# A Modern Pioneer in Korea/I

​MANY are the names of the rocky ridge, which is set between the Ever White Mountains and the Yellow Sea. Long under the intellectual shadow of China, the Central Empire, Korea called herself The Little Outpost State. In early ages there were the three Han, or states. The fading flower of The Korean "Empire," proclaimed in 1897, was called Tai-Han or the Great Han, and after a troubled life of thirteen years, it withered away, even before it took root. Of many fantastic legends, attempting to account for the origin of the people, one makes the White Cock Forest a favourite term from medieval times. The Buddhists have given names appropriate to the land of the former glories of their church and there are various others bestowed by travellers, which suggest geography, the face of the country, the social life of the people, or describe the last, but now extinct dynasty.
We have thus the Land of Gentle Manners, the Country of the Eight Circuits, or Provinces, the Realm of the Twelve Thousand Serrated Peaks, the Land of the Plum Blossom, and the Country of Kija, the legendary founder of Korean ​civilisation. In poetry the chief ruler is the Sovereign of Ten-Thousand Isles, the people being sentimentally "Our Twenty Millions." In census mathematics, there are about two hundred islands and twelve million souls. To not a few visitors, Korea is the Land of Mosquitoes and Malaria; to hunters, the Country of the Tigers; to the lovers of the beautiful, the Garden of God. To a few, who have borne the cross of grief, it is the sleeping-chamber of the Beloved Dead and ante-room of resurrection glory. To the Christian, it is The Land of Golden Opportunity. In prosaic fact, Korea, in which great cities are absent, is The Land of Villages.
Oldest, grandest, suggestive of all things ancient and venerable, oftenest in the mouths of the natives and wisely made official, in the treaty of absorption by the Japanese Empire in 1910, is Cho-sen, that is, Morning Splendour. Other values expressed in English for the two Chinese characters, may be Dayspring, Radiance of the Dawn, Matin Calm, Tranquillity of the Morning, etc. Nevertheless those, who at the opening of history, coined this term, were not thinking so much of the smile of Heaven, the blush of the aurora, or even of "the innocent brightness of a newborn day," as of the favour of "the dragon countenance," that is, of the Chinese Emperor. Their eyes were on China. Korean nursery tales ascribe the first use of the name to Kija, 1122 B.C. The reality arose from the vassals, who, coming over the borders from the eastern land, basked in the glow of the suzerain's favour. ​This indicated the fresh new day's hour of promise.
Mother Earth's wrinkled skin, as left in condensing from the fire mist, furnished Korea with the frontiers bordering other lands, besides boundaries for the provinces. The corrugations on "this terrestrial ball," that formed as the planet cooled, are the rocky ridges. In endless lines and chains, the mountains cross and recross the surface of Korea, making an amazing network of valleys, which have little space for plains in a lakeless land. One mighty range furnishes the eastern back-bone of the peninsula, while the lower western hills and slope give the land its fertile fields. From the peak which crowns all Korea, the Ever White Mountain, containing in its crater, the Dragon's Pool, flow the two streams that create Korea's northern frontier. By the rivers and the mountain chains, the old eight provinces were divided one from the other, Nature thus dictating the lines of demarcation, and making convenient divisions. Of late years, five of the large provinces have been partitioned into halves, making thirteen in all. Those facing China are named Tranquil Peace, Yellow Sea, Capital Circuit and Complete Network. Those fronting Japan are named Perfect Mirror, River Moor and Joyful Honour.
Ordained by the Almighty, who set this people between the mountains and the sea, to be a nation, and determined the bounds of their habitation, thus so distinctly marked, the destiny of the Koreans seemed foreshadowed by their situation, while ​the two "great voices" of freedom, named by Wordsworth, made them lovers of their own national life. This, though so much and at so many points like the Chinese or Japanese, is notably different. Facing China Korea received more than she returned. With her mountain back turned to the archipelago, she gave freely to Japan, yet gained, until lately, little in return.
So, in its larger features, Korea, as it came from the hand of God is beautiful. As if the vast undulations of a stormy sea had suddenly frozen at the divine command, Cho-sen is a mountain land, so full of peaks and lines of hills, of mountains, range on range, as to seem to the native born as much alive as himself. While on his own soil, he can not escape them or be out of sight of them, for always and everywhere they are visible. As the Hebrew saw the mountains "skipping," "leaping like rams," "rejoicing" and the trees on them "clapping their hands" and otherwise acting as if they were living beings, endowed with a will and a purpose, so the Korean personifies his native hills over all of which is the Great One, Hannanim, whom Christian natives call Jehovah.
Long ago these summits wore God's clothing and were rich in forests, the growth of ages, but exactly like the wasteful Chinese of ancient, and Americans of modern date, the Koreans cut down their trees, neglecting to replant. Hence their land has suffered as China has and America will, while the Japanese, on the contrary, plant two trees for every one cut down. To the islander, who is a ​forester by habit, Korea is the Land of Treeless Mountains.
"Wilful waste makes woful want." To-day the energies of millions are wasted in raking up grass and leaves for fuel and warmth where abundance of excellent timber ought to be and might yet, by wisdom and care, be at hand. Already have the new masters of the land replanted millions of little trees to redeem the error of the past. Forbidding are the bare hills and inhospitable seems the land from a ship's deck, but once within, the rich valleys and fertile farms reverse grandly the picture. Let no one judge, while at sea, the country's resources or dwell in his prejudices created by coast impressions. Looking like a cave from the outside, it is like Ali Baba's crypt of treasures when seen from within. When the Russo-Japanese war in 1904 was precipitated by the Russian spoliation of the great timber forests at the head waters of the Yalu, the world was surprised at the amazing resources of Korea in lumber.
Like country, like people. As one must not judge the face of the land wholly by its appearance along the coast, so must one withhold his verdict upon the people when studied only at the seaports, or by tourists who get up late and saunter out doors. Korea is above all a farming and village country. Nine-tenths of the people till the soil. The peasantry is a hardy and industrious one.
The land is well watered. The rivers are sufficiently abundant to carve and cut through the rocks, make beautiful scenery, furnish a certain ​amount of navigation, yield moisture for greenery and storage of irrigation for rice — the great food crop for her millions. On the northeast is the Tumen, which divides the State from Russia and Manchuria. On the northwest is the historic Yalu, whose native name Amnok, shows that its glancing color matches the exquisite sheen upon the green duck's plumage. On its magnificent bosom, when in flood float the greatest rafts of timber in the world, while on its banks are cities and sites of battle fields. The Yalu is the line of demarcation between pigtails and topknots, the prosperous, blue-coated farmers from China, and the poverty-stricken, white-robed Koreans. For ages it has been in history Korea's Rubicon, the crossing of which, from either side, meant war. Further south is the Ta Tong, or Great Eastern River, on which lies Ping Yang, a famous and historic city, the seat in legend of the founder of Korea's civilisation, containing even his reputed tomb. Once the Sodom of Korea, it is now one of the fairest flowers in Christianity's newest garden.
"The" central river, which, passing by the capital and ever rising first in the national imagination, has its sources in the recesses of the mountains which overlook the sea of Japan, is the Han. Traversing, westwardly, the whole peninsula, it furnishes the life-blood of circulation to the centre of the national body. It is called Salee (or salt) on French maps, and the capital Seoul (Soul). Other cities besides Soul or Keijo (in Japanese) nestle upon its banks. At its mouth a rocky island ​fitly called Kang-wa, or River Blossom, deflects its main flood south and some of the water to the north. Still further south are smaller but no less enriching rivers that water the warmer and more fertile southern half of the peninsula. One famous stream, the Nak Tong, navigable for a hundred miles, drains the great southwestern province facing Japan, the most populous in the realm. In this valley, with its seaport, lay glorious Silla, the medieval state, whence Buddhist missionaries and civilisers crossed to Japan, and to which Chinese fleets were guided by the mariner's compass, before Europe ever heard of such a thing. To Silla's ports came Arabic vessels and carried to the Occident that trembling finger of God that led Columbus across the deep to find America. At Bagdad, the fame of Korea's artistic products was well known and some of the most entertaining of the sea and wonder tales in the Arabian Nights are probably only idealised stories of voyages to Korea.
From north to south, this Nak Tong, flowing through the entire length of the province and navigable for over a hundred miles, drains the most extensive and populous valley in the realm. Chosen would not be the superbly fertile country that it is, without its rivers.
Thus with the seas almost wholly encircling her, rich in mountains, glens, arable fields and fertile terraces, Korea is ever robed not only in tints produced by the constant caresses of the sunlight falling upon the moisture-laden air of countless valleys, but also in colours of spring and autumn ​that excel the storied shepherd's coat or a kingly robe. Their country is beautiful, and the people know and feel its charm. One might almost call this the Land of Lilies, were it not that other families of flowers, violets, eglantine, roses, white and red, lilacs and rhododendrons are equally prolific, while in the orchards, peach and pear blossoms fill the land with glory and beauty. In the endless procession of the seasons there are lovely blossoms from snowfall to snowfall again. Hills and valleys become a riot of colour from the azaleas, that strike the gamut of tints from snowy white to deepest orange. One botanist, in a single afternoon's ramble over the hills around Söul brought home a bouquet of forty-seven varieties of flowers; another near Chemulpo, in one day, exceeded this number by a dozen.
Not all the flowers are affluent of sweet odours, but enough of them carry aroma in their chalices to make the breezes sweeping from the mountain heights delicious to the senses. In spring time, especially, the winds often come perfume-laden to refresh and delight. In the autumn odour yields to colour and the hardier flowers. Among these, the aster and golden rod drape the hills in scarlet, gold, purple and varied tints. Even if one were blind, he would learn from the Korean's delighted exclamations while on the road, from his heart that speaks in his face, from his poetry and folklore, from the habits of travellers and even from the common burden bearers who are cultured to enjoy, how fair is nature and how lovely is the landscape ​to the native. The choice places of resort and famous scenery have been celebrated in the common language and in the poets' lore of a thousand years.
As if the blendings and variegations of earth and sky, of the interplay of aerial moisture and sunshine did not sufficiently enrich Nature's palette, there are other tints, varied and abundant in the plumage of the birds and the fur of a rich fauna. The black and white of the snowy heron, the pink of the ibis and the brilliant markings of the pheasant attract, while even the striping of the tigers and spotting of the leopards are noteworthy—though best enjoyed when off the beasts and on chair or floor. Those with a passion for colour will find in the veinings and stains of the rocks, the tinting of the soil, the variety in gems, metals and building stones much to please the eye, even though granite is the predominating rock, its mass making mountains, and its attrition the whitish-looking soil seen everywhere.
One may easily believe in the recently elaborated theory that all great races and civilisations are permanently maintained only in regions visited by a certain number of storms annually and where the climate is, in large measure, an uncertainty. In this view, Korea, which has one of the most delightful climates in the world, with seasons that are almost too regular, is not calculated to breed a hardy, self-reliant race capable of the greatest achievements. There are indeed extremes of temperature, from ten degrees below to a hundred above zero. In valleys in the north, snow to the ​depth of three feet lies on the ground a fourth part of the year and river ice three feet thick is known, but the winter over the larger area of population is rather mild. South of the Han River one hardly ever thinks of sleighs or skates, though these furnish temporary fun for alien dwellers in the country. The winter, for the most part, is delightful. Then comes springtime, with its armies of flowers, its mantle of green and bloom, its billows of grasses, and the lovely haze that softens the whole landscape. In April and May the early and light rains fall. The most depressing of all seasons is that of the heavy rainfall of July and August, when the rivers rise with a rapidity that perils life and property. Then Soul, a cavity among the mountains, becomes a bath tub, with shower attachment and steam galore. Twenty inches of rain are deposited on the surface of the earth and occasionally a fall of five inches is recorded. It seems then, for the soil, a staggering task to carry off to the sea, the river of heaven that has apparently dropped from above. Everything out doors is bathed in moisture, while within the house it gathers on furniture, floors, and coverings of all sorts. Then the walls glisten and the drops run and chase each other downward as on a window pane on a rainy day. Whatever is of organic texture grows a heavy crop of mould. Sometimes, even overnight, black leather shoes look like piles of greenish snow in the morning. The autumn is beautiful and early winter lovely. In a word, for ten months, nature makes life a delight. A more uncertain ​and bracing climate, with the steady discipline of uncertainty, would breed a tougher type of man, and richer in moral stamina. One hardly looks in Korea for the kind of people that are grown in Old or New England, or in Scotland, Holland, Denmark, or Scandinavia. The Korean's gifts and graces, which are many, are otherwise manifested.
Over the greater part of the peninsular area there is no question as to the fertility of the soil. Yet despite the abundant watering of the land, in its valleys and river channels, the supply from the river of heaven is by no means regular. Since rice is the most precarious of all crops, requiring plenty of moisture at certain critical periods, the crop fails if the rain does not fall in the nick of time. Korea, like China and old Japan, has often known what famine is, and the Government realises that when the storehouses are empty, riot, tumult, and political disorder, sprout in place of grain. "Keep their bellies full" was one of Laotsze's maxims for the social quiet of the masses. Oftener there is patiently borne suffering, with multitudinous deaths. On the whole, however, the conditions favouring agriculture are excellent. In the long run, Korea has been a land in which people were fairly well fed, cases of starvation not common, and beggars rare.
In a word, Korea, as it comes from the hand of God and as Nature has endowed it, is gloriously beautiful, like that land of promise described in the eighth chapter of Deuteronomy—if the natives and men besotted with Confucianism only knew ​it! The soil being above the average in fertility, is able to bring forth more than enough food for the people who dwell in it. The surrounding oceans form an endless storehouse of food, as well as material for light and the fertilising of the fields. The rocks are rich in lodes and galleries of mineral wealth. The precious and the useful metals are fairly abundant. The timber preserves of the northern forests, the possibilities of communication, and the whole inventory of natural resources and potencies, when considered, either in the light of the devout believer, or the man of science, call fourth in the human spirit ascription of glory to God and of thankfulness to Nature. To the reflective mind, however, the situation provokes the wonder that man, put on this beautiful land, as tenant at will, but with large powers as an agent, given by his Master, has not done more to make the willing earth yield more abundantly and to win out of the ocean, the treasure-stored hills, and the rivers rich in golden sand, more substance for the comfort, enrichment, and exaltation of life.
It seems almost the law of the universe, as it certainly is the voice of human history, that in place of those who do not hear, understand, or obey the divine command to "replenish and subdue," there comes sooner or later another race of men, who, hearing and obeying, demonstrate of what the earth is capable. That law has been demonstrated in Korea, which is now an integral part of the Empire of Japan. The Korean realm is no more a Hermit Nation.