Exporting the undesirables: A consular game

Yokohama, the entrance into Japan in the late 19th and early 20th centuries / Robert Neff Collection

By Robert Neff

• Published Mar 2, 2025 1:13 PM KST
• Updated Mar 2, 2025 2:16 PM KST

In the 19th century, the treaty ports in China, Japan and, to a lesser degree, Korea, were often plagued by beachcombers — usually destitute sailors who spent most of their time drunk, begging or committing petty theft to support their alcoholism. They were a scourge, barely tolerated until their predations upon the general public became too disruptive. At that point they were either jailed or driven out of town, often with the assistance (and funds) of foreign consuls.

In the summer of 1895, the editor of an English-language newspaper in Nagasaki condemned the “evil” of the beachcombers in that port, calling it a serious issue that needed immediate attention. He described them as the “flotsam and jetsam on the stream of life” — likely stowaways and deserters from ships — whose “specious tales…calculated to wring tears from a millstone,” were their primary means of livelihood.

In many cases, the beachcombers were not content to simply loiter on the streets and beg passersby for loose change. Instead, they entered shops and businesses, imploring the proprietors for larger sums of money. The shopkeepers, either preoccupied with other customers or repulsed by the foul stench of the unwanted intruder, would hastily offer a yen or two as an inducement for a quick departure. For this act of charity, the beachcomber would loudly praise the giver’s generosity before heading straight to the nearest “groggery,” where they would drink the foul swill until either unconsciousness overwhelmed them or their funds were exhausted.

One of these beachcombers reportedly boasted to his companions that he had managed to “cadge” $17 in just two days. While the veracity of this claim remains uncertain, it infuriated the editor, who declared that “to give one of the great unwashed a dollar to ‘get out’ is hardly the best way” to address the social nuisance troubling Nagasaki’s foreign community. He urged the residents to harden their hearts, tighten their purse strings and press their consuls to take decisive action.

Some people, despite the warnings, were moved by pity and compassion to help these lost souls. Unfortunately, their kindness often resulted in bitter betrayals.

One such alleged victim of compassion was Julian Blomster. Though Blomster’s nationality remains unclear (likely Russian), he married a young Japanese woman in 1884 who had attended a missionary school in Nagasaki. The couple eventually moved to Vladivostok, where they enjoyed a comfortable life and a few years later were blessed with the birth of a son. Sometime in February 1896, Blomster encountered Hans C. Nilson, a starving Norwegian beachcomber wandering the streets of Vladivostok. Motivated by compassion, Blomster took Nilson into his house, cared for him and secured him a job with his employer.

What began as an act of kindness transformed into a tale of hurt and betrayal as Blomster discovered six months later that Nilson had seduced his wife. Though he forgave his wife, he could no longer tolerate Nilson’s presence and threw him out of the house. Surprisingly, despite his anger and sense of betrayal, he provided Nilson with enough money for a steamship ticket to Hong Kong.

In late summer of 1896, Blomster’s wife informed him of her intention take their son and travel to Kobe, Japan, ostensibly to visit her family. Blomster readily agreed, unaware of her true intentions. She secretly arranged to meet Nilson there and for several weeks, they lived as husband and wife before she returned to Vladivostok. Upon her return, she gathered all of the family’s money (over which she had complete control) and then left for Nagasaki to reunite with Nilson.

According to a contemporary newspaper article, the illicit couple opened a grog shop — or, as it was euphemistically called, a “hotel” — and began a new life together. The only apparent regret was the presence of the 8-year-old boy.

Blomster later traveled to Nagasaki seeking legal redress, but his efforts were in vain. Unfortunately for him, the matter was deemed a “civil one,” and no lawyers in the port were available to assist him. Making matters worse, his marriage certificate could not be found, and the Rev. W. C. Kitchin, who had officiated their wedding, was no longer in Nagasaki. With no other choice, Blomster returned to Vladivostok with his 8-year-old son and “the few odd dollars that remained of a once tidy fortune.”

He had lost almost everything: his wife, his wealth — nearly $5,000 of his savings and $1,000 that had been set aside for their son — and even his gold watch and chain, which Nilson was said to have proudly displayed. All Blomster could do was hope for “a day of retribution” that would “bode ill for Mrs. Blomster.”

Of course, every tale has two sides and this one is no different. Nilson, in response to Blomster’s account, denounced it as being riddled with malicious allegations and falsehoods. He claimed that he had not arrived in Vladivostok as a beachcomber but had, in fact, $100 deposited with a reputable business in Nagasaki. He asserted that he had only been in Vladivostok for three hours before securing employment with a respectable monthly salary — a position he held until three days prior to his return to Japan.

According to Nilson, he bought the hotel using “the money he had saved and some extra capital borrowed from a businessman in Nagasaki.” As for the watch and chain, he purchased them himself in Vladivostok for 140 rubles. Notably, he did not address the accusations concerning Mrs. Blomster; in his letter to the newspaper her name was conspicuously absent.

Occasionally, consuls — especially the American consul — took an active role in removing troublesome beachcombers from Nagasaki. They would ship them off to other treaty ports in China or Korea. In December 1886, Walter Laws, a destitute American, was given a steamship ticket for Jemulpo (modern Incheon) by the American consul at Nagasaki. However, as soon as Laws arrived, he found himself in trouble with the law.

While drinking in Daibutsu Hotel — a Japanese-owned establishment in Jemulpo — Laws made a disparaging comment about a Chinese customer at the bar. Apparently, he spoke louder than he realized, and the Chinese patron overheard the remark and challenged him to repeat it. The American did, and was promptly shoved. In turn, Laws punched the aggrieved Chinese man in the face.

A crowd quickly gathered, vowing vengeance on the American for his unprovoked attack. Fortunately for Laws, the British constable entered the hotel and managed to save him, with the crowd seemingly cowed by the constable’s uniform.

Laws was arrested and initially held in a Chinese jail, before being transferred aboard an American warship. After a very brief trial, he was given a return ticket and sent back to Nagasaki on the same steamship he had arrived in Jemulpo on.

Perhaps one of the most infamous beachcombers to arrive in Korea from Nagasaki was George W. Lake, who landed in Jemulpo in the summer of 1894. One American diplomat dismissively described him as "an elderly and unamiable beachcomber" — but Lake was no simple destitute sailor. In fact, he was the founder of one of the largest American firms in Nagasaki and had a notorious reputation there due to his sordid past — he had been deported at least four times that year. However, the transgressions he committed in Japan paled in comparison to the darker deeds he had committed against his own flesh and blood in the United States.

Lake’s presence in Jemulpo was largely due to the outbreak of the Sino-Japanese War, which made it impossible for him to return to Nagasaki, as no steamship would take him back. He settled in Jemulpo, where he ran a small store and financed a couple of hole-in-the-wall bars. He lived there until his mysterious death in 1898 — an event that some, including the American minister to Korea, believed was caused by murder.

Not all beachcombers had dark pasts, nor were they all human, as we shall see in the next article.

I would like to express my sincere appreciation to Diane Nars for her invaluable assistance and for allowing me to use one of her images.

Robert Neff has authored and co-authored several books, including Letters from Joseon, Korea Through Western Eyes and Brief Encounters.