VIII
A JOURNEY TO THE "RIGHTEOUS ARMY"
It was in the autumn of 1906. The Korean Emperor had been deposed and his
army disbanded. The people of Seoul, sullen, resentful, yet powerless,
victims of the apathy and folly of their sires, and of their own indolence,
saw their national existence filched from them, and scarce dared utter a
protest. The triumphant Japanese soldiers stood at the city gates and
within the palace. Princes must obey their slightest wish, even to the
cutting of their hair and the fashioning of their clothes. General
Hasegawa's guns commanded every street, and all men dressed in white need
walk softly.
But it soon became clear that there were men who had not taken the filching
of their national independence lightly. Refugees from distant villages,
creeping after nightfall over the city wall, brought with them marvellous
tales of the happenings in the provinces. District after district, they
said, had risen against the Japanese. A "Righteous Army" had been formed,
and was accomplishing amazing things. Detachments of Japanese had been
annihilated and others driven back. Sometimes the Japanese, it is true,
were victorious, and then they took bitter vengeance, destroying a whole
countryside and slaughtering the people in wholesale fashion. So the
refugees said.
How far were these stories true? I am bound to say that I, for one,
regarded them with much scepticism. Familiar as I was with the offences of
individual Japanese in the country, it seemed impossible that outrages
could be carried on systematically by the Japanese Army under the direction
of its officers. I was with a Japanese army during the war against Russia,
and had marked and admired the restraint and discipline of the men of all
ranks there. They neither stole nor outraged. Still more recently I had
noted the action of the Japanese soldiers when repressing the uprising in
Seoul itself. Yet, whether the stories of the refugees were true or false,
undeniably some interesting fighting was going on.
By the first week in September it was clear that the area of trouble
covered the eastern provinces from near Fusan to the north of Seoul. The
rebels were evidently mainly composed of discharged soldiers and of hunters
from the hills. We heard in Seoul that trained officers of the old Korean
Army were drilling and organizing them into volunteer companies. The
Japanese were pouring fresh troops into these centres of trouble, but the
rebels, by an elaborate system of mountain-top signalling, were avoiding
the troops and making their attacks on undefended spots. Reports showed
that they were badly armed and lacked ammunition, and there seemed to be no
effective organization for sending them weapons from the outside.
The first rallying-place of the malcontent Koreans was in a mountain
district from eighty to ninety miles east of Seoul. Here lived many famous
Korean tiger-hunters. These banded themselves together under the title of
Eui-pyung (the "Righteous Army"). They had conflicts with small parties of
Japanese troops and secured some minor successes. When considerable
Japanese reinforcements arrived they retired to some mountain passes
further back.
The tiger-hunters, sons of the hills, iron-nerved, and operating in their
own country, were naturally awkward antagonists even for the best regular
troops. They were probably amongst the boldest sportsmen in the world, and
they formed the most picturesque and, romantic section of the rebels. Their
only weapon was an old-fashioned percussion gun, with long barrel and a
brass trigger seven to eight inches in length. Many of them fired not from
the shoulder, but from the hip. They never missed. They could only fire one
charge in an attack, owing to the time required to load. They were trained
to stalk the tiger, to come quite close to it, and then to kill it at one
shot The man who failed once died; the tiger attended to that.
Some of the stories of Korean successes reaching Seoul were at the best
improbable. The tale of one fight, however, came to me through so many
different and independent sources that there was reason to suspect it had
substantial foundation. It recalled the doings of the people of the Tyrol
in their struggle against Napoleon. A party of Japanese soldiers,
forty-eight in number, were guarding a quantity of supplies from point to
point. The Koreans prepared an ambuscade in a mountain valley overshadowed
by precipitous hills on either side. When the troops reached the centre of
the valley they were overwhelmed by a flight of great boulders rolled on
them from the hilltops, and before the survivors could rally a host of
Koreans rushed upon them and did them to death.
Proclamations by Koreans were smuggled into the capital. Parties of
Japanese troops were constantly leaving Chinkokai, the Japanese quarter in
Seoul, for the provinces. There came a public notice from General Hasegawa
himself, which showed the real gravity of the rural situation. It ran as
follows:--
"I, General Baron Yoshimichi Hasegawa, Commander of the Army of
Occupation in Korea, make the following announcement to each and
every one of the people of Korea throughout all the provinces.
Taught by the natural trend of affairs in the world and impelled
by the national need of political regeneration, the Government of
Korea, in obedience to His Imperial Majesty's wishes, is now
engaged in the task of reorganizing the various institutions of
State. But those who are ignorant of the march of events in the
world and who fail correctly to distinguish loyalty from treason
have by wild and baseless rumours instigated people's minds and
caused the rowdies in various places to rise in insurrection.
These insurgents commit all sorts of horrible crimes, such as
murdering peaceful people, both native and foreign, robbing their
property, burning official and private buildings, and destroying
means of communication. Their offences are such as are not
tolerated by Heaven or earth. They affect to be loyal and
patriotic and call themselves volunteers. But none the less they
are lawbreakers, who oppose their Sovereign's wishes concerning
political regeneration and who work the worst possible harm to
their country and people.
"Unless they are promptly suppressed the trouble may assume
really calamitous proportions. I am charged by His Majesty, the
Emperor of Korea, with the task of rescuing you from such
disasters by thoroughly stamping out the insurrection. I charge
all of you, law-abiding people of Korea, to prosecute your
respective peaceful avocations and be troubled with no fears. As
for those who have joined the insurgents from mistaken motives,
if they honestly repent and promptly surrender they will be
pardoned of their offence. Any of you who will seize insurgents
or will give information concerning their whereabouts will be
handsomely rewarded. In case of those who wilfully join
insurgents, or afford them refuge, or conceal weapons, they shall
be severely punished. More than that, the villages to which such
offenders belong shall be held collectively responsible and
punished with rigour. I call upon each and every one of the
people of Korea to understand clearly what I have herewith said
to you and avoid all reprehensible action."
The Koreans in America circulated a manifesto directed against those
of their countrymen who were working with Japan, under the expressive
title of "explosive thunder," which breathed fury and vengeance.
Groups of Koreans in the provinces issued other statements which, if
not quite so picturesque, were quite forcible enough. Here is one:--
"Our numbers are twenty million, and we have over ten million
strong men, excluding old, sick, and children. Now, the Japanese
soldiers in Korea are not more than eight thousand, and Japanese
merchants at various places are not more than some thousands.
Though their weapons are sharp, how can one man kill a thousand?
We beg you our brothers not to act in a foolish way and not to
kill any innocent persons. We will fix the day and the hour for
you to strike. Some of us, disguised as beggars and merchants,
will go into Seoul. We will destroy the railway, we will kindle
flames in every port, we will destroy Chinkokai, kill Ito and all
the Japanese, Yi Wan-yong and his underlings, and will not leave
a single rebel against our Emperor alive. Then Japan will bring
out all her troops to fight us. We have no weapons at our hands,
but we will keep our own patriotism. We may not be able to fight
against the sharp weapons of the Japanese, but we will ask the
Foreign Consuls to help us with their troops, and maybe they will
assist the right persons and destroy the wicked; otherwise let us
die. Let us strike against Japan, and then, if must be, all die
together with our country and with our Emperor, for there is no
other course open to us. It is better to lose our lives now than
to live miserably a little time longer, for the Emperor and our
brothers will all surely be killed by the abominable plans of
Ito, Yi Wan-yong, and their associates. It is better to die as a
patriot than to live having abandoned one's country. Mr. Yi Chun
went to foreign lands to plead for our country, and his plans did
not carry well, so he cut his stomach asunder with a sword and
poured out his blood among the foreign nations to proclaim his
patriotism to the world. These of our twenty million people who
do not unite offend against the memory of Mr. Yi Chun. We have to
choose between destruction or the maintenance of our country.
Whether we live or die is a small thing, the great thing is that
we make up our minds at once whether we work for or against our
country."
A group of Koreans in the southern provinces petitioned Prince Ito, in the
frankest fashion:--
"You spoke much of the kindness and friendship between Japan and
Korea, but actually you have drawn away the profits from province
after province and district after district until nothing is left
wherever the hand of the Japanese falls. The Korean has been
brought to ruin, and the Japanese shall be made to follow him
downwards. We pity you very much; but you shall not enjoy the
profits of the ruin of our land. When Japan and Korea fall
together it will be a misfortune indeed for you. If you would
secure safety for yourself follow this rule: memorialize our
Majesty to impeach the traitors and put them to right punishment.
Then every Korean will regard you with favour, and the Europeans
will be loud in your praise. Advise the Korean authorities to
carry out reforms in various directions, help them to enlarge the
schools, and to select capable men for the Government service;
then the three countries, Korea, China, and Japan, shall stand in
the same line, strongly united and esteemed by foreign nations.
If you will not do this, and if you continue to encroach on our
rights, then we will be destroyed together, thanks to you.
"You thought there were no men left in Korea; you will see. We
country people are resolved to destroy your railways and your
settlements and your authorities. On a fixed day we shall send
word to our patriots in the north, in the south, in Pyeng-yang
and Kyung Sang, to rise and drive away all Japanese from the
various ports, and although your soldiers are skillful with their
guns it will be very hard for them to stand against our twenty
million people. We will first attack the Japanese in Korea, but
when we have finished them we will appeal to the Foreign Powers
to assure the independence and freedom of our country. Before we
send the word to our fellow-countrymen we give you this advice."
I resolved to try to see the fighting. This, I soon found, was easier
attempted than done.
The first difficulty came from the Japanese authorities. They refused to
grant me a passport, declaring that, owing to the disturbances, they could
not guarantee my safety in the interior. An interview followed at the
Residency-General, in which I was duly warned that if I travelled without a
passport I would be liable, under International treaties, to "arrest at any
point on the journey and punishment."
This did not trouble me very much. My real fear had been that the Japanese
would consent to my going, but would insist on sending a guard of Japanese
soldiers with me. It was more than doubtful if, at that time, the Japanese
had any right to stop a foreigner from travelling in Korea, for the
passport regulations had long been virtually obsolete. This was a point
that I was prepared to argue out at leisure after my arrest and confinement
in a Consular jail. So the preparations for my departure were continued.
The traveller in Korea, away from the railroads, must carry everything he
wants with him, except food for his horses. He must have at least three
horses or ponies: one for himself, one pack-pony, and one for his bedding
and his "boy," Each pony needs its own "mafoo," or groom, to cook its food
and to attend to it. So, although travelling lightly and in a hurry, I
would be obliged to take two horses, one pony, and four attendants with me.
My friends in Seoul, both white and Korean, were of opinion that if I
attempted the trip I would probably never return. Korean tiger-hunters and
disbanded soldiers were scattered about the hills, waiting for the chance
of pot-shots at passing Japanese. They would certainly in the distance take
me for a Japanese, since the Japanese soldiers and leaders all wear foreign
clothes, and they would make me their target before they found out their
mistake. A score of suggestions were proffered as to how I should avoid
this. One old servant of mine begged me to travel in a native chair, like a
Korean gentleman. This chair is a kind of small box, carried by two or four
bearers, in which the traveller sits all the time crouched up on his
haunches. Its average speed is less than two miles an hour. I preferred the
bullets. A member of the Korean Court urged me to send out messengers each
night to the villages where I would be going next day, telling the people
that I was "Yong guk ta-in" (Englishman) and so they must not shoot me. And
so on and so forth.
This exaggerated idea of the risks of the trip unfortunately spread abroad.
The horse merchant demanded specially high terms for the hire of his
beasts, because he might never see them again. I needed a "boy," or native
servant, and although there are plenty of "boys" in Seoul none at first was
to be had.
I engaged one servant, a fine upstanding young Korean, Wo by name, who had
been out on many hunting and mining expeditions. I noticed that he was
looking uneasy, and I was scarcely surprised when at the end of the third
day he came to me with downcast eyes. "Master," he said, "my heart is very
much frightened. Please excuse me this time."
"What is there to be frightened about?" I demanded.
"Korean men will shoot you and then will kill me because my hair is cut"
The rebels were reported to be killing all men not wearing topknots.
Exit Wo. Some one recommended Han, also with a great hunting record. But
when Han heard the destination he promptly withdrew. Sin was a good boy out
of place. Sin was sent for, but forwarded apologies for not coming.
One Korean was longing to accompany me--my old servant in the war, Kim
Min-gun. But Kim was in permanent employment and could not obtain leave.
"Master," he said contemptuously, when he heard of the refusals, "these men
plenty much afraid," At last Kim's master very kindly gave him permission
to accompany me, and the servant difficulty was surmounted.
My preparations were now almost completed, provisions bought, horses hired,
and saddles overhauled. The Japanese authorities had made no sign, but they
knew what was going on. It seemed likely that they would stop me when I
started out.
Then fortune favoured me. A cablegram arrived for me from London. It was
brief and emphatic:--
"Proceed forthwith Siberia."
My expedition was abandoned, the horses sent away, and the saddles thrown
into a corner. I cabled home that I would soon be back. I made the hotel
ring with my public and private complaints about this interference with my
plans. I visited the shipping offices to learn of the next steamer to
Vladivostock.
A few hours before I was to start I chanced to meet an old friend, who
questioned me confidentially, "I suppose it is really true that you are
going away, and that this is not a trick on your part?" I left him
thoughtful, for his words had shown me the splendid opportunity in my
hands. Early next morning, long before dawn, my ponies came back, the boys
assembled, the saddles were quickly fixed and the packs adjusted, and soon
we were riding as hard as we could for the mountains. The regrettable part
of the affair is that many people are still convinced that the whole
business of the cablegram was arranged by me in advance as a blind, and no
assurances of mine will convince them to the contrary.
As in duty bound, I sent word to the acting British Consul-General, telling
him of my departure. My letter was not delivered to him until after I had
left. On my return I found his reply awaiting me at my hotel.
"I consider it my duty to inform you," he wrote, "that I received
a communication on the 7th inst. from the Residency-General
informing me that, in view of the disturbed conditions in the
interior, it is deemed inadvisable that foreign subjects should
be allowed to travel in the disturbed districts for the present I
would also call your attention to the stipulation in Article V.
of the treaty between Great Britain and Korea, under which
British subjects travelling in the interior of the country
without a passport are liable to arrest and to a penalty."
In Seoul no one could tell where or how the "Righteous Army" might be
found. The information doled out by the Japanese authorities was
fragmentary, and was obviously and naturally framed in such a manner as to
minimize and discredit the disturbances. It was admitted that the Korean
volunteers had a day or two earlier destroyed a small railway station on
the line to Fusan. We knew that a small party of them had attacked the
Japanese guard of a store of rifles, not twenty miles from the capital, and
had driven them off and captured the arms and ammunition. Most of the
fighting, so far as one could judge, appeared to have been around the town
of Chung-ju, four days' journey from Seoul. It was for there I aimed,
travelling by an indirect bridle-path in order to avoid the Japanese as far
as possible.
The country in which I soon found myself presented a field of industry and
of prosperity such as I had seen nowhere else in Korea. Between the
somewhat desolate mountain ranges and great stretches of sandy soil we came
upon innumerable thriving villages. Every possible bit of land, right up
the hillsides, was carefully cultivated. Here were stretches of cotton,
with bursting pods all ready for picking, and here great fields of
buckwheat white with flower. The two most common crops were rice and
barley, and the fields were heavy with their harvest. Near the villages
were ornamental lines of chilies and beans and seed plants for oil, with
occasional clusters of kowliang, fully twelve and thirteen feet high.
In the centre of the fields was a double-storied summer-house, made of
straw, the centre of a system of high ropes, decked with bits of rag,
running over the crops in all directions. Two lads would sit on the upper
floor of each of these houses, pulling the ropes, flapping the rags, and
making all kinds of harsh noises, to frighten away the birds preying on the
crops.
The villages themselves were pictures of beauty and of peace. Most of them
were surrounded by a high fence of wands and matting. At the entrance there
sometimes stood the village "joss," although many villages had destroyed
their idols. This "joss" was a thick stake of wood, six or eight feet high,
with the upper part roughly carved into the shape of a very ugly human
face, and crudely coloured in vermilion and green. It was supposed to
frighten away the evil spirits.
The village houses, low, mud-walled, and thatch-roofed, were seen this
season at their best. Gay flowers grew around. Melons and pumpkins,
weighted with fruit, ran over the walls. Nearly every roof displayed a
patch of vivid scarlet, for the chilies had just been gathered, and were
spread out on the housetops to dry. In front of the houses were boards
covered with sliced pumpkins and gherkins drying in the sun for winter use.
Every courtyard had its line of black earthenware jars, four to six feet
high, stored with all manner of good things, mostly preserved vegetables of
many varieties, for the coming year.
I had heard much of the province of Chung-Chong-Do as the Italy of Korea,
but its beauty and prosperity required seeing to be believed. It afforded
an amazing contrast to the dirt and apathy of Seoul. Here every one worked.
In the fields the young women were toiling in groups, weeding or
harvesting. The young men were cutting bushes on the hillsides, the father
of the family preparing new ground for the fresh crop, and the very
children frightening off the birds. At home the housewife was busy with her
children and preparing her simples and stores; and even the old men busied
themselves over light tasks, such as mat-making. Every one seemed
prosperous, busy, and happy. There were no signs of poverty. The uprising
had not touched this district, save in the most incidental fashion.
My inquiries as to where I should find any signs of the fighting always met
with the same reply--"The Japanese have been to Ichon, and have burned many
villages there." So we pushed on for Ichon as hard as we could.
The chief problem that faced the traveller in Korea who ventured away from
the railways in those days was how to hasten the speed of his party. "You
cannot travel faster than your pack," is one of those indisputable axioms
against which the impatient man fretted in vain. The pack-pony was led by a
horseman, who really controlled the situation. If he sulked and determined
to go slowly nothing could be done. If he hurried, the whole party must
move quickly.
The Korean mafoo regards seventy li (about twenty-one miles) as a fair
day's work. He prefers to average sixty li, but if you are very insistent
he may go eighty. It was imperative that I should cover from a hundred to a
hundred and twenty li a day.
I tried a mixture of harsh words, praise, and liberal tips. I was up at
three in the morning, setting the boys to work at cooking the animals'
food, and I kept them on the road until dark. Still the record was not
satisfactory. It is necessary in Korea to allow at least six hours each day
for the cooking of the horses' food and feeding them. This is a time that
no wise traveller attempts to cut. Including feeding-times, we were on the
go from sixteen to eighteen hours a day. Notwithstanding this, the most we
had reached was a hundred and ten li a day.
Then came a series of little hindrances. The pack-pony would not eat its
dinner; its load was too heavy. "Hire a boy to carry part of its load," I
replied. A hundred reasons would be found for halting, and still more for
slow departure.
It was clear that something more must be done. I called the pack-pony
leader on one side. He was a fine, broad-framed giant, a man who had in his
time gone through many fights and adventures. "You and I understand one
another," I said to him. "These others with their moanings and cries are
but as children. Now let us make a compact. You hurry all the time and I
will give you" (here I whispered a figure into his ear that sent a
gratified smile over his face) "at the end of the journey. The others need
know nothing. This is between men."
He nodded assent. From that moment the trouble was over. Footsore mafoos,
lame horses, grumbling innkeepers--nothing mattered. "Let the fires burn
quickly." "Out with the horses," The other horse-keepers, not understanding
his changed attitude, toiled wearily after him. At night-time he would look
up, as he led his pack-pony in at the end of a record day, and his grim
smile would proclaim that he was keeping his end of the bargain.
"It is necessary for us to show these men something of the strong hand of
Japan," one of the leading Japanese in Seoul, a close associate of the
Prince Ito, told me shortly before I left that city. "The people of the
eastern mountain districts have seen few or no Japanese soldiers, and they
have no idea of our strength. We must convince them how strong we are."
As I stood on a mountain-pass, looking down on the valley leading to Ichon,
I recalled these words of my friend. The "strong hand of Japan" was
certainly being shown here. I beheld in front of me village after village
reduced to ashes.
I rode down to the nearest heap of ruins. The place had been quite a large
village, with probably seventy or eighty houses. Destruction, thorough and
complete, had fallen upon it. Not a single house was left, and not a single
wall of a house. Every pot with the winter stores was broken. The very
earthen fireplaces were wrecked.
The villagers had come back to the ruins again, and were already
rebuilding. They had put up temporary refuges of straw. The young men were
out on the hills cutting wood, and every one else was toiling at
house-making. The crops were ready to harvest, but there was no time to
gather them in. First of all, make a shelter.
During the next few days sights like these were to be too common to arouse
much emotion. But for the moment I looked around on these people, ruined
and homeless, with quick pity. The old men, venerable and dignified, as
Korean old men mostly are, the young wives, many with babes at their
breasts, the sturdy men, had composed, if I could judge by what I saw, an
exceptionally clean and peaceful community.
There was no house in which I could rest, so I sat down under a tree, and
while Min-gun was cooking my dinner the village elders came around with
their story. One thing especially struck me. Usually the Korean woman was
shy, retiring, and afraid to open her mouth in the presence of a stranger.
Here the women spoke up as freely as the men. The great calamity had broken
down the barriers of their silence.
"We are glad," they said, "that a European man has come to see what has
befallen us. We hope you will tell your people, so that all men may know.
"There had been some fighting on the hills beyond our village," and they
pointed to the hills a mile or two further on. "The Eui-pyung" (the
volunteers) "had been there, and had torn up some telegraph poles. The
Eui-pyung came down from the eastern hills. They were not our men, and had
nothing to do with us. The Japanese soldiers came, and there was a fight,
and the Eui-pyung fell back.
"Then the Japanese soldiers marched out to our village, and to seven other
villages. Look around and you can see the ruins of all. They spoke many
harsh words to us. 'The Eui-pyung broke down the telegraph poles and you
did not stop them,' they said. 'Therefore you are all the same as
Eui-pyung. Why have you eyes if you do not watch, why have you strength if
you do not prevent the Eui-pyung from doing-mischief? The Eui-pyung came to
your houses and you fed them. They have gone, but we will punish you.'
"And they went from house to house, taking what they wanted and setting all
alight. One old man--he had lived in his house since he was a babe suckled
by his mother--saw a soldier lighting up his house. He fell on his knees
and caught the foot of the soldier. 'Excuse me, excuse me,' he said, with
many tears. 'Please do not burn my house. Leave it for me that I may die
there. I am an old man, and near my end.'
"The soldier tried to shake him off, but the old man prayed the more.
'Excuse me, excuse me,' he moaned. Then the soldier lifted his gun and shot
the old man, and we buried him.
"One who was near to her hour of child-birth was lying in a house. Alas for
her! One of our young men was working in the field cutting grass. He was
working and had not noticed the soldiers come. He lifted his knife,
sharpening it in the sun. 'There is a Eui-pyung,' he said, and he fired and
killed him. One man, seeing the fire, noticed that all his family records
were burning. He rushed in to try and pull them out, but as he rushed a
soldier fired, and he fell."
A man, whose appearance proclaimed him to be of a higher class than most of
the villagers, then spoke in bitter tones. "We are rebuilding our houses,"
he said, "but of what use is it for us to do so? I was a man of family. My
fathers and fathers' fathers had their record. Our family papers are
destroyed. Henceforth we are a people without a name, disgraced and
outcast."
I found, when I went further into the country, that this view was fairly
common. The Koreans regard their family existence with peculiar veneration.
The family record means everything to them. When it is destroyed, the
family is wiped out It no longer exists, even though there are many members
of it still living. As the province of Chung-Chong-Do prides itself on the
large number of its substantial families, there could be no more effective
way of striking at them than this.
I rode out of the village heavy-hearted. What struck me most about this
form of punishment, however, was not the suffering of the villagers so much
as the futility of the proceedings, from the Japanese point of view. In
place of pacifying a people, they were turning hundreds of quiet families
into rebels. During the next few days I was to see at least one town and
many scores of villages treated as this one. To what end? The villagers
were certainly not the people fighting the Japanese. All they wanted to do
was to look quietly after their own affairs. Japan professed a desire to
conciliate Korea and to win the affection and support of her people. In one
province at least the policy of house-burning had reduced a prosperous
community to ruin, increased the rebel forces, and sown a crop of bitter
hatred which it would take generations to root out.
We rode on through village after village and hamlet after hamlet burned to
the ground. The very attitude of the people told me that the hand of Japan
had struck hard there. We would come upon a boy carrying a load of wood. He
would run quickly to the side of the road when he saw us, expecting he knew
not what. We passed a village with a few houses left. The women flew to
shelter as I drew near. Some of the stories that I heard later helped me to
understand why they should run. Of course they took me for a Japanese.
All along the route I heard tales of the Japanese plundering, where they
had not destroyed. At places the village elders would bring me an old man
badly beaten by a Japanese soldier because he resisted being robbed. Then
came darker stories. In Seoul I had laughed at them. Now, face to face with
the victims, I could laugh no more.
That afternoon we rode into Ichon itself. This is quite a large town. I
found it practically deserted. Most of the people had fled to the hills, to
escape from the Japanese. I slept that night in a schoolhouse, now deserted
and unused. There were the cartoons and animal pictures and pious mottoes
around, but the children were far away. I passed through the market-place,
usually a very busy spot. There was no sign of life there.
I turned to some of the Koreans.
"Where are your women? Where are your children?" I demanded. They pointed
to the high and barren hills looming against the distant heavens.
"They are up there," they said. "Better for them to lie on the barren
hillsides than to be outraged here."
- The text in this document is from a Korea-related work more than 50 years after the death of the authour and thus has entered the public domain. No modifications should be made to the text as this is the source of the work itself, not a page to be collaboratively worked on and improved.
