Our friends had kindly begun before our arrival at Wonsan to make arrangements for the trip which we wished to take through the Diamond Mountains, so that a few hours sufficed to complete them. An attractive route was suggested by a native who knew the passes; the time at our disposal was only eight days, so we were obliged to give up all hope of doing the principal pass, which is lofty and very arduous for travellers. The one selected took us through a fine part of the chain of mountains which runs down the eastern coast of Korea, and enabled us to visit an important monastery. We started with four ponies and three men to look after them, and the price stipulated was 64 yen (a little over £6), the distance to be covered being approximately 225 miles. It was probable that the men would get some loads for the return journey, but that could not be counted on. We had no saddles, so our bed bags had to take their place, but they made precarious seats. At first one thought it would be only possible to retain one’s seat by holding on all the time, and the thought of the necessity of using a handkerchief owing to a severe cold in the head was an anxious one, but time soon made us able to dispense with any grip. Mr. Chiao found his bedding a much more satisfactory seat than ours, for the usual Chinese bed bag seems to have been specially devised for the purpose; he looked completely at his ease, though he had never ridden before, and he hopped on and off his pony with astonishing rapidity. The fourth beast carried our two modest baskets of stores and clothing, and the cots which had been kindly lent to us for the occasion. Having lost our umbrellas we bought Korean paper waterproof coats, at the cost of about one shilling each, and waterproof paper for lining our other things, as there was some fear of wet weather on the mountains.

We set off about 2 o’clock with the intention of doing fifteen miles that evening, but it is always difficult to make a good start, and various hindrances delayed us, such as a ferry-boat with no ferryman, and the boat on the wrong side of the river. After a little time a woman came slowly down to the ferry and got into the boat, so our men exhorted her to pull herself across by means of the rope; this, however, she declined to do, and sat patiently waiting for some one else to come and take her across. It was only when we saw her close at hand that we discovered she was blind, so probably that had made her afraid of crossing alone. We became very impatient as time went on and no one appeared; I urged our men to ford the stream higher up, which was evidently a frequented route. However, they were too timorous, and were afraid of trying an unknown path, so we lost much valuable time. It was only at the close of our journey that we learned that none of the men had traversed any part of our route previously; naturally the result was that they constantly made mistakes and took us out of the direct route. At last, just as we were beginning to despair, some one arrived who towed the ferry-boat over the river, and we set off across some ploughed fields towards the foot of the hills. It was dusk when we reached a village which our men said was the halting-place, and only next day we discovered that they had stopped three miles short of the right stage. We were shown into a small room about twelve feet square, from which the women of the house were ejected though their clothing draped the walls, and big chests further diminished our space. All Korean houses have a small platform outside them, either planking or made of dried mud, on which the shoes are left before any one enters. The floors are heated from below and covered with matting, so that chairs are considered unnecessary, and the Koreans enjoy the heat which penetrates through the bedding on which they lie at nights. We found it decidedly trying, despite having the door open and cots to sleep on; but we were delighted to find the houses so much cleaner than we expected. On the whole they look unquestionably cleaner in the country villages than in the corresponding ones at home. It was a little difficult to sleep, what with the heat and the noise, for the men require two hours to get up and breakfast, and we were off by 6 o’clock.

The second day we travelled mostly parallel with the seashore, and got more accustomed to riding our steeds. It was a perfect day with radiant sunshine, and one received an impression of universal content and comfort. The people looked for the most part respectably dressed and housed, and “every prospect pleased.” The villages seemed well supplied with cattle, pigs, fowls, and firewood, and within the houses were goodly array of bowls and brass utensils brilliantly polished. When we stopped at midday the horses were unloaded and given a hot sort of bran mash. The Korean pony is a hardy creature, capable of great labour and wonderfully sure-footed, but he requires three hot meals per day, that is to say, a large quantity of hot water with more or less of boiled beans and rice chaff in it. He appears to be eating all night long except when he is fighting his next-door neighbour. His mapoo or groom brushes him assiduously with a little round brush before loading, though it never has any visible effect on the beast’s coat—a more unkempt-looking animal is not to be found anywhere. The stable and kitchen of Korean inns seem to consist in a single room, one wall having a long row of stoves so that various big pans can be cooking at the same time. The chimney of a house is generally quite detached from the building, for it is connected with flues which underlie the whole house, heating every room (see illustration, p. 10). At meal-times the men each had a little round table, about four inches in diameter, on which were a large brass bowl of rice, another of water, and two or three small earthenware dishes of vegetable, or fish, or other condiments. These little tables are very neat, and the food attractively served. The Koreans required two hours always at midday, for the men lie down and go to sleep after they have eaten.

Our way led us up hill and down dale, and in the course of the day we walked down five precipitous hills, on two of which there were large gangs of navvies making the road. They use a peculiar spade with a long handle, partly shod at the spatula-shaped end with iron, to which was attached a rope on each side worked by separate individuals, so that it required three men to wield it. Everywhere the country was being prepared for the crops. The rice fields seemed to occupy the main part of the land under cultivation, and were being ploughed by cattle. None of the ground was pasture land—we have not seen a single sheep since we came to Korea; there were some flocks of goats to be seen from the railway, but no other animals grazing. The cattle are singularly fine, but are only used in agriculture and as beasts of burden; the loads of wood that they carry are so large that hardly more of the beast is to be seen than the legs. The same may be said of the loads carried by men and boys.

We were delighted by the wild flowers just coming into blossom—hepaticas of shades varying from purest white to deep blue; large round-faced yellow heartsease; various colours of violets, and the sweetest large white ones; deep-red hairy anemones, and white crocus.

As we had only come twelve instead of fifteen miles the previous night we decided that we must make it up, or the other stages arranged would be impossible, but at such a suggestion our men looked black and greatly demurred. They said thirty-seven miles was too long a journey; and when we came to a village nestling under the slope of a hill covered with fine pine-trees in which numbers of herons were clamorously preparing to roost, we were obliged to admit that it was no wonder the men were anxious to stop there. The place was thoroughly picturesque and showed signs of activity; there was even a police officer standing near the invariable notice board which adorns every village in Korea since the Japanese occupation. We pushed on and only stopped a moment to sketch a particularly good specimen of devil posts, of which we had seen numbers on the road. It is considered meritorious to add a stone to one of these wayside heaps, which takes the place of shrines. We spent the night at a small village, only arriving at dusk after thirteen and a half hours’ travelling; and we were not sorry to tumble into our cots after a short meal, to put out our lights, and so escape the curiosity of the natives, which we find a great trial. It is well-nigh impossible to shut the doors for more than a few minutes, or you feel asphyxiated, and it is only when the light is out that the eager villagers cease to gaze. One was reduced to the necessity of washing in the dark or getting up in the middle of the night to do it.

The third day’s journey began under a grey and uncertain-looking sky, but the sun shone out at intervals as we made our way along the seashore. My guide insisted I should ride with a foot on each side of my good beast’s neck, but that brought disaster, for it meant nothing to cling to, so a sudden spring forward of the beast, resultant on an unseen prod in the back, landed me promptly in the dust. My mapoo tried to break the fall, but only succeeded in getting a blow on his mouth. Seeing I was not seriously damaged he made a pitiable appeal to my sympathy, opening a wide mouth in which I expected to see several teeth lying about. There was no sign of disaster except a few drops of blood, which seemed to distress him acutely, but the other men all roared with laughter and told him to wash in the stream close by. He didn’t cease being sorry for himself for quite a long while, and the weird songs with which he had previously beguiled the road ceased for half a day. We passed many small fishing hamlets, and were interested to see what a variety of fish the women had in their baskets, of which many were unknown to us. Flounders seem quite common, and in Seoul we noticed much larger herrings than any seen at home; all fish is much more expensive there than in London, owing to the Japanese monopoly, but happily for the little villages, they are so far beyond the beat of the foreigner that they are left unmolested; indeed we saw no Japanese after leaving Wonsan till that afternoon, when we were astonished at the sound of a siren, and turning a corner came into an exquisite little land-locked harbour, evidently a naval base, and completely concealed from the sea. Numbers of sea-gulls and oyster-catchers were disporting themselves in the shallow basin leading from it, but our attention was riveted on the boats where gun practice was going on, though it sounded muffled.

The village of Tschagu-Tschiendogu (accordingly to the spelling in our German map) boasts of a Japanese post-office, and a Japanese woman was trotting along with a baby on her back. Passing through it we plodded through deep silver sand for some distance before turning inland, but we had a long way still to go to reach the secluded monastery, which was our resting-place for the night. We wound in among the precipitous mountains of granite formation. The rocks stood out like mammoth beasts in all sorts of strange shapes, and they looked black and forbidding in the gloom. A green serpent mottled with black gave our men quite a fright, and they continually asked the way, getting not much enlightenment. At last we penetrated into an ideal valley with cliffs towering steeply upwards to a considerable height, and showing the jagged outlines which have given the Diamond Mountains their name. The narrow track changed into a broad well-kept road, leading through a pine forest, and we had not gone more than a mile or so when we met a party of monks taking their evening stroll. The youthful looking abbot wore a chain which distinguished him from the rest, and he stepped forward, bowing politely. It was rather difficult to know how next to proceed, as none of the party seemed to understand English or Chinese; however, Mr. Chiao at once began a conversation by writing on the ground and asking if we could receive accommodation for the night. The request was readily granted, and the party of monks escorted us back.

As we approached the monastery there was a small open space by the roadside in which were stone vases and tablets, but with the exception of that and the avenue there was no sign to mark the neighbourhood of the buildings. They were situated up a short path at right angles to the road, and were by no means impressive. The temple stood slightly to the rear, and we were taken to a series of rooms opening on to a raised terrace, and ushered into the central one, where a Buddha occupied the post of honour. A screen was produced to divide off a part of the room for us, and the monks arranged themselves all round to watch proceedings, namely, the cooking of our supper. One of them wrote an inquiry whether we were “Jesus missionaries,” another brought us a Japanese-English primer, and said a few sentences which he had learned fairly accurately, but could not understand anything we said.

While we had our supper in one part of the room some monks had theirs in another, and it became obvious that we should have no privacy, so we had our things removed to a small room which had been allotted to Mr. Chiao, which was very hot but clean, and which possessed some rings on the door that we could padlock and yet get fresh air. Mr. Chiao was kept busy writing for a long time, and we begged him to find out what they considered the best route to Seoul. However, they said that none of their number had ever been there, and that the monastery to which we proposed going next day was forty miles distant over a lofty pass, so we had to give it up. We were glad to have Mr. Chiao sleeping in the verandah just outside our door to guard us. They showed the rapacity which is said to characterise the Buddhist monks in Korea, and we heard none too good an account of them. The night stillness was only disturbed by the croaking of frogs in quite a different tongue from that of European ones, and the periodic beating of the fish gong which betokens the hour of prayer.

In the morning we were up betimes and off before 6 o’clock; already the monks were busy outside spreading great heaps of grain on matting, perhaps in preparation for sowing. It was a perfect morning as we wended our way down the valley for about three miles of the same way we had come the night before, and soon we left the lovely valley behind us. Our pathway was full of funny little green frogs spotted with black, and with their underside brilliant scarlet. Heavy clouds hung over the precipitous ravine through which lay our way, and we soon outdistanced our ponies as we tramped over a rough path surrounded by most fascinating flowers. Besides those mentioned above there were glades full of large cyclamen, white crocus and wood anemones, purple iris, saxifrage, &c.

Lilies of the valley and strawberry leaves showed promise of future beauty, and many kinds of ferns were beginning to unfold their fronds. Pheasants and wood-pigeons were calling from the rocks, and many birds trying their notes in a tentative way. Chipmunks sat up eyeing us with great unconcern, and the treasures of the woods seemed limitless. A babbling brook kept us in constant temptation as our path crossed and recrossed it, and before we reached the top we passed through more than one drift of snow. The views were wonderful, but we could have seen them better by travelling in the opposite direction, and one of the great charms in that case is the way that the traveller suddenly gets a view of the distant sea as he climbs over the summit of the pass. We were three hours climbing up, for the ascent is very stiff, but the descent is much more gradual, and we were glad to be able to mount our beasts, for the midday halt only came after a stage of seven hours. Brilliant gleams of sunshine occasionally burst forth, but the clouds blew up for rain, and we were thankful to reach our resting-place at night before the storm broke. We only managed 90 li (27 miles) in eleven hours, and on our arrival we were surprised and provoked to find in the little village a Japanese encampment, and officers occupying the best inn. After a slight demur we were taken in, and were soon after discussing a light meal, when the door was thrust rudely open, and a Japanese soldier prepared to watch us have it. As he declined to take our hint to go, it became necessary to shut the door in his face. The rain fell heavily in the night, and the wind blew, but a dark morning was a prelude to a fine day.

We started late next morning, and only got as far as the end of the village when two Japanese officers, who seemed to be superintending the building of a house, stopped us and inquired our destination. They went into long explanations in writing on the ground with Mr. Chiao. They said there was a much better road than the one we were on, and that by it the distance was only 80 li. They spoke a few words of English, and we hoped that they had no ulterior object in sending us the other way, as it proved an execrable road and at least 110 li as to distance. We soon found ourselves going up another pass, but not nearly so long and arduous as the last. The flowers were not so numerous, and we found nothing much of fresh interest. Swallow-tails and butterflies of various colours flitted about the path, and the panoramic view as we gained the summit was fine, showing what a land of hills this is. As we descended into the valleys we found them scantily populated and cultivated, but the singular number of streams and brooks kept many grinding-mills at work. The commonest kind of mill is worked by a runnel of water discharging itself into a wooden cradle; when this is full it descends and empties itself, then rises again, bringing down its other end, as a hammer on the grain beneath. The hammer is inside a little round hut with a pointed roof thatched with straw. Others of the mills are worked by wheels, and there is a constant sound of groaning and hammering in every valley. Ploughing and sowing go on simultaneously, and this requires a gang of from four to six men; they work on a cooperative system, and one man treads along the newly-turned furrow, with bare feet, widening it out, and dropping in the grain and fertiliser mixed, while another follows to cover it with soil, and it is finally stamped down by yet another man. The birds have a poor chance of getting any grain. Some fresh ground was being brought under cultivation by having the brushwood on it burnt and then being ploughed, but to judge from appearances there is no little ground still left waste, which would be cultivated if, for example, it were in Chinese hands. The Koreans take life much more easily, and there is none of the elaborate care and use of materials which are such a striking feature of Chinese industry.

It was only after a somewhat prolonged midday halt that we made the trying discovery that we still had fifteen miles to travel to Tschang Do, where we joined the main road, and meanwhile it became darker and darker. Happily later on the moon shone out brightly and illumined us across a barren moor. Passengers were few and far between, but a couple of men came along silently carrying a white swathed corpse on a stretcher. Our own party had fallen silent, for we were tired and disappointed; the gloom prevented our seeing the steepness of some of the descents, but we clung desperately to our steeds, for we were too weary to walk. At last we came into a high road, which proved to be the main road running from Seoul to Wonsan, and on this it was easy travelling. Few gleams of light were to be seen in the village, but the inhabitants had not gone to rest, so our men set about finding quarters—a not altogether easy matter. While we were discussing it outside an inn, the beasts began quarrelling, and a man was sent flying headlong into the ditch by the heels of one of them. He picked himself up without any ado, and as if it were quite a matter of course. Perhaps this settled the vexed question, for we were forthwith admitted to the house, and the family turned out of a room which they allotted to our use. This sort of thing happened wherever we stayed, for apparently there are no spare rooms for travellers, and as there is no furniture in the living rooms it is not so objectionable an arrangement as it sounds. The best hats of the family are hung on the rafters, a shelf runs round the wall about two feet from the ceiling; it is full of miscellaneous objects, while the clothing of the family appears to be stored in boxes piled on one another. There is generally a door on each side of the room consisting of papered lattice work, and in the side a glass peep-hole varying in size from one to four inches.

The night passed all too soon, and we woke to the consciousness of a sharp frosty morning. As we wended our way down the valley it might easily have been midwinter. The brown hill-sides, and the brown earth and stubble thick with rime, showed no suggestion of spring, though it was nearing the end of April. On every side the pheasants were calling, and the bold fellows were hardly to be put up by a well-aimed stone from my man, but trotted unconcernedly away, as though conscious that now they are under Japanese protection. We met a man with a falcon, but even the falconer’s trade is eyed with suspicion, lest he use it as a blind. There have been several cases of poisoned pheasants noted lately in Seoul, so that it is necessary to be careful in buying them, to see that they have really been shot.

Our sixth day was again a thirteen hours’ journey, and as we sat resting by a rill of water at midday, a young mother with a baby on her back came up, beaming with eagerness to talk to us. No doubt she expected we could understand and answer, and we were doubly sorry not to be able to do so when she carefully unfolded a handkerchief and showed us her Testament and hymn book. The only possibly means of sympathy was by dumb show, and by the headings of the hymns, which were in English as well as Korean.

That evening we found our innkeeper was a Christian, by whom we were received with the utmost warm-heartedness, and every request so willingly granted, that it was quite cheering after a tiring day. One of the girls had thoroughly acquired the English hand-shake, and when I stretched out a hand to shut the door, to my great surprise I found it warmly grasped instead. A little clucking on my friend’s part caused them to go out and fetch us lovely new-laid eggs, a great contrast to most of those we had been able to buy on the road, and they watched my cooking operations with lively interest. We began to feel it would be difficult to shut the door at all on their friendly faces, when an interruption came and rendered it unnecessary; this was a summons to them from the head of the house to come to family worship. First they sang a hymn (would that our good missionary friends could be content to let them sing their own tunes!)—then came Scripture reading, prayer, and the Lord’s Prayer repeated by all; I imagine that what followed next must have been exhortation and a suggestion of another hymn, but they decided not to sing it. The utmost devoutness characterised their worship, which was carried on in the adjoining room, so that we felt we were sharers in it, and it was good to be there.

We parted next morning with hearty hand-shakes, and we wished we had met with more Christian innkeepers on our journey, if this were a typical one. Just as we were starting a nice-looking young girl showed us her Bible with great pride, and I found that she could write quite well. Education seems to be almost entirely neglected in the country districts, and we have only passed one school so far as we know during our eight days’ journey. The road continued excellent, but always winds through narrow valleys and over ridges into other valleys, showing how large a part of the country is uninhabited. The hill-sides are only used as cemeteries and for producing firewood. Until we reached the high road at the end of our fifth day’s journey we met no ponies and only few pedlars; after that there were many people and animals. The pedlars seem to carry mainly cotton goods (“superior sheeting K K K” being much to the fore), summer hats, umbrellas, haberdashery, mirrors, matches, and cigarettes. The people have little money, and the things they use are of the cheapest.

Shortly after starting we met three mounted soldiers, evidently the military escort of a weary-looking Westerner seated in a ricksha, followed by another ricksha in which was seated a Korean in pale blue attire. This was the only Westerner we met during our eight days’ journey, and from this time onward we occasionally met a ricksha, though on some parts of the road it looks quite impossible for them to travel. For a distance of perhaps twenty miles the road has been planted on both sides with twigs at a distance of about a foot from one another. They look unpromising, but we were assured that they are likely to grow all right, in which case they will convert the dull road in the course of a few years to a pleasant shady avenue. Towards dusk we came to Po Chan, a Japanese military outpost. It struck us that this was probably the last opportunity of sending a telegram to announce our return to Seoul, so we at once dismounted at the telegraph office. Almost everywhere the one notice up in English is “Post—Telegraph,” but here it was in Japanese. When our wishes, however, had been explained by Mr. Chiao in writing, a telegraph form entirely made out in English was produced and the message written. It seemed such a simple matter to send it, that we were astonished at the amount of correspondence it entailed. Our names, destinations, ages, &c. &c. were demanded by the military authorities, and the little job took at least twenty minutes. At last we got away and it was quite dark before we reached our destination.

We sighed for our friendly hosts of the night before, for this time we encountered a horde of inquisitive people, who allowed us no peace; in vain we closed three doors out of the four which led from one tiny room eighteen feet square, and the paper on them was soon in shreds. At last we were driven to distraction, and closed all the peep-holes by curtains, preferring to be stifled than to endure the people any longer.

The eighth and last morning of our journey dawned grey and unpromising. How often have we sighed for our comfortable Chinese travelling chairs, never more than as the weary hours wore slowly away under a drizzling rain. For the last few days we had seen scarcely a flower and heard few birds; the dear larks were silent, and the passengers hurried along under umbrellas, waterproof-covered hats, and an occasional grass coat. The villages were more numerous, and wonderful groups of devil posts, ten or twelve in a row, faced each other at each end of them; many of these looked comparatively new, and were painted brick-red and green, with white markings. A noticeable feature of Korea is the absence of temples, and the disrepair of the shrines; we never saw any sign of worship by the people at these wayside shrines. They are, many of them, simply empty huts, or have a little writing on the walls, and occasionally a picture. On sacred trees strips of paper are hung, and the passer-by, if devout, adds a stone to the heap round its roots.

We donned our shilling paper coats and found them an admirable protection from the rain, but we must have been a funny sight. As we rode along we came to a Japanese regiment on the march, headed by its officers in military capes. One of the officers, despite the rain, threw his cape back in a négligé way before he met us, so that a dazzling row of decorations should not pass unobserved. Certainly his appearance was in striking contrast to ours.

We entered the city of Seoul from the north by a fine old gateway, the whole scene being most picturesque. I returned to sketch it the following day.

The impression of the country people gained by our trip was that they were not particularly friendly, but thoroughly inquisitive; it looked as if there were little extreme poverty, but a general air of comfort seemed to prevail everywhere. The village street is swept daily, so that in the early morning there is a pleasant look of tidiness about it. The cattle are sleek and well cared for, and even the dogs have a prosperous air.

Any one thinking of visiting the Diamond Mountains would do well to try and secure a competent Korean to go with them, who would be able to secure the daily fowl for dinner of which we heard, but which we never met, and to procure any other requisite. We saw no cultivation of vegetables, except small plots of onions, so that we had to rely entirely on the stores that we took with us for everything except eggs. We were told (too late) that a guide may easily be heard of at the Y.M.C.A. in Seoul. As to means of transit—there are only three; a pony, but let me add a warning on this score, namely, that one gets deadly tired of its slow walk; a native chair, consisting of a square box like an Indian dhoolie, with carriers who groan all the time; and shanks’s pony, which in the mountains is the only pleasant one. Residents in Korea have their own carrying chairs, but these are not to be hired. As regards the time of year most suitable for travelling in Korea, May is the most beautiful, or early autumn we were told, but in case of the former, mosquito curtains are a necessity. We found winter clothing requisite for April; thick tweeds and fur coat were none too warm.

We had been told that the country districts were quite unsafe on account of Japanese vagrants, but we saw nothing of them, and as far as we could judge there is excellent order everywhere. Although Mr. Chiao was unable to communicate directly with the Koreans, his presence was of undoubted value to us in more ways than one. It lent prestige to our small party, for the Koreans hold the Chinese in great respect; and for them to see such a man as Mr. Chiao in a subordinate position to us, was equivalent to raising us to high rank.