The first news of the gospel was brought here to Eul Yul by a man of high family, considerable wealth and official connections, who went to Seoul with the intention of buying an office. He heard about Christ, however, while there, and instead of an office, bought a donkey load of books, which he took back to Eul Yul, and there distributed among his neighbors. About the same time a certain magistrate, just appointed, and going down there to his office, who was a friend of my husband’s, invited him to visit him at Eul Yul when in the country. Mr. Underwood thanked him, but replied, “You know if I go it will be only with the one purpose of preaching.” “Certainly, come and preach,” was the answer.
So Mr. Underwood promised he would do so if his friend, the magistrate, would see that a large and convenient official building was placed at his disposal for services while there. This was willingly promised at once, so the class was appointed to be held there that year, and with the rally of Christian leaders, and the earnest preparatory work of the man who had preferred Christ to an office (of which Mr. U. had not previously been informed), Christianity in Eul Yul began most auspiciously. Up to the present time, however, he who had been so earnest in preaching the gospel, and so generous in supporting it, had never been baptized. The difficulty was that he had two wives, with neither of whom could he bring himself to part. These concubines have a strong hold, and justly so, on the men who had made them part of their family, and on whom they are dependent. All a man’s magnanimity, generosity and tenderness are appealed to on behalf of these women, who, unlike the dancing girls, have in the eyes of the community a certain share of respectability, and are usually not bad or unprincipled, but have been taught to look with toleration and complaisance on such a life, the common custom.
However, now, at last, he decided while we were there to take the step and put away the second wife, providing her with a home and fields enough to give her a good income. So he and his wife and baby, and his grown son with his wife and little one, in company with a number of others, were baptized. The people of Eul Yul had built their own church, as well as one-half of the guest house, for their missionary. When we left, every believer who could walk came to bid us farewell, “Pyeng anikasio” (Go in peace). We had a last prayer and praise service, and parted with mutual good wishes and regrets, a long train of men and boys as usual streaming out along the road, with and behind us.
Our next station was Pak Chun, six miles away (the distances used to be twenty and thirty miles, now six, eight or twelve), but before we reached there we must stop and meet a little band of Christians at a farm where seed had been dropped by passing believers and where a whole family had been converted. Here we met a young bride from another hamlet not far distant, who with her husband had lately become a believer. At Pak Chun we were received with the usual hearty welcome. Here I found Mrs. Kim of Sorai like a ministering angel going her rounds of self-appointed, unpaid ministration of the Word, teaching the gospel to these poor women, not one of whom could read. A good many from neighboring villages were examined here, and we held a baptismal and communion service just before leaving. The church was as yet unfinished and extremely damp and cold, as well as uncomfortably crowded, so I sent our little son out of doors to play until we should finish. But scarcely had the meeting well begun when word came that “the Moxa’s child had fallen in the well.” Mr. Underwood rushed to the rescue, giving out a long hymn as he started, to keep the crowd occupied. However, by the time we reached the scene he had emerged from his cold bath and been taken to our room.
The ox-cart with all our packs was standing at the door, just about to start for the next place. It was the work of a few moments to pull down the whole load, open our trunks, and get out dry garments, only too thankful that it had not already trundled several miles on. I found a dripping, shivering little animal awaiting me as I rushed into our quarters, but no harm was done, he was soon quite dry and warm, his wet apparel dangling from the ox-cart acting as an excellent road sprinkler. Just before leaving I saw a child quite naked, covered with smallpox pustules in full bloom, standing near our door. I asked one of the natives if there was much of that disease in the village at present. “In every house,” was the concise reply. “Why there is none in the house we are in,” said I, with confidence. “Oh, no, they took the child out the day you came in order to give you the room,” was the reassuring answer. We had eaten and slept in that infected little room, our blankets all spread out there, our trunks opened, everything we had exposed. We had even used their cooking utensils and spoons and bowls before our own packs had arrived. For ourselves we had been often exposed, and believed ourselves perfectly immune. Mr. Underwood had nursed a case of the most malignant type, and I had been in contact with it among my patients, but our child! So we sent a swift messenger with a despatch to the nearest telegraph station, twenty-four hours away, to Dr. Wells, in Pyeng Yang. He at once put a tube of virus into the hands of a speedy runner, who arrived with it a week later.
We found the country full of smallpox, measles, and whooping cough, and added to our smallpox experience, an exactly similar one with measles. The record of one of these little villages is much like another. At Pung Chun, a place with a magistracy, we found the crowds almost unbearable, especially as the magistrate was away and his substitute unwilling to help us. No foreign woman or child had ever yet been there, and we were fairly besieged by people who after any fashion, lawful or otherwise, were determined to see the curiosities. Too tired that night to do more than hold a brief meeting with the few Christians who lived there, we barred, barricaded and curtained ourselves in. How often under such circumstances I have been able to sympathize as never before with our blessed Lord, who was forced to withdraw to the mountains and desert places for a little rest and quiet from the importunity of the eager selfish crowds, who thronged him and followed him even there in thousands. We read “They had no leisure as much as to eat,” and that he forbade the people he healed to spread the news abroad. Quite uselessly. What weariness, what longing he must at times have felt for a few hours of quiet and peace, only the hunted can realize, yet how patient, gentle and compassionate he was!
The next day I talked to a room packed full of heathen women, those who could not force an entrance crowding around the doors and windows, as many as could get a view or hearing. They listened with interest and attention for more than an hour, asking intelligent questions occasionally, and treating me with perfect respect.
In the afternoon I had another and smaller company of those whom Mrs. Kim of Sorai had culled from among those she had been visiting and teaching as the most hopeful cases. With these we talked, sang and prayed, trying as usual to make the most of the few hours we could be with them. A few people were examined and two or three baptized of those who had been believing for some time.
From Pung Chun we passed through a lovely valley and over a beautiful mountain pass to a village nestled right up in the mountains. Here the interest had extended to two villages of hardy mountaineers, all of which had been started by an old woman from Sorai. She cannot read, but she continually preaches Christ to every one whom she meets. Her son is the local leader, and his family are all Christians.
Thus far Mr. Underwood had during our circuit examined one hundred and fifty people and baptized seventy-five. About half of the other seventy-five were received as catechumens. At Pung Chun we were greatly interested to learn that the Koreans have a custom of sprinkling blood on the door posts, and above the door of the home to drive away evil spirits. When I told my class at Chang Yun how the Jews did this before leaving Egypt, and what it meant, they looked at each other and exclaimed with surprise, “Why, that is our custom, too.” But at Pung Chun we found that it had only recently been done at the very inn where we stopped, and were told that it was quite a common custom in that part of the country. The natives also have a cold rice festival, much like the feast of unleavened bread.