Hulbert's memories of the past

Jemulpo (modern Incheon) in the late 1880s / Robert Neff Collection

Homer Hulbert is arguably one of the most beloved early Westerners in Korean history. He came to Korea in July 1886 as an American educator (a task he performed admirably) and went on to write prolifically about Korea — subsequently educating his fellow Westerners of the peninsula’s culture, history and charms. Of course, his efforts weren’t always appreciated, even by his own government; he was occasionally dismissed as troublesome and “going native.” Hulbert was, right up to his death, a champion of Korea’s right to self-government.

In 1939, he published a short article describing his early memories of Korea — it was a kaleidoscope of amusing anecdotes. Here are some of them (augmented by those of his peers):

The first of his anecdotes was his “adventurous trip” from Nagasaki to Jemulpo (modern Incheon) aboard the small Japanese steamship Tsuruga Maru in July 1886. According to a previous passenger, the Tsuruga Maru was a “very comfortable [vessel, with] nice cabins, and saloon, a popular commander, good table, and plenty of ice.” But Hulbert wasted very little ink in describing the ship. Instead he concentrated on the uncanny navigational abilities of the ship’s captain.

Off the coast of Jeolla Province, amongst the myriad of “unchartered islands,” the Tsuruga Maru encountered a thick bank of fog. Captain Peter Hussey, a 58-year-old American hailing from Boston, was an extremely experienced sailor and was undaunted by the adverse conditions. Using the ship’s whistle, he slowly made his way to a safe anchorage near a precipice that towered nearly 100 meters high.

Rickshaws at the American Legation in Seoul in the 1880s / Robert Neff Collection

In an article he published shortly after the event, Hulbert explained:

“I placed myself in the extreme bow of the boat and strained my eyes into the dense black fog ahead. Suddenly in an interval stillness I thought I heard — yes, it was, the soft dash of ripples along a shore. I knew that I was the only one who had heard it, and I turned, lifting my hand to shout to the man at the wheel, but at that instant I was glued to the spot by the sight of an immense black, cold shadow into which we were slowly drifting. The next instant I became aware that this goodly steamer lay alongside a sheer precipice of gray rock which towered far above her highest mast. But the momentum of the vessel could not be stopped instantly, and I caught hold of the railing with the certainty that the next moment I should feel her grate upon the bottom. As we drew near I caught sight of the black seams and fissures in the face of the rock, and there swept over me such a feeling of horror as I had never experienced before.”

When questioned about the obvious dangers of approaching the rocky island in the fog, the captain seemed almost blasé and explained that there was little chance of grounding considering the depth of the water around the islands.

In his 1939 article, Hulbert acknowledged he had been paralyzed with fear and it was because of this experience that he “wore [his] hair pompadour for the next twenty years.”

The Russian Legation in the late 1890s was a popular haunt for wild leopards and orphaned tiger cubs. Burton Holmes image, Robert Neff Collection

However, that was not his only harrowing experience while on a steamship sailing between Fusan (modern Busan) and Jemulpo. In 1901, while sailing in a storm, a large lamp fell and started a fire in the lounge. Hulbert proudly declared that it was his “prompt application of the biceps Americanus” that prevented the ship from being lost and then glibly added: “Fire at sea, especially in a storm, is one of those things that are more interesting to read than to experience.”

Even traveling on the Han River was a daunting task that required patience and a certain amount of courage and luck. The small steamships that plied the river were notorious for frequent groundings and poor maintenance. This resulted in many passengers losing their patience, time and some of their luggage, but occasionally it cost lives. Such was the case of the Sebi Maru in Decemeber 1898. The newly built steamer sank between Seoul and Jemulpo — of the 23 passengers aboard, 17 were lost along with all of the cargo.

Fortunately for Hulbert, none of his experiences were deadly, but he does hint about in one of his anecdotes. He fondly recalled playing chess with an American missionary while they waited for the arrival of the “queer little steamer which we called ‘The Death Trap.’” It isn’t clear which part of this anecdote he remembered the most — the infamous little river steamship or the game of chess he played with the “musical accompaniment of eight million mosquitoes.”

Yi Jaesun, often known as the “Fat Prince,” was infamous for his fear of cats. Burton Holmes image, Robert Neff Collection

Not everyone traveling between Jemulpo and Seoul used river steamships. When he arrived in July 1886, Hulbert and his party went overland using ponies and rickshaws. I suspect he was not very fond of the Korean ponies — infamous for their wicked tempers and vicious teeth — and preferred traveling in rickshaws. One of his anecdotes described his rickshaw ride from Nagasaki to Nikko, Japan, in the summer of 1887. He and his companion were in pursuit of an ideal location to view a solar eclipse. The journey was memorable but the experience was a “frightful disappointment” because “a small cloud obscured [the eclipse] at the moment of occultation.”

It is a shame he did not describe the rickshaw ride in July 1886, but fortunately one of his companions, Annie Ellers, did:

“First the rickshaw runners were new to their job. They would release the handle bar suddenly and we as suddenly were feet up! They would not notice a ditch and slow up, but plump into it went the wheels with a resultant bump for the rider! After a sufficient number of these unpleasantnesses an exchange was made, the baggage was put into the rickshaws and the ladies on the ponies. Now the pack-saddles on the ponies were made for carrying loads of unfeeling wood and not for sensitive humans! So after our arrival, one lady was in bed a week, the other three days! I leave to your imagination the reason why.”

An event marking the 70th anniversary of Homer Hulbert’s death is hosted by Kim Dong-jin and the Hulbert Memorial Society, August 2019. Robert Neff Collection

Of this initial entry into Seoul, Hulbert merely wrote:

“We managed to get to Seoul on pack ponies in the blistering heat but when we entered the city we could not find the Legation nor any of the foreigners’ houses. Dr. Underwood found us wandering about the Japanese quarter and guided us to American homes where we arrived more dead than alive. That summer there was a terrible scourge of cholera and a thousand bodies were carried out every day. I shall never forget the wailing cry of the bearers as they carried out their dreadful burdens, through the Little West Gate near our place.”

The cholera epidemic in 1886 was truly terrible. Newspapers in the United States claimed Seoul was “threatened with positive extinction” and so many people had died that it was “impossible to bury the dead.”

In his 1939 article, Hulbert also stated: “Some rascal threw a dead child over the wall into Underwood’s compound in order to get him into trouble, which was fortunately avoided.” I believe that he accidentally combined anecdotes from the 1886 cholera epidemic and the 1888 baby riots. Both were frequently described by the Westerners living in Seoul at the time.

Not all of his memories were so dark.

One of his fond memories was when “the King invited us all into the palace grounds to skate while he and the Queen and Crown Prince looked on the swell dinner that followed when the King and Queen peeped at us through holes in the partition.”

There were also the many hunting trips he made. These tromps through the wilderness were often for birds and deer, but on some occasions — when he was feeling more adventurous than prudent — he hunted tigers. Fortunately for him and his companions, the tigers failed to make their appearance.

Hulbert, like many of his Western peers, could not resist talking about Prince Yi Jaesun (also known as the “Fat Prince”) and his paranoia of household cats. Horace Allen, the American representative to Korea, described the prince’s encounter with the cat at the Russian Legation in 1896:

“A kitten had strolled unobserved into the dining-room, and as the Korean was sitting where its mistress usually sat, the kitten climbed the ample gowns of the Korean and ensconced itself in his lap. Imagine looking down and finding a snake curled up in your lap at a dinner table in some strange place and you will appreciate how the Korean felt.”

Hulbert, who apparently attended the same event, was amused the prince “was scared stiff because a small kitten came in but later when a little tame tiger cub was introduced he never batted an eye!”

Homer Hulbert’s grave at Yanghwajin Foreigners Cemetery in August 2019 / Robert Neff Collection

This little tiger was definitely a character. Sally Sill (the American ambassador’s wife) wrote in her dairy:

“In the afternoon we all went as usual to the Russian legation for afternoon tea and there we saw a young tiger that the King had presented to Mr. Waeber (the Russian representative). Some Korean peasants in the northern part of the country were out walking and saw two large eagles, each with a tiger’s cub in his mouth or rather talons, and the Father and Mother tigers following after them. They then found the cave and in it one little tiger left. They secured it and brought it to the King, he, not caring for it, gave it to Mr. Waeber, who is going to send it to Russia to have it put in one of the zoological gardens there. It is the queerest looking little thing I ever saw, as large as a good sized cat, but with enormous claws and head, and most wicked looking eyes.”

A few days later, she tried to capture the image of the tiger cub with her camera but the cub “was most obstreperous and did not want to have his picture taken at all. He growled and fought and showed his teeth and seemed to possess of all the tiger characteristics. Finally after a good switching,” Sally’s sister was able to snatch a picture “just as [the cub] was jumping from the table.”

Another treasured recollection may have been inspired by his own advancing years: “The time when a Japanese foreman on the railway embankment bribed a Korean to tell him the most terrible cuss-word in the Korean language and the Korean whispered to him the monstrous anathema ‘Hal apaji’ — (grandfather).”

The 74th anniversary of Homer Hulbert’s death in 2024 / Courtesy of Hulbert Memorial Society

Concluding his article, Hulbert wrote:

“Ah, memory, memory! They crowd upon me by the million. I love the words ‘once upon a time … …’ but better still the words ‘The days that are still to come.’”

In late July 1949, Hulbert returned to Seoul. The peninsula was no longer under the yoke of Japanese occupation, but it was divided by the political ideologies of Joseon Korea’s old allies: the Soviet Union (Russia) and the United States. Hulbert died on Aug. 5, 1949 — never realizing his dream of seeing a unified and free Korea.

He is buried in Yanghwajin Foreign Cemetery near the bank of the Han River. His stone bears a simple but poignant memorial: “I would rather be buried in Korea than in Westminster Abbey.”

Unlike many buried in the cemetery, Hulbert has not been forgotten. Through the ceaseless efforts of Kim Dong-jin and the Hulbert Memorial Society, his memory lives on forever.

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