Fifteen Years Among the Top-Knots; Or, Life in Korea

by Lillias H. Underwood

The trip from Chemulpo to Seoul, about twenty-eight miles, was made the following day, in a Sedan-chair carried by four coolies. The road, although a much traveled one, was very bad, but is now replaced by a railroad which accomplishes the distance in about two hours and a half. The country I found pleasantly rolling—comparatively few trees were seen, and the population thereabout seemed quite sparse. Here and there were squalid mud huts thatched with straw. I found on inquiry that this little land, lying west of Japan, attached at its northern extremity to China and Siberia, has an area of about ninety thousand square miles and a population of over fourteen millions of people, with a climate varying from that in the north, like northern New York, to that in the extreme south, like southern Virginia.

We approached Seoul about four o’clock in the afternoon, and I was thrilled at the sight of the first walled town I had ever beheld. The walls are very picturesque—built of great blocks of stone—hung with ivy, and give an impression of great age.

At the time of my arrival, and for some few years after, a very interesting custom was in vogue with regard to the closing of these gates. Korea had for centuries a signal fire service, by which news of peace or war was with telegraphic rapidity conveyed to Seoul, and by number, frequency of repetition and other expedients a tolerably useful code had been established. On the south mountain, within the walls, were four beacons, one for each point of the compass, to which these lines converged. Every evening as soon as the sun had set, when the bright glow of these four beacon fires published the fact that all was well in his majesty’s dominions, four officials, whose business it was to report to the king the message of the fires, presented themselves at the palace, and with low obeisance, each announced that all was well in the north—in the south—the east—and the west. On this, the palace band struck up its gayest airs, and when this music was heard, the signal was given for the tolling of the great curfew bell in the center of the city. When the extremely sweet and solemn, low and yet penetrating tones of this bell were heard, the ponderous gates were swung to and barred, not to be reopened till the ringing of the same bell at the first streak of dawn gave the signal to the keepers.

Entering through these gates, fortunately not yet closed, we saw narrow, filthy streets, flanked by low mud houses, either thatched with straw, or tiled. It has been aptly said that the city looks like a vast bed of mushrooms, since none of the Korean houses are built more than one story high.

The common people are very poor and their homes seem to an American wretchedly poor and comfortless, and yet, compared with the most destitute of London or New York, there are few who go cold or hungry in Seoul. Each dwelling is so arranged that the part of the house occupied by the women, which is called the anpang, or inner room, shall be screened from sight from the street and from those entering the gate—for every house has at least a tiny courtyard, part of which is also screened off (either by another wall, or by mats, or trees and bushes) for the women’s use.

Many of the homes of the poor consist of but one room, with a sort of outer shed, which is used as kitchen. Such a place often has no window, or at most only a tiny one, and both window and door are covered with white paper instead of glass. These doors are usually very low and narrow, so that even a small woman must stoop to enter, and within it is not always possible to stand upright except in the center, where the roof is highest. These small rooms are easily heated by means of a system of flues built under the floor, which consists of stone and mud. A fire of brush and twigs is kindled under one side of the house, and as the chimney opens at the other side, the draft naturally carries smoke and heat through the flues, the floor becomes very hot, and the whole room is quickly warmed. The fireplace is built in with pots for boiling the rice—so that a great advantage is obtained in the matter of economy, the one fire booth cooks and warms. Wherever it can be afforded, a sarang, or men’s sitting room, which opens directly on the street or road, or upon the men’s court, is part of the establishment. Here any man may enter; male guests are entertained, and fed, and here they sleep. No men not members of the family or relatives ever enter the anpang.

It is needless to say that everything in connection with these houses is fearfully unsanitary, and many of them are filthy and full of vermin. All sewage flows out into the unspeakable ditches on either side of the street. Of late years efforts have been made to alter this state of things, better streets have been laid, and the open sewers, which have existed for many years, are sluiced out by the summer rains, which are the salvation of the city.

It was a great and delightful surprise when suddenly, entering a gate in a mud wall, we left behind us these dirty streets and saw around us a lovely lawn, flower beds, bushes and trees, and a pretty picturesque mission home. It was like magic. I found our mission in possession of native houses which had been occupied in past years by wealthy but now ruined or banished noblemen. They had been purchased at a ridiculously low price in a condition of dilapidation, repaired at little expense and the interiors more or less Europeanized. The one which I entered had, with great good taste, been left without other ceiling than its quaint and massive beams and rafters of blackened wood, the walls were prettily papered, and rugs and comfortable furniture and a few pictures and ornaments gave a homelike air. The rooms were spacious, and having been the dwelling of the rich, they were not so low or dark as those I have just described.

Our mission, which at that time had been established about four years, was high in favor with the government. Dr. Allen first, and later Dr. Heron, were the official physicians to the king, who had established a government hospital, over which he had placed them in charge. Miss Ellers, lately married, had been appointed medical adviser to the queen and had been placed in charge of the women’s department of the hospital, both of which positions she had resigned after her marriage, and to both of which I had been appointed to succeed. The members of the mission whom I found were Dr. and Mrs. Heron, Rev. H. G. Underwood and Mrs. Bunker (formerly Miss Ellers). Dr. and Mrs. Allen had returned to America on an official mission.

Work had been well started, the hospital was daily crowded with patients, in addition to which Dr. Heron had a large foreign and native practice, as well as a hospital school for the instruction of future drug clerks and medical students. Mr. Underwood had established an orphan boys’ home and school, had assisted Dr. Allen in his clinics till the arrival of Dr. Heron, and was at that time, in addition to the entire care of the orphanage, teaching in the government hospital school, which it was hoped might be the stepping stone to a medical school. He was holding regular religious services, and about thirty had been baptized. He had made a long trip into the interior, up to the northern borders, selling tracts and preaching everywhere. Language helps were in preparation, and the Gospel of Mark in a tentative form had been translated. Miss Ellers was in charge of women’s medical work up to my arrival, and was high in favor with the queen, who had bestowed rank upon her, and many costly presents. She had also begun to work and train the first member of the girls’ school.