At night we reached a small village of scarce a half dozen houses, established by the government as a place of rest for travelers, since there was no other place within convenient marching distance. A subsidy was given in return for which these natives were bound to provide refreshments, horses, oxen, or torches for those who bore passports or official orders. But travel was rare and they had come to consider their duty a tyrannical exaction, their subsidy as their right; so when we arrived an ominous silence reigned over the place, and we found it had been completely deserted and that not long since everything had been dropped and the people had fled and hidden. This inhospitable reception was a very definite sign of ill will, a plain refusal to give the shelter and assistance they were so well paid to bestow. Of course it did not auger well, but there was nothing to be done for the present but to try to supply our needs. Fires were built, horse provender found, and rice for coolies, mapoos and attendants cooked, while for ourselves we fared well on the contents of our box of stores. Some of the villagers returned that night to their homes.
Early next morning, having paid for what we had used, we started away. But the necessity for haste, as our stage that day was a long one, and our want of suspicion of any serious danger led us into making a mistake; we divided our small party, Mr. Underwood, the soldier and myself hurrying on ahead on what we afterwards called the Jericho road, leaving helpers and constable with the pack-ponies and mapoos, which traveled more slowly, to follow at a distance of several miles. We planned to reach our noon rest place early, and order food and provender (which it always takes an hour to cook) in advance, so that all might be ready on their arrival and a speedy departure insured. The day was a very fine one, the mountain air exhilarating and delightful, and there were no sightseers, so that Mr. Underwood and I walked together a long distance, laughing and chatting and gathering the pretty spring flowers, of which there were many, especially the sweet-scented violets, which I was surprised to find growing thus wild in the mountains. We arrived early at the little hamlet which was our destination, and were immediately installed in the one tiny inn the place could boast.
I am not sure how much time elapsed before our loads appeared, but it was not very long, and when word was brought that they were coming my husband slipped a small revolver (our only weapon) from our traveling-bag into his pocket. I understood too little of the language to know what message he had received, but he told me that some rough fellows were coming with our party and that there might be trouble, in which case he might need the revolver. He had received a message, while on the way to the inn, that robbers had overtaken our people and were following us. It seems that as soon as we were out of sight a number of men had overtaken our loads and charged one of our mapoos with theft, saying that they had come to reclaim their stolen property. They bound his hands, took possession of our ponies and loads, and followed us to our inn. I peeped out through a crack where the door stood ajar, and saw what was not reassuring, a party of twenty or thirty country fellows, wilder and ruder looking than any I had yet seen, their hair falling in matted locks around their evil faces instead of being fastened in the usual rough top-knot, and their angry eyes fierce and bloodshot. Each carried a short stout club, and they were all shouting in angry tones at once, while our mapoo, his hands bound, my husband, the constable, soldier and helper stood in the midst of this wild throng. The tiny place seemed filled with the men and the hubbub, while the frightened villagers peeped in at the gate or over the wall; our brave chair coolies had hidden away, for which we were later extremely thankful.
The attacking party with loud and angry voices accused our mapoo of having stolen their money, a hat and a bowl; and when asked for evidence, pointed to the man’s own shabby old hat, then on his head, to a rice bowl, placed on top of the packs (he said by their hands), and to our own large and heavy bag of Korean cash, fastened and sealed just as we saw it placed on the pony’s back in the morning. They refused to release the mapoo unless these things were delivered up. Mr. Underwood told them that the hat and money were ours, but that he would go with them before a Korean magistrate and leave the whole matter to his decision, only they must unbind our mapoo. This they would not hear to and continued to insist on our giving them the money. My husband absolutely refused to do this. Meanwhile, having placed himself, with the brave little soldier at his side, in a narrow space wide enough only for two, between the wall of the compound and the house, he bade the latter cut the mapoo’s bands. The mob threatened to kill him if he did so, but he turned to Mr. Underwood and said, “Does the great man bid me cut?” and receiving the affirmative reply, he at once cut the ropes which bound the mapoo. The ruffians made a rush, but Mr. Underwood, hastily pushing the mapoo behind him, managed with the aid of the soldier at his side in that narrow place to push one man back against the others and keep them off for some time.
While his whole attention was thus engaged, however, with those in front, some of the party found a way to the rear, and coming up quietly behind, suddenly pinioned his arms back and held him helpless, while the others carried off our poor mapoo away outside the village, their voices dying away in the distance. In the awful silence that succeeded the uproar we waited what would follow. After what seemed an age of suspense they returned without the man and seized and carried off our constable. Again that fateful silence, that agonizing suspense; again another raid, and our other mapoo was dragged away. If these and our other companions had shown half the courage of the little soldier and made any effort to defend themselves and us, and especially had the chair coolies stood by us, the ruffians would very likely have been beaten off. As it was, we were practically helpless, the only question was who was to be attacked next. Mr. Underwood was very doubtful of the wisdom of producing the little revolver until the very last extremity. One by one they carried away the members of our party till only Mr. Underwood, the little soldier and I were left.
A KOREAN VILLAGE
We learned afterward that they were a set of wild men, many of them fugitives from justice, probably an organized band of robbers, into whose hands we had fallen, and the fear that lay like ice at my heart was that when all our friends and defenders were one by one removed they would carry away and murder my husband too. So I waited, scarcely breathing, for the next return. What I dreaded they did in fact propose to do, saying it was the right way to treat foreigners. They said they had robbed and killed a Japanese officer some years ago, and having never been punished, would be quite safe in treating us in a similar way. On our return to Seoul we found by inquiry that this was true, that while the government had been forced to pay a heavy indemnity, they had never been able to identify and punish the murderers. Had we been overtaken before we reached the village perhaps our fate would have been that of the Japanese; but when the affair reached this point the villagers interfered and forbade. They said they had allowed them to carry off our Korean servants and our money, but should we, foreigners, known at the palace and carrying a passport, be killed there, their village would have to bear the penalty, and we must be spared. They were only a few men, but probably people who, knowing the haunts of the criminals and able to identify them, had them to some extent in their power. The men therefore sullenly filed away, or at least most of them. One or two of the fiercest and most repulsive still hung about, and one of them walked into my room (an insult in the eyes of all Koreans) and insolently stared until my husband, entering, ordered him out.
The inn-keeper was a little man not five feet high, who did all in his power to reassure and make me comfortable, as if such a thing were possible with our poor friends in distress, if not dead, and our own fate only too uncertain. It was twenty-five English miles to the nearest magistracy, and doing our best, it would be difficult to reach it that night; but we knew that if any help was to be had for the captives it must be secured at once, aside from the fact that we had no assurance of safety with so small a party until within the walls of the yamen. So it was decided to start as soon as possible. My scared chair coolies had sneaked out of their hiding places in a sufficiently well-preserved condition to be able to partake of a hearty meal, and were soon ready to start. My husband had a Korean pony which possessed the rare virtue of kicking and biting every one who attempted to touch him, except his mapoo and his master; to which quality we were indebted for his being left us that day. One other pony we were able to obtain, but as it of course could carry only our rugs and bedding, the rest of our belongings we were compelled to leave behind.
We asked the host to take them into his house and take charge of them, to which he willingly consented. His son, in an agony of terror, begged him not to do so, as the robbers had threatened to come and burn down his house if he sheltered either us or our goods. The stout-hearted little fellow, whose soul was much too large for his body, laughed at the threat, and bidding one of the very men who had attacked us give a lift, he carried our trunks into his house and said he would take good care of them for us until we should send for them. In the meanwhile Mr. Underwood had been urging me to eat, which I tried in vain to do, as a large lump of something hard had become fixed in my throat, would neither go up or down and no food could pass that way. In fact, I may as well admit I was a very much frightened woman, and my whole desire was to run away as fast and as far as possible from that dreadful locality. It sounds, and is, disgraceful, but as this is a narration of facts it may as well be confessed. My chief grief was that we must leave our poor friends behind. That, indeed, seemed cruel and unthinkable, yet there appeared to be no other way to relieve or help them.