Military parade during Joseon Dynasty

The modern Korean army in the early 1900s. Robert Neff Collection

By Robert Neff

They say everyone loves a parade ― especially a military parade. In late 1888, Frank G. Carpenter, an American travel writer, had the opportunity of reviewing some of Joseon Korea's soldiers ― the old and the new. His observations were brutal.

The new soldiers ― all the sons of nobles ― were "drilled twice a day in the palace grounds ― by two American advisors: General William McEntyre Dye, who had served as an officer during the American Civil War and Captain John Henry Nienstead, a former sailor in the American Asiatic Fleet. Carpenter was not overly impressed with their drill or ceremony. He noted the Korean soldiers "marched very well, but their evolutions were not those of war, and were, it seemed to me, of little practical sense."

At the archery range near the ruins of Gyeonghui Palace (also known as the Mulberry Palace) Carpenter found himself, somewhat vexingly, impressed with these modern soldiers' skills with weapons from the past ― bows and arrows ― and disgusted with their attempts to use modern rifles.

"The distance between the palace where the archers stood and the target was fully 300 yards, and the judges had such confidence in the accuracy of the shots that they had their seats within five feet of the bull's eye," he wrote.

A depiction of a Korean general of the past circa 1904. Robert Neff Collection

However, with their modern Remington rifles, they were dismal at best. Carpenter never witnessed the soldiers actually firing their rifles, but was informed by a foreign resident of the city that the soldiers were not able to "hit a barn door (at 100 yards away) more than two shots out of five."

Carpenter's poisonous pen was even more disparaging towards the old-style Korean military (armed with "old muzzle-loaders of different makes") and especially their officers who were, he declared, "the most pompous" of Korean officials.

"One of these silk-gowned, black horsehair hatted Corean generals was going up one of the hills about the capital the other day. He had two men behind him to push him and two others held his arms, when General Dye, who by the way is twice the man's age, walked by him with a springing step and asked him as he passed if he expected to have that retinue with him in battle. It took some time for the Corean to appreciate the sarcasm in this remark, but it finally crept through his top knot that among the Western people, that laziness and inability were not marks of honor and the next time the two came together the yang ban general walked alone," he wrote.

Judging from Carpenter's holier-than-thou articles, Korea's military was slowly modernizing but apparently not quick enough. In the summer of 1894, Korea was not the Land of the Morning Calm ― it was the center of the Sino-Japanese War. Chinese and Japanese soldiers battled about the peninsula and in Seoul each of the foreign legations summoned detachments of marines and sailors to serve as legation guards.

In September 1894, an American military journal published a somewhat amusing but denigrating article about an encounter with a Korean general in the streets of Seoul.

A member of the upper class with his two attendants. Circa 1890s to early 1900s. Robert Neff Collection

According to the writer, it was near the royal palace when he encountered "a procession headed by two soldiers bearing poles with the square boards fastened to their tops, inscribed with the words, 'Silence' and 'Keep out of the way.'" The commands on these boards were readily heeded (with the encouragement of fierce shouting and threats by the accompanying soldiers) by the general public who respectfully veered to the edge of the streets while lesser officials on horseback dismounted and waited until the general and his procession had passed.

"Following the pole-bearers an official marched in the street, carrying a large portfolio with the visiting cards of the general. These cards are usually of bright red color, about a foot long and a half a foot wide. Another soldier carried a small camp stool, a third a pair of high felt belt boots. Then came about a dozen soldiers with rifles and bayonets, and marching in (single) file on either side of the street, keeping it clear for the general, who now followed. He was mounted on a splendidly caparisoned pony, led by two grooms dressed in long yellow robes."

A blending of the past and the future. Circa 1904. Robert Neff Collection

The writer described the general as "being a man of about 50, with huge round spectacles, carried with his right hand a small yellow flag, with the word 'general' inscribed in Chinese letters. A small Chinese sword was sticking in his red belt. With his left hand his Excellency was fanning himself. He was accompanied by his aide-de-camp, also riding a pony, and followed by a crowd of attendants carrying all sorts of articles, making a perfect camping outfit."

What made up this perfect camping outfit?

"One soldier was the bearer of the general's pipe, another of his tobacco pouch, a third of his waterproofs, made of yellow oil-paper; another man carrying a hat of the same material; next came the bearer of the general's umbrella, a huge thing of oil-paper, the principal evidence of his high dignity, only allowed to mandarins above the third rank. He was followed by a soldier with a trunk strapped to his back…."

The last member of the procession was probably the lowest-ranked individual in the troop but one the general could not afford to be without ― he was "the bearer of a large round copper vessel, intended for the use of his Excellency in case of urgent need."

As was it in the past, so too, is it in the present: no one wants to be a peon.

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