Western travelers to Seoul in 1882: Part 2

One of the Han River ports in the winter of 1883/84 Robert Neff Collection

By Robert Neff

• Published Aug 28, 2022 1:38 PM KST
• Updated Aug 28, 2022 1:38 PM KST

By Robert Neff

In 1890, an unnamed Westerner provided an account of his experience in Korea in the month or two following the Imo Incident of 1882. According to him, he was a junior officer aboard one of the Japanese steamships that was used to transport Japanese soldiers to Korea. While awaiting orders from headquarters, he and the rest of the crew had a lot of free time which “hung rather heavily” upon them.

“So many stories were told about this strange country [Korea] that they excited quite a fascination for me as I gazed at the blue tint of the distant mountains where [Seoul] was supposed to be situated. No European, so I was told, except in disguise, had yet been inside its walls, and the glory of being the first was a strong incentive to make the attempt; besides I might perhaps be able to obtain a glance at the Court, just now under a cloud, but said to be still carried on in real Oriental splendor.”

Unfortunately for him, the Japanese authorities in what would eventually become Jemulpo (modern Incheon) were decidedly against his adventure and prohibited him from leaving the ship. This weighed heavily upon the young adventurer. He recalled that “both sleep and appetite forsook me, and I began to waste away perceptibly as I saw day after day pass…”

The captain of his ship ― identified as “Saint Joseph” ― could not understand the young sailor's “unconquerable desire” to go ashore and “be murdered by a lot of savages.”

When things looked hopeless, an opportunity was suddenly provided by the arrival of other Japanese steamships with solders and supplies. Aboard one of these ships was another adventurous Western sailor (named Tom) who also desired to see Seoul, and together the two men made their plans to elude the vigilance of the Japanese officials ― their efforts paid off.

One morning, they managed to go ashore without being noticed and quickly found a Korean coolie (laborer) they convinced to help them. For some reason, they gave this Korean coolie the nickname Paul Jones ― perhaps after John Paul Jones, the Scottish-American naval officer who fought during the American Revolutionary War.

“The sun was just rising as we commenced our journey, and we tramped gaily along the dusty road. Through smiling fields, over low green hills, past solitary houses surrounded with mud walls and clustering among umbrageous trees, was the road over which we travelled, our coolie with his jingling strings of cash trudging ahead. No sign of pursuit ― but unmolested and in peace we proceed on our quest for adventure. About 9 a.m. we arrived at a small town, Ninsen, nestling between the hills, and we were there received by several unarmed Korean soldiers, who escorted us to the governor's house. The governor, a white-bearded old gentleman, received us with great politeness and placed us by his side on the raised dais in his reception hall, where shortly quite a number of the inhabitants assembled to see the distinguished visitors we were supposed to be.”

The governor asked many questions about the foreigners and Paul Jones did his best to answer but because he knew nothing about his employers, he answers were at best just guesses.

When the governor's curiosity was satisfied, he treated his guests to “bounteous repast” of a dozen different dishes and several bottles of Korean liquor. Our narrator felt no inclination to eat the food or drink the alcohol (which he declared to be abominable tipple) but his traveling companion, Tom, “emptied all the dishes, which amused the spectators highly.”

After eating, the two Westerners and Paul Jones resumed their journey ― but not on foot as they had managed to hire three oxen for 900 cash (Korean coin). Our narrator rued his choice.

“I would not recommend ox-back travelling. For an hour or so to break the monotony of a long day it is well enough, but for any longer time, beware; the confounding sliding, and the slow, creeping gait ― terrible!”

It was just after dusk had fallen that they reached the Han River near one of the river ports (possibly Yanghwajin or Mapo). Here they reported seeing hundreds of junks moored on both sides of the river, and crossed the river in one of the small ferries.

In the 1880s, it was a common fear for Western travelers to arrive at Seoul's city gates after they were closed for the evening ― once closed, the gates did not open until morning. Our narrator discovered this the hard way.

“It was midnight before we arrived before the gates of Soul, which we, to our dismay, found shut, and guarded on the inside by Chinese soldiers who were deaf to all our entreaties for admission. The gates would be opened at daylight, they said.”

Fuming, they paced back and forth before Paul Jones was able to get them temporary lodging in a “Korean guard-house.” They were provided a spot to sleep “but neither sleep nor rest followed, for millions of fleas took possession of [the young adventurers] at once; and [they] were soon compelled to leave the hut” and forced to sit on the stones while waiting for the gate to open.

“Crowds of country people were continually coming with produce for the market, and gathered outside the gates, ready to enter when they were opened. They eyed us apparently with some misgiving, until our faithful henchman vouched for our good behaviour.”

Considering what had transpired the previous month, it is somewhat understandable that the populace viewed these two foreigners with suspicion.

Once inside the gate, the two men managed to convey to Paul Jones that they wanted to go to a hotel. Seemingly understanding, the coolie took them through “narrow and awfully filthy streets” to a large building. The Korean went in and within a short time brought a Japanese man who asked the foreigners “in good English” what they wanted.

Indignant, they sharply told him they wanted a room, bath and something to eat. The Japanese man promptly informed them that this was not a hotel ― it was the Japanese Legation and he was the secretary. One can imagine the smile that must have appeared on his face when he told the impudent foreigners that they were to return to their ships immediately. The young Westerners implored him to have mercy and allow them to eat and rest. He agreed and took them into the legation compound which was full of Japanese soldiers, coolies and Koreans.

It was here that our narrator claimed seeing another Westerner ― who he identified as a European ― mount a horse and leave. Who this European was is unclear.

“After a good ablution and breakfast,” they were introduced to the Japanese ambassador, Hanabusa, who told them that they could stay in Seoul for 24 hours as long as they remained within the Japanese compound. The two men were then left to their own devices prompting our narrator to take a nap on a nice patch of grass. At least he made it appear that he was going to take a nap but as soon as no one was watching him, he made his way down a slope and to the broad street that divided the city into two.

“I had suddenly determined to have a nearer look at the King's palace. People looked at me with wonder, but nobody troubled me, although the streets were crowded with pedestrians. In a few minutes I arrived at the gates, which were open; on each side a Korean soldier was stationed … I sauntered slowly through the gates, but though the soldiers watched me they made no attempt to stop me. This made me bolder. A broad avenue led up to the main entrance of the palace, and as none but the soldiers were in sight I walked on without hindrance right up to the very portals.”

It was here that he was seized by a crowd of white-robed men who hurled questions at him in Korean to which he replied in in English. Despite the language barrier they seemed to understand and took him to a side gate where two aged officials marched him to a spacious hall where they were joined by several other men of higher rank.

At one end of the vast room was a dais upon which sat two large screens. “There was no other furniture of any description. Where was the expected pomp and splendor of this court?”

Suddenly he heard the soft tinkling of cymbals and everyone in the room immediately prostrated himself on the floor. A regal man suddenly appeared. He was a tall, slight young man “with the usual Korean features, but more refined and delicate looking, and lighter in colour [than] any I had yet seen and his hands were remarkably small.”

Unsure of what to do, the young adventurer merely stood watching the Korean monarch and waiting for him to break the silence. And he did in a very shocking manner.

“'How are you, old man?' were his first words, uttered in excellent English.”

The foreigner was “fairly thunderstruck” and, according to him, was informed by the king ― in English ― that as a boy he was given an American sailor who had been captured from an American ship. It was the sailor, declared the Korean monarch, who “learned me to speak English.” When asked what became of his English teacher, the Korean king replied, “Oh, he vexed me one day and I killed him.”

Bamboo stools were then brought.

“The King seated himself on one and motioned me to take the other. He entered in a long and interesting conversation on different subjects; question following question with rapidity, which I answered to the best of my knowledge, and I am sure that never before nor since has such good advice been given to him by any one, native or foreigner.”

The king concluded the audience by telling his somewhat fearful guest that he would make him “a general or a mandarin of high rank” if he agreed to work for the Korean government but our young hero refused this opportunity ― preferring to remain in his “ignoble obscurity.”

As he left the room, the king presented him with a valuable ring ― a remembrance of their time. The adventurer then returned to the Japanese Legation compound where he promptly fell asleep on the grass. Shortly afterwards, Tom awakened him, and he promptly told him about his incredible adventure. When Tom scoffed at the story, our adventurer grew somewhat indignant and thrust out his hand to show him the ring upon his finger ― proof that everything had occurred as he had claimed.

The ring was gone. He searched everywhere but could not find it ― while he was searching for it, Tom “laughed immoderately.” That afternoon they were entertained by Hanabusa ― both Westerners made it a point not to speak about the supposed palace adventure. The next morning they returned to their ships and, presumably, the tale was not spoken about again until the editor of the Japan Weekly Mail deemed it newsworthy enough to publish. I suspect the narrator of this account was the same narrator of yesterday's account ― just revised and made even more unbelievable.

It is nice to know that fake news is not a recent event.

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