Containing the fire god and fighting fires in Joseon

The fierce haetae were able to keep fire at bay but not the mischievousness of children. Circa late 19th or early 20th centuries. Robert Neff Collection

By Robert Neff

Korean palaces have always been very popular tourist sites and in the late 19th century Gwanghwamun was especially popular with photographers. According to Horace Allen, the palace was prone to fires ― not only because of the large number of wooden buildings and fire sources but also because of supernatural influences. Fiery malevolence radiated from Namsan (South Mountain) but was contained by the Cheonggyecheon stream and the Han River. The "baneful influence of the fire-god" was diverted from its approach through the "South Gate by building a pond in front of it which [was] kept filled with water" ― which, according to Allen, was the thing it abhorred the most. And, to protect the palace from the fire elements of Mount Gwanak, "the two immense stone animals [the fire-eating haetae] were erected in the street in front of the Palace Gate with their fierce angry faces pointed toward the south ― the quarter from which the fire was supposed to come."

Common people also took measures to protect themselves from the demons that they believed caused spontaneous fires to appear in straw roofs ― they made offerings to the household spirits. But not all precautions were supernatural ― some were very natural.

Snakes were frequently mentioned in Westerners' correspondence home. One American gold miner's wife recalled that every morning she had to get up and sweep the snakes out of her attic ― she was careful not to kill them as to do so was considered bad luck. These snakes served a useful purpose, they hunted the rats and mice (and, in the summer, the birds) who built their nests in the tiled roofs near the chimneys causing fire hazards.

Yet, despite these precautions, fires did ― all too frequently ― happen, even in the palaces. Not all fires were accidents.

In 1892, a broken kerosene lantern caused a huge fire in the Japanese section of Fusan (modern Busan) destroying 60 to 70 buildings. In a postcard of Fusan from the early twentieth century, a Japanese fire ladder can be seen. Courtesy of Diane Nars Collection

In early February 1897, a Korean gentleman named Moon had a quarrel with his wife over "some domestic matters." Apparently, his wife thought he was wrong and refused to concede to his wishes causing him to issue her an ultimatum ― unless she were to submit to his will, he was going to throw himself into the fire. She refused to be emotionally blackmailed and told him to do as he liked. Moon wasn't bluffing.

He went into his room and set the furniture on fire and then calmly sat in the center of the chamber declaring he would burn to death and she would be to blame. Convinced he was stubborn (aka crazy) enough to do so, she relented and agreed to do everything he commanded. According to the newspaper account:

"The man came out triumphantly with a few burns on his face and hands, but he did not seem to mind that as the prospect of having his own way in the household affairs compensated for the self-inflicted pain. This was not the only sacrifice he made in order to gain the victory over his wife. He had to pay a fine of $5 to the Police Department for the incendiary offense; and the damaged furniture will have to be replaced by new. It is a rather heroic method but it evidently produced the desired effect; that is, if his wife keeps her promise."

When fires did occur, everyone was expected to help extinguish them ― but not everyone did their part.

Ms. Choi, a widow, kept a small boarding house near the West Gate of Seoul. One day in late April 1898, leaving her house in the care of her boarders (three men from Hamgyeong Province), she went out and ran some errands. While she was gone, a fire broke out in the kitchen. Her boarders, rather than try and extinguish the blaze, gathered up their goods and fled the residence. Fortunately for Ms. Choi, her neighbors quickly rushed to her house and, after only a few minutes of effort, were able to successfully put out the fire. Shortly afterwards, the three boarders reappeared ― expecting to resume their lodging ― and were promptly scolded by the neighbors for shirking their duties as it was "a Korean custom that when one sees a fire he must hasten to the rescue."

The boarders were not pleased with this public chastising and complained to their friend ― a man of some influence, and, most likely from Hamgyeong Province ― and requested that he punish the neighbors for their impertinence.

A view of a village in Japan in the early 20th century. Robert Neff Collection

According to the local newspaper:

"The influential man sent a squad of his servants and beat those who helped put out the fire. This outrageous action aroused indignation among the people on that street and they intended to mob the house of the influential man but some cool headed council at last prevailed and they complained to the Police Department instead."

Sometimes foreigners were called upon to help put out fires.

In May 1892, a fire broke out in a rice-hulling warehouse near the Japanese consulate in Jemulpo (modern Incheon) just after midnight. The fire bell at the consulate was sounded and a Japanese fire brigade promptly responded. They were assisted by "two Japanese fire-engines, of rather primitive construction" manned by Korean firefighters and by the fire brigade from the Chinese warship, Chin Hai. The fire was brought under control after several hours and with the loss of only five buildings.

Sometimes these Japanese fire bells caused alarm, not because of the presence of a fire but because there was a perception they could have ulterior and malevolent uses. In April 1896, there was a rumor circulating in the streets of Seoul that 8,000 Japanese soldiers were marching towards the Korean capital. Thus, when the fire bell set up by the Japanese near the South Gate of Seoul was tested, it "caused quite a commotion among the Koreans who look upon it as sort of tocsin or call to arms" to help prevent the Japanese soldiers from entering.

The newspaper cautioned its readers and the Japanese authorities that as "long as the present delicate state of feeling continues the ringing of alarm bells and like demonstrations should be indulged in sparingly."

A display by Japanese firefighters in the 1890s. Robert Neff Collection

In May 1896, after a large fire broke out in the barracks in front of the palace, the editor of The Independent (a local newspaper published in Korean and English) called upon the government to purchase a couple of modern fire engines and to train some of the police force in their use.

When the Korean government failed to act quickly, the Russian minister to Korea became proactive. According to The Independent:

"The Russian Legation has a fire engine in the compound and the guards are drilled to use it in case of emergency. There is a house built near the front gate of the Legation in which to keep the engine. We are informed that in case there should be a fire in the foreign settlement, by applying to the Russian Minister, the trained firemen and the engine can be secured."

The newspaper's editor caustically added:

"It is a great comfort to think that we will not be compelled to depend any longer on a few Korean buckets and coolies to carry water in case fire should break out in our midst."

Despite the eventual acquisition of modern firefighting equipment and the supernatural powers of the haetae, fires still pose a serious threat to the Land of the Morning Calm.

My sincere appreciation to Diane Nars for her assistance and allowing me to use an image from her collection.

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