Seoul, the capital of Korea

THE
BURTON HOLMES
LECTURES
With Illustrations from Photographs
By the Author
COMPLETE IN TEN VOLUMES
VOL. X
BATTLE CREEK, MICHIGAN
THE LITTLE-PRESTON COMPANY, LIMITED
M C M I
COPYRIGHT 1901
BY E. BURTON HOLMES
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
SEOUL, THE CAPITAL OF KOREA


THE CITY of Seoul is the quaintest I have ever seen. A visit to the Korean capital is one of the choicest tidbits on the menu of modern travel. The usual approach to Korea is by way of Nagasaki, in a Japanese steamer which first touches Fusan, a thriving port at the southern end of the peninsula that we call Korea but which is known to the Japanese as "Cho-Sen" – "The Land of the Morning Freshness," and to its own people by |

the language of the Mikado's land. They have been here in force for more than three hundred years; since the great invasion in 1592 they have never relinquished this foothold on the continent of Asia. Wise indeed in their forethought, |


for there is now a railway in construction that will make this obscure port one of the termini of the Trans-Asiatic line, surpassing Vladivostok and Port Arthur in point of proximity to the main traveled waterways of the Far Eastern Seas. |


Two sailors and the author, Burton Holmes, on the deck of a ship in the fog.
But we approach Korea not from the Japanese, but from the Chinese, side. We sail from Taku, Peking’s port; transship at Chi-Fu, and cross the entrance to the Gulf of Pe-chi-li on a steamer of the Nippon Yusen Kaisha – the Royal Mail Line of Japan – for the enterprise of Japan is as conspicuous in Korean waters as upon Korean shores. The ship threads her way toward Chemulpo, the chief port of Korea, through |

an enchanted archipelago – a constellation of shimmering islands set in the placid firmament of a deep, calm, silent sea. Isle after isle glides by – some rocky, savage, and fantastic, some soft, inviting, and luxuriant, but all apparently unpeopled; and the sea itself is lonely as a desert – no signs of life, no ships, no junks; and yet we are within an hour's sail of Korea’s busiest and most important port. Surely the people of Ta-han must fear the sea which washes three sides of their land, or else these waters would not be left for the exclusive furrowing of foreign keels. We are already in full view of Chemulpo before we see the first Korean craft – a sampan that has ventured out to meet the ship. The boatmen, however, do not lack daring, for they drive the little boat full tilt at the passing steamer, strike the hull just forward of the gangway, and then as the big hull brushes past, two men succeed in gripping ropes or railings and swing themselves with monkey-like agility up to the deck. Meantime their fellows have made fast a rope, and the sampan is trailing gaily in our wake at the end of a long tow-line. Other acrobatic sampan men repeat this maneuver, boarding our ship like pirates in their eagerness to |
