however, our final leave-taking of these friends. For the next morning at 8.50, at the South-Gate Station, most of the same persons gathered to give us one of those partings which one would not gladly miss, but which are always a mixture of sad pleasure and sweet pain. The insight of the Japanese language into such human experiences is shown by the fact that it has a single word which combines all these complex elements, and expresses them in itself. Nor do I find that the repetition of many such experiences in different far-away lands at all changes the intrinsic character of the feelings they excite. To make friends away from home is the traveller’s choicest pleasure; to part soon from these friends is the traveller’s keenest pain.
The journey from Seoul to Fusan was without incident and accomplished on time. As furnishing a change in the character of the surroundings, it is almost equivalent to going from Korea to Japan. For Fusan is essentially a Japanese city, and has been such for many years. The greeting given us on arrival was also characteristically Japanese. There, on the platform, were thirty or more of both sexes, including the Resident and other officials, whose cards were handed to us with such speed and profusion that to recognize names was impossible, and even to avoid dropping some of the pieces was difficult. The harbor launch again served us, as it had done before, for transportation between railroad station and Japanese settlement. Only twenty minutes were allowed for effecting a presentable appearance after the day’s travel; and then we were ushered to the dining-room, where about fifty persons had gathered for a complimentary banquet. After this, the Resident introduced, welcomed, and proposed a toast for the guests, and Mr. Zumoto interpreted the response. The banquet finished, there followed, in another part of the hotel, an entertainment of juggling, a farce, and dancing to samisen and koto—all by amateur performers. The day had certainly, when it ended, been sufficiently full of incident. But a real old-fashioned Japanese bath, in a deliciously soft wooden tub, with water at 108° Fahrenheit—the first I had been able to obtain during this visit to Japan—took away all soreness of flesh and weariness of spirit, and secured a good night’s rest.