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| The city walls of Seoul, photographed by Pierre Louis Jouy in the mid-1880s Annual Report of the Regents of the Smithsonian Institute (1891) |
By Robert Neff
Seoul, in the summer of 1884, was filled with rivalries among the small handful of young Western men. Each of these men (naval officers, diplomats and anthropological collectors) sought to be the "first" to visit or witness various locations and events on the Korean Peninsula. John Baptiste Bernadou, a 24-year-old ensign in the United States Navy temporarily assigned to the legation in Seoul, was no exception.
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| A guide post, photographed by Pierre Louis Jouy in the mid-1880s Annual Report of the Regents of the Smithsonian Institute (1891) |
Unfortunately, when compared with his peers, Bernadou was rather stingy with his descriptions thus compelling me to augment the narrative with some of theirs.
When leaving Seoul, he merely mentioned they left through the West Great Gate where "a stream escapes into a narrow gorge defended by a double line of massive walls." William G. Aston, the British consul general, also traveled part of Bernadou's route a month later and wrote:
[I left Seoul on Aug. 7] by the West Gate, through which a constant stream of bulls and horses was passing, laden with fir-planks, firewood, grain and other produce. A mile from this gate the road passes over a rugged hill, where it was necessary to dismount and lead the ponies. There is a nearly level track through a defile 200 feet below, but it is so neglected that it is more like a stone-quarry than a road, and almost everybody prefers to cross the hill. Much of the supplies of necessaries for the capital must pass this way, and it is difficult to understand why an attempt to improve the road should not be made. The cost would be insignificant."
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| Encounters along the road circa late 19th or early 20th century Courtesy of Diane Nars Collection |
In the early 1890s, other travelers echoed Aston's complaints:
"It is an interesting fact that the most difficult point in the road between Seoul and [Pyongyang] is within two miles of the West Gate and in full view of the city. A sharp range of hills runs along the west side of the city and through this is cut a deep pass. So narrow is it in some places … [combined with the] … confusion of rough loose stones among which the pedestrian must pick his way with care and on which he cannot ride without being guilty of abuse to his horse. No cart or carriage could well pass through it without being lifted bodily in some places. In addition to its extreme roughness, this pass becomes in summer the bed of a stream which fills the interstices with mud while in winter ice forms among the stones and makes the passage well-nigh impassable."
Like Foulk, these other travelers expressed disbelief that the Korean government would not spend a small amount of money to improve the route.
Bernadou, on the other hand, was impressed with the route ― describing the road as being a "good one" and under government supervision as the local magistrates were responsible for their maintenance and ensured they remained unobstructed. He also claimed the road was well-marked.
"Along the roadside, every five ri [about 2 kilometers], are placed posts painted red and carved roughly at the top in the shape of a human head, these show the distance to the nearest [district towns] in every direction."
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| A picture of a Korean house by Pierre Louis Jouy in the mid-1880s. Annual Report of the Regents of the Smithsonian Institute (1891) |
It is somewhat perplexing that these three groups of travelers failed to describe the other dangers of this pass ― the predators. There were two types of predators: highwaymen who often robbed travelers of their goods and tigers who robbed the unwary of their lives.
Bernadou did, somewhat hesitantly, touch upon another danger of the road ― the supernatural.
"Along the roads throughout the country, in shady spots under large trees and in thickets, piles of stones are made and on the bushes are tied pieces of garments. On the high hills in many places are built the shrines. The rich, or their friends, commonly make offerings there, pieces of garments or plates containing food."
Several years later, an Englishman would also describe the supernatural dangers of traveling, especially at night.
Bernadou's observations were not confined just to the road.
"The houses become poorer in material and construction as the distance from the capital increases. They are generally together in small villages and it is an unusual thing to find one standing alone. They have wooden frames and are one story in height. The roofs are sometimes of tiles, generally of thatch. The walls are made by placing a network of twigs between the beams; this forms a support for the thick coatings of mud which are placed over it. The kitchen is at a lower level than the rest of the house. The flues of the oven used for cooking, run under the floors of the other apartments, passing out beyond. This arrangement provides warmth in winter, but causes a most unbearable heat in summer; the escaping smoke is irritating to the eyes, and perhaps accounts for the great number of blind and those suffering from eye diseases that may be seen everywhere. In the larger houses the rooms are so arranged as to enclose a small court; as a protection from the curiosity of strangers the women's quarters are placed in the rear."
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| An image of a Korean house in the late 19th century ― notice the melon vines on the roof. Robert Neff Collection |
One of the most common subjects of early Western travelers were the encounters ― or rather, lack of encounters ― with Korean women. Bernadou explained:
"Women of the upper class are never to be seen; those of the lower classes seem quite free from restraint among the people of their own villages but they avoid those whom they do not know. When met upon the roads they run into the fields and either hide or else turn their backs toward the traveler. Should they not do this voluntarily, on the approach of a high officer, they would be driven away by his attendants."
Of course, this wasn't always the case in the open ports, like Jemulpo (modern Incheon) or Fusan (modern Busan). There are amusing anecdotes of sailors mistaking young unmarried boys with long braided hair for young girls ― only their need to answer the call of nature revealed the true nature of the young Korean's gender.
We know Bernadou likely passed through Goyang but was not inspired to describe it ― perhaps he was trying to be diplomatic by purposely omitting it. Others weren't so diplomatic.
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| A small Korean village in the late 19th century Robert Neff Collection |
When Aston visited Goyang in August, he described it as "a village of 280 straw thatched cabins, with public buildings and residences of officials, constructed on a scale which appears to the stranger altogether disproportionate."
Undoubtedly it was not the condition of the village and its disproportionate-sized official residences that left an everlasting impression upon the English diplomat ― it was the officials' tool for maintaining discipline and order. In his notes, Aston wrote:
"I noticed here for the first time an object which afterward became familiar to me ― the village stocks ― a T-shaped wooden contrivance, to which the offender is lashed by straw ropes."
Ensign George C. Foulk, an American naval officer who seemed intent on one-upping Bernadou, visited Goyang in September. He didn't notice the punishment stock but he noticed everything else:
"[Goyang] consists of about two hundred low thatched huts of the most wretched description lining the road with a group of tiled buildings with curved roofs at the east end, in which the head county officer lived. There were a few shops of the most unsightly description at which straw sandals, candles, tobacco, a few vegetables and worthless odds and ends were sold, and a number of inns indicated to be such by disordered heaps of meal shoots, jars and dirty dishes in tumble-down smoky huts with bare earthen floors, open to view from the streets."
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| Punishment in the village stocks in the late 19th century Robert Neff Collection |
Later visitors were even harsher with their descriptions of the town. They complained about the unsanitary conditions of its main street which was the receptacle for "all refuse garbage and abomination" and patronized by "small, black, long-snouted swine" that roamed at will as they gorged upon the trash. Homer Hulbert remarked, "It is a marvel that whole towns are not obliterated by pestilence when once it gets started."
Fortunately for many of these travelers, the road became more agreeable and enjoyable the farther away from Seoul they traveled ― as we shall see in the next article.
I would like to thank Diane Nars for allowing me to use one of her images.
Robert Neff has authored and co-authored several books, including Letters from Joseon, Korea Through Western Eyes and Brief Encounters.
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