19th-century Jemulpo's Japanese cemetery

The Japanese military cemetery at Jemulpo in the mid-1890s / Isabella Bird Bishop, “Korea and Her Neighbours”

It is often said that a picture is worth a thousand words. This may be true in many cases ― but more often than not, without a narrative and context, the picture was more distractive than attractive.

Isabella Bird Bishop was a very opinionated but popular British travel writer from the late 19th century. Her book about Joseon ("Korea and her Neighbours") is still a delightful read and provides wonderful first-person observations of Korean society during the turbulent years of the mid-1890s. For the most part, her anecdotes are rich with detail (tinged with her own prejudices) and were often complimented with photographs or sketches thus painting a vivid picture in the imaginations of her readers. However, there are two images of the Japanese cemetery in Jemulpo (modern Incheon) that lack anecdotes and context and thus deprive the readers of a full appreciation for the costly toll upon the Japanese military during the First Sino-Japanese War of 1894-95.

In the Western archives there are a couple of images of the cemetery ― photographs and sketches by sailors serving aboard the foreign warships in the harbor ― but, again, like Bishop’s, they lack narrative to compliment them. For the narratives we have to turn to Frederic Villiers ― a British war correspondent and artist ― who traveled with the Japanese army during the war.

The Japanese hospital at Jemulpo in late 1894 / The Illustrated London News, Jan. 26, 1895.

In one of his shorter accounts he wrote:

“The exigencies of warfare soon necessitated a hospital at [Jemulpo], and the Japanese selected for this purpose a large tea-house, which was quickly arranged for the reception of the sick and wounded. From the hospital many have been carried to burial in the cemetery not far away. Within a short time nearly the whole of the ground was filled. The bodies are cremated, and then buried in long trenches. To mark each grave a wooden post is erected, but there is nothing beyond this to signify the last resting-place of those who have sacrificed their lives in this terrible war.”

Westerners had mixed feelings in regard to cremation. In the early 1900s, the Japanese doctor at the British gold mining concession in northern Korea lost his wife to tuberculosis in the winter. Her husband was stoic throughout her funeral with its white artificial flowers, white coffin and white clothing and the subsequent cremation. The coffin was laid upon a large pyre and set afire.

The concession’s manager, an Englishman, and his wife attended the cremation and were horrified. Not because the woman was cremated but how the body reacted to the cremation.

“Soon the flames burst out and began to consume it, when suddenly the lid of the coffin burst open and the little body rose up and sank back again. It was a ghastly sight. As we retired late that night the funeral pyre was burning fiercely, casting its glare across the valley.”

The Japanese cemetery in Jemulpo in late 1894 / The Illustrated London News, Jan. 26, 1895

When the Englishman’s own daughter died from a contagious disease a few months later, he refused to allow her to be cremated and insisted that her corpse be kept in a nearby cave until it could be transported to Jemulpo and buried in the foreign cemetery.

As mentioned earlier, cremations were performed in Jemulpo for those who perished in the hospital but for the most part, the Japanese military did not transport corpses to Jemulpo. Soldiers who died in combat were cremated near their battlefield and “their ashes [were] collected, placed in small square boxes, interred for a time in the little cemetery outside the foreign settlement at [Jemulpo], and after awhile exhumed and sent to Japan.”

Villiers witnessed one of these interment ceremonies when 80 soldiers, who had been cremated at various battlefields, were sent to Jemulpo and placed in two large black cases and then transported to the Japanese cemetery “by a motley group of coolies [laborers], citizens and soldiers.”

Japanese graves and tombstones are seen at the Incheon Family Park Cemetery in May 2018. Robert Neff Collection

Villiers’ account is tinged with his own prejudices but it is the only account I can find of this ceremony:

“First came coolies with branches of foliage and white streamers in their hands. Then a few soldiers, marching with reversed arms. Immediately preceding the black cases was a Shinto priest in yellow kimono and a black gauze shako. Round his neck was a purple cord, at the end of which hung a fan. In his right hand was a flute, which from time to time as the procession wended its way he tooted on, producing an inharmonious sound which reminded me of my own attempts on that instrument when a boy. The coolies, the followers and the lookers on seemed to treat the whole thing more as a good joke than a solemn function and chatted and laughed to their hearts’ content.”

Once they arrived at the cemetery, they gathered at a small altar with a table in front of it. A bottle of alcohol (sake), fruits, eggs and various birds ― including a live rooster were placed on a stretcher behind the altar. Next, two large black cases containing the cremated remains were placed carefully behind the stretcher.

The priest then “stretched out his hands and made several passes with his fan in the direction of the rooster, groaned aloud, then clapped his hands three times, after which he indulged a little on the flute. Then he groaned again, straightened himself, retired a few paces, took several paces to the left and right, then advanced again, groaned and tooted.”

The priest stepped back and the mourners ― one by one ― approached the altar, placed a “branch of foliage” (it was winter so there probably weren’t many flowers available) upon the small table and saluted.

After all the mourners had placed their branch upon the table, “the black cases were opened and the small square boxes taken out by the coolies and carefully interred.”

Caustically, Villiers noted the priest “retired to the bosom of his family, with the saki bottle, the live rooster and the rest of the chow.”

At some point, the small boxes of cremated remains were disinterred and returned to Japan but what became of the small wooden posts to mark their temporary resting place is unclear.

My appreciation to Diane Nars for her invaluable assistance.

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