CHAPTER VIII
NATURAL BEAUTY—THE RAPIDS
In superb weather, and in the full glory of spring, we continued the exploration of the Han above Tan-Yang, encountering innumerable rapids, some of them very severe and horrible to look upon. The river valley, continually narrowing into gorges, rarely admits of hamlets, and the population is relegated to lateral and parallel valleys. On the 30th of April we tugged and poled the boat up seven long and severe rapids, with deep still stretches of water between them. The flora increased in variety, and the shapes of the mountains became very definite. Among other trees there were a large branching Acanthopanax ricinifolia, two species of euonymus, mistletoe on the walnut and mulberry, the Rhus semi-alata and Rhus vernicifera, pines, firs, the Abies microsperma, the Actinidia pueraria, Elæagnus, Spanish chestnuts in great groves, alders, birches, maples, elms, limes, and a tree infrequently seen which I believe to be a Zelkawa. Among the flowers, there were marigolds, buttercups, scentless white and purple violets, yellow violas, white aconite, lady’s slipper, hawkweed, camomile, red and white dandelions, guelder roses, wygelias, mountain peonies, martagon and tiger lilies, gentians, pink spirea, yellow day lilies, white honeysuckle, the Iris Rossii, and many others.
The day after leaving Tan-Yang we entered on the most beautiful part of the river. Great limestone cliffs swing open at times to reveal glorious glimpses, through fantastic gorges, of peaks and ranges, partly forest-covered, fading in the far distance into the delicious blue veil of dreamland; the river, occasionally compressed by its colossal walls, vents its fury in flurry and foam, or expands into broad reaches 20 and even 30 feet in depth, where pure emerald water laps gently upon crags festooned with roses and honeysuckle, or in fairy bays on pebbly beaches and white sand. The air was full of gladness. The loud call of the fearless ringed pheasant was heard everywhere, bees hummed and butterflies and dragon-flies flashed through the fragrant air. What mattered it that our ropes broke three times, that we stuck on a rock in a rapid and hung there for an hour in a deafening din and a lather of foam, and that we “beat the record” in only making 5 miles in twelve hours!
The limestone cliffs are much caverned, and near the village of To-tam, where they fall back considerably from the river, we explored one cave worthy of notice, with a fine entrance arch 43 feet in height, admitting into a vault considerably higher, with a roof of stalagmites. We ascended this cavern for 315 feet, and then had to return for lack of light. Near the mouth a natural shaft and rock-ladder give access to a fine upper gallery 12 feet high, only 60 feet of which we were able to investigate. Just above To-tam there is another limestone freak on the river bank, a natural bridge or arch, 127 feet in height and 30 feet wide, below which a fair green lawn slopes up to a height above. The bridge is admirably buttressed, and draped with roses, honeysuckle, and clematis, and various fantastic specimens of coniferæ grow out of its rifts.
The beauty of the Han culminates at To-tam in the finest river view I had then ever seen, a broad stretch, with a deep bay and lofty limestone cliffs, between which, on a green slope, the picturesque, deep-eaved, brown-roofed houses of the village are built. The gray cliff is crowned with a goodly group of umbrella pines, in Korea called “Parasol Pines,” because they resemble in shape those carried before the King. Guarding the entrance of the bay are three picturesque jagged pyramidal rocks much covered with the Ampelopsis Veitchiana, and of course sacred to dæmon-worship. These sentinels are from 40 to 83 feet high. To the southwest the Han, dark and deep, rolls out of sight round a pine-clad bluff, among the magnificent ranges of the Sol-rak-San mountains—masses of partially pine-clothed peaks and pinnacles of naked rock. To the northeast the river makes an abrupt bend below superb limestone cliffs, and disappears at the foot of Sölmi-San, a triplet of lofty peaks. To-tam on its park-like slopes embraces this view, and were it not for the rapids and their delays and risks, might be a delightful summer resort from Seoul.
There is fertility as well as grandeur, for the ridge behind the village, abrupt on the riverside, falls gently down on the other to a broad, well-watered level valley, cultivated for rice with extreme neatness and care, and which, after gladdening the eye with its productiveness for several miles, winds out of view among the mountains.
There, and in most parts of the Han valley, I was much surprised with the neatness of the cultivation. It was not what the reports of other travellers had led me to expect, and it gives me the impression that the river passes through one of the most productive and prosperous portions of Korea. The crops of wheat and barley were usually superb, and remarkably free from weeds—in fact, the cleanliness would do credit to “high farming” in the Lothians. It was no uncommon thing to find from 12 to 18 stalks as the product of one grain. At the end of April the barley was in ear, and beginning to change color, and the wheat was 6 inches high. As a general rule the stones were carefully picked off the land and were used for retaining walls for the rice terraces, or piled in heaps. Steep hillsides were being cleared of scrub and stones for cotton planting, and in many instances the cultivation is carried to a height of 1,000 feet, the cultivators always, however, living in the holes. All the parallel valleys are neatly and carefully cultivated. The favorable climate, with its abundant, but not superabundant, rainfall, renders irrigation needless, except in the case of rice. Every valley has its streamlet, and is barred across by dykes of mud from its head down to the Han, rice, with tobacco, beans, hemp, and cotton, being the great articles of export. On the whole, I was very agreeably surprised with the agriculture of the Han valley, and doubt not that it is capable of enormous development if the earnings of industry were secure. The soil is most prolific, heavy crops being raised without the aid of fertilizers.
After leaving beautiful To-tam, the rapids become more and more frequent and exasperating, and when Kim sank down, playing upon my feelings by well-simulated exhaustion, I feared it would soon become real. The ropes broke frequently, and the constant scraping and bumping over rocks increased the leakiness of the boat so much, that in a lovely reach, where crystal water rippled on the white sand, I pitched my tent, and unloaded and beached the craft for repairs. In one strong deep rapid that day the rope parted, and the boat swirled down the surges, striking rocks as she spun down with such effect as to spoil a number of photographic negatives and soak my bedding.
At the beautifully situated village of Pa-ka Mi, a post bore the following inscription in large characters—“If any servant of a yang-ban passing through Pa-ka Mi is polite and behaves well, all right, but if he behaves badly he will be beaten,” an assertion of independence as refreshing as it is rare!
For among the curses of Korea is the existence of this privileged class of yang-bans or nobles, who must not work for their own living, though it is no disgrace to be supported by their relations, and who often live on the clandestine industry of their wives in sewing and laundry work. A yang-ban carries nothing for himself, not even his pipe. Yang-ban students do not even carry their books from their studies to the classroom. Custom insist that when a member of this class travels he shall take with him as many attendants as he can muster. He is supported on his led horse, and supreme helplessness is the conventional requirement. His servants brow-beat and bully the people and take their fowls and eggs without payment, which explains the meaning of the notice at Pa-ka Mi.[17]