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Programming in C
About the Author

E Balagurusamy, is presently the Chairman of EBG Foundation, Coimbatore. In the past he has also
held the positions of member, Union Public Service Commission, New Delhi and Vice-Chancellor, Anna
University, Chennai. He is a teacher, trainer and consultant in the fields of Information Technology
and Management. He holds an ME (Hons) in Electrical Engineering and PhD in Systems Engineering
from the Indian Institute of Technology, Roorkee. His areas of interest include Object-Oriented Software
Engineering, E-Governance: Technology Management, Business Process Re-engineering and Total
Quality Management.
A prolific writer, he has authored a large number of research papers and several books. His best-selling
books, among others include:
∑ Fundamentals of Computers
∑ Computing Fundamentals and C Programming, 2e
∑ Programming in C#, 3/e
∑ Programming in Java, 5/e
∑ Object-Oriented Programming with C++, 7/e
∑ Numerical Methods
∑ Reliability Engineering
A recipient of numerous honors and awards, he has been listed in the Directory of Who's Who of
Intellectuals and in the Directory of Distinguished Leaders in Education.
Programming in C

E Balagurusamy
Chairman
EBG Foundation
Coimbatore

McGraw Hill Education (India) Private Limited


CHENNAI

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McGraw Hill Education (India) Private Limited

Published by McGraw Hill Education (India) Private Limited


444/1, Sri Ekambara Naicker Industrial Estate, Alapakkam, Porur, Chennai - 600 116

Programming in C

Copyright © 2018, by McGraw Hill Education (India) Private Limited. No part of this publication may be repro-
duced or distributed in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise
or stored in a database or retrieval system without the prior written permission of the publishers. The program
listings (if any) may be entered, stored and executed in a computer system, but they may not be reproduced for
publication.

ISBN-13: 978-93-87432-36-9
ISBN-10: 93-87432-36-X
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Printed and bound in India.
Managing Director: Kaushik Bellani
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Information contained in this work has been obtained by McGraw Hill Education (India), from sources believed
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shall be responsible for any errors, omissions, or damages arising out of use of this information. This work is
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but are not attempting to render engineering or other professional services. If such services are required, the
assistance of an appropriate professional should be sought.

Typeset at The Composers, 260, C.A. Apt., Paschim Vihar, New Delhi 110 063 and printed at

visit us at: www.mheducation.co.in


Contents

Preface xiii

UNIT 1: BasIcs of c ProgrammINg


1. overview of c 3
History of C 3
Importance of C 5
Sample Program 1: Printing a Message 5
Sample Program 2: Adding Two Numbers 8
Sample Program 3: Interest Calculation 9
Sample Program 4: Use of Subroutines 11
Sample Program 5: Use of Math Functions 12
Basic Structure of C Programs 14
Programming Style 15
Executing a ‘C’ Program 15
UNIX System 16
MS-DOS System 18
Key Concepts 19
Always Remember 19
Review Questions 20
Debugging Exercises 21
Programming Exercises 22

2. constants, Variables and Data Types 24


Introduction 24
Character Set 24
C Tokens 26
Keywords and Identifiers 27
vi Contents

Constants 27
Variables 31
Data Types 32
Declaration of Variables 35
Declaration of Storage Class 38
Assigning Values to Variables 39
Defining Symbolic Constants 44
Declaring a Variable as Constant 46
Declaring a Variable as Volatile 46
Key Concepts 46
Always Remember 47
Brief Cases 47
Review Questions 50
Debugging Exercises 51
Programming Exercises 52

3. operators and Expressions 53


Introduction 53
Arithmetic Operators 54
Relational Operators 56
Logical Operators 57
Assignment Operators 58
Increment and Decrement Operators 60
Conditional Operator 61
Bitwise Operators 61
Special Operators 61
Arithmetic Expressions 63
Evaluation of Expressions 64
Precedence of Arithmetic Operators 65
Some Computational Problems 67
Type Conversions In Expressions 68
Operator Precedence and Associativity 71
Key Concepts 74
Always Remember 74
Brief Cases 75
Review Questions 77
Debugging Exercises 80
Programming Exercises 80
Contents vii

4. Managing Input and Output Operations 83


Introduction 83
Reading a Character 84
Writing a Character 87
Formatted Input 88
Formatted Output 96
Key Concepts 103
Always Remember 104
Brief Cases 104
Review Questions 108
Debugging Exercises 110
Programming Exercises 110

5. Decision making and Branching 113


Introduction 113
Decision Making with If Statement 114
Simple If Statement 114
The If.....Else Statement 117
Nesting of If....Else Statements 120
The Else If Ladder 123
The Switch Statement 127
The ? : Operator 131
The Goto Statement 135
Key Concepts 138
Always Remember 138
Brief Cases 139
Review Questions 143
Debugging Exercises 147
Programming Exercises 148

6. Decision making and Looping 151


Introduction 151
The While Statement 153
The Do Statement 155
The For Statement 158
Jumps in Loops 168
Concise Test Expressions 175
Key Concepts 175
Always Remember 175
viii Contents

Brief Cases 176


Review Questions 183
Debugging Exercises 186
Programming Exercises 187

7. The Preprocessor 191


Introduction 191
Macro Substitution 192
File Inclusion 196
Compiler Control Directives 196
ANSI Additions 200
Key Concepts 202
Always Remember 202
Review Questions 203
Debugging Exercises 204
Programming Exercises 204

UNIT 2: arrays aND sTrINgs


8. Array 207
Introduction 207
One-Dimensional Arrays 209
Declaration of One-Dimensional Arrays 210
Initialization of One-Dimensional Arrays 212
Two-Dimensional Arrays 218
Initializing Two-Dimensional Arrays 222
Multi-Dimensional Arrays 230
Dynamic Arrays 231
More About Arrays 232
Key Concepts 232
Always Remember 232
Brief Cases 233
Review Questions 246
Debugging Exercises 247
Programming Exercises 248

9. character arrays and strings 252


Introduction 252
Declaring and Initializing String Variables 253
Reading Strings from Terminal 254
Contents ix

Writing Strings to Screen 260


Arithmetic Operations on Characters 264
Putting Strings Together 266
Comparison of Two Strings 267
String-Handling Functions 267
Table of Strings 273
Other Features of Strings 275
Key Concepts 275
Always Remember 275
Brief Cases 276
Review Questions 280
Debugging Exercises 282
Programming Exercises 283

UNIT 3: fUNcTIoNs aND PoINTErs


10. User-Defined Functions 287
Introduction 287
Need for User-Defined Functions 288
A Multi-Function Program 288
Elements of User-Defined Functions 291
Definition of Functions 292
Return Values and Their Types 294
Function Calls 295
Function Declaration 297
Category of Functions 298
No Arguments and no Return Values 298
Arguments but no Return Values 300
Arguments With Return Values 304
No Arguments but Returns a Value 309
Functions that Return Multiple Values 309
Nesting of Functions 310
Recursion 311
Passing Arrays to Functions 313
Passing Strings to Functions 317
The Scope, Visibility, and Lifetime of Variables 318
Multifile Programs 328
Key Concepts 329
x Contents

Always Remember 330


Brief Cases 331
Review Questions 334
Debugging Exercises 337
Programming Exercises 338

11. Pointers 340


Introduction 340
Understanding Pointers 341
Accessing the Address of a Variable 343
Declaring Pointer Variables 344
Initialization of Pointer Variables 345
Accessing a Variable Through its Pointer 346
Chain of Pointers 348
Pointer Expressions 349
Pointer Increments and Scale Factor 351
Pointers and Arrays 351
Pointers and Character Strings 355
Array of Pointers 357
Pointers as Function Arguments 358
Functions Returning Pointers 361
Pointers to Functions 362
Pointers and Structures 364
Troubles with Pointers 367
Key Concepts 367
Always Remember 368
Brief Cases 368
Review Questions 374
Debugging Exercises 376
Programming Exercises 376

UNIT 4: sTrUcTUrEs
12. Structures and Unions 381
Introduction 381
Defining a Structure 382
Declaring Structure Variables 383
Accessing Structure Members 385
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Contents xi

Structure Initialization 386


Copying and Comparingstructure Variables 388
Operations on Individual Members 390
Arrays of Structures 390
Arrays Within Structures 393
Structures Within Structures 394
Structures and Functions 396
Unions 399
Size of Structures 400
Bit Fields 400
Key Concepts 403
Always Remember 403
Brief Cases 404
Review Questions 408
Debugging Exercises 411
Programming Exercises 411

13. Dynamic Memory Allocation and Linked Lists 414


Introduction 414
Dynamic Memory Allocation 414
Allocating a Block of Memory: Malloc 415
Allocating Multiple Blocks of Memory: Calloc 417
Releasing the Used Space: Free 418
Altering the Size of a Block: Realloc 418
Concepts of Linked Lists 420
Advantages of Linked Lists 423
Types of Linked Lists 424
Pointers Revisited 424
Creating a Linked List 426
Inserting an Item 430
Deleting an Item 433
Application of Linked Lists 435
Key Concepts 435
Always Remember 436
Brief Cases 436
Review Questions 443
Debugging Exercises 444
Programming Exercises 445
xii Contents

UNIT 5: fILE ProcEssINg


14. file management in c 449
Introduction 449
Defining and Opening a File 450
Closing a File 451
Input/Output Operations on Files 452
Error Handling During I/O Operations 458
Random Access to Files 460
Command Line Arguments 467
Key Concepts 469
Always Remember 470
Review Questions 470
Debugging Exercises 471
Programming Exercises 471

Annexure 1: Model Question Papers with Hints and Short Solutions 473
annexure 2: Developing a c Program: some guidelines 492
Appendix I: Bit-Level Programming 507
appendix II: ascII Values of characters 512
Appendix III: ANSI C Library Functions 514
Preface

C
is a powerful, flexible, portable and elegantly structured programming language. Since C
combines the features of high-level language with the elements of the assembler, it is suitable
for both systems and applications programming. It is undoubtedly the most widely used general-
purpose language today in operating systems, and embedded system development. Its influence
is evident in almost all modern programming languages. Since its standardization in 1989, C has
undergone a series of changes and improvements in order to enhance the usefulness of the language.
The version that incorporates the new features is now referred to as C11.

Why this book?


This book has been designed for enhanced higher learning. It is thoroughly updated with outcome
based learning approach as per standard ‘Bloom’s Taxonomy’. Additional write-ups, projects, worked-
out- problems, review exercises, programming and debugging exercises are fused around the content
for reference of the user.

salient features of the Book


∑ Learning Objectives
∑ Key Concepts
∑ Content Tagged with LO
∑ Worked Out Problems
∑ Tips
∑ Closing Vignette
∑ Review Exercises – True False, Fill in the blanks, Questions, Programming Exercises – categorized
into LO and Difficulty level (E for Easy, M for Medium and H for High)

Digital supplements
The digital supplement can be accessed at the given link (http://www.mhhe.com/balagurusamy/picau17)
It contains the following components:
∑ Write up on Self Referential Structures
∑ Write up on Selection sort, linear and binary search
∑ Additional Programs for practice
xiv Preface

feedback
I welcome any constructive criticism of the book and will be grateful for any appraisal by the readers.
Feedback to improve the book will be highly appreciated.
E Balagurusamy

Publisher’s Note
McGraw Hill Education (India) invites suggestions and comments from you, all of which can be sent
to info.india@mheducation.com (kindly mention the title and author name in the subject line). Piracy-
related issues may also be reported.
UNIT 1
Basics of C Programming

Chapter 1 Overview of C
Chapter 2 Constants, Variables and Data Types
Chapter 3 Operators and Expressions
Chapter 4 Managing Input and Output Operations
Chapter 5 Decision Making and Branching
Chapter 6 Decision Making and Looping
Chapter 7 The Preprocessor
Exploring the Variety of Random
Documents with Different Content
annum. This estimate includes the cost of the male staff. The
proportionate rate of expenditure in respect of the lady workers of
the English Mission is one-third of this annual disbursement less. The
depôts of the Mission are situated at Seoul, Chemulpo, Mok-po, and
Kang-wha; in addition to the stations in Korea, a chaplaincy is
maintained in New-chwang. The chief centre of activity of this
Mission is upon the island of Kang-wha. The task of improving the
condition of the very poor, by means of education, kindness and
patience, proceeds quietly at Chemulpo and Seoul too, where
particular attention is given to the welfare of the sick. At one time,
there were important dispensary and hospital institutes in these
places, the medical establishment at Chemulpo, however, is now
abandoned.
The members of this Mission endure no little privation in the
primitive simplicity of their surroundings. Their services, on the other
hand, display much unnecessary pomp; and the white, full-skirted
cassock with rough hempen girdle, which they wear in public and
private, emphasises their ritualistic tendencies, and is, to my mind,
somewhat of an affectation. Nevertheless, in their daily practice,
those associated with the Church of England Mission in Korea set
before themselves that standard of idealism in missionary enterprise
which is represented by the unnecessary sacrifices, the sublime
heroism, and fortitude distinguishing the priests of the Roman
Catholic Church, a standard, I am compelled to admit, that other
missions in the Far East—American, English, Scotch, and Irish—
appear incapable of realising.
The American missionary in the Far East is a curious creature. He
represents a union of devices which have made him a factor of
considerable commercial importance. American missionaries in Korea
were formerly closely associated with the more important export
houses in the leading industrial centres of America. Owing to
diplomatic representation this practical demonstration of Western
superiority is no longer openly indulged. In Seoul, however, an
American missionary inconsiderately receives paying guests, causing
a manifest loss of business to the Station Hotel; in Won-san, another
exploits his orchard. As a class they are necessarily newspaper
correspondents and professional photographers; upon rare occasions
—and here I refer especially to a small coterie of American
missionaries in Seoul—they are the scholarly students of the history,
manners, customs and language of the country in which they
happen to be placed.
The American missionary has a salary which frequently exceeds
£200 a year, and is invariably pleasantly supplemented by additional
allowances. Houses and servants are provided free, or grants are
made for house rent; there is a provision for the education of the
children, and an annual capitation payment is made for each child.
As a class, American missionaries have large families, who live in
comparative idleness and luxury. In Korea, they own the most
attractive and commodious houses in the foreign settlements, and
appear to me to extract from their surroundings the maximum of
profit for the minimum of labour. I do not know whether it is with
the permission of the executive officers of the American Mission
Boards that their representatives combine commerce with their
mission to the heathen. When a missionary devotes no little portion
of his time to literary labours, to the care of an insurance agency, to
the needs of a fruit farm, or to the manifold exigencies of casual
commerce, it seems to me that the interests of those who sit in
darkness must suffer.
American mission agents have made Korea their peculiar field.
Converts, who prattle of Christianity in a marked American accent,
are among the features of the capital in the twentieth century.
Mission centres, which have been created in a number of places,
now show signs of prosperity. They enlist no little practical sympathy
and support from the native population. The self-supporting
character of much of the missionary work in Korea bears out the
spirit of toleration which distinguishes the attitude of the people
towards the propaganda. It is not to be supposed that the work of
the missionaries is agreeable to all shades of native opinion. Riots
and bloodshed disfigure the path of proselytism, the credulity of the
natives entailing heavy sacrifices of life. The disturbances which
have thus marked the spread of Christianity in Korea, notably in the
anti-Christian rising in Quelpart, a few months ago, are due to the
jealousy with which the heathen mass of the population regard the
protection from official rapacity, enjoyed by those who accept The
Light.
In the case of Quelpart, this feeling of animosity, and the
immunity from taxation which the French priests gave to their
following, created an intolerable position. Anarchy swept over the
island, and some six hundred believers were put summarily to death.
Whatever may be the compensating advantages of this martyrdom,
the reckless and profligate sacrifice of life, which missionary
indiscretion in the Far East has promoted, is an outrage upon
modern civilisation. We have passed through one terrible anti-
Christian upheaval in China, and, if we wish to avoid another such
manifestation, it is necessary to superintend all forms of missionary
enterprise more closely. This, however, can be done only by
legislative supervision, imposing restraint in the direction which
recent events have indicated. It is imperative that certain measures
should be adopted in missionary work which will ensure the safety of
the individual zealot, and be agreeable to the general comfort of the
community. It is unfortunate, but inevitable, that such reforms must
be radical. The violence of missionary enterprise during recent years
has been altogether unbridled. The great activity of the different
societies, resulting from their unrestricted liberty, has recoiled most
fatally upon the more indefatigable, as well as upon the heads of
many wholly innocent of any unwarrantable religious persecution.
The time has come, therefore, when vigorous restrictions should
chasten this vigorous, polemical proselytism. The practice of
scattering missionaries broadcast over the interior of these Far
Eastern countries should not continue; the assent of the local Consul
and a representative council of the Foreign Ministers should be
required in every case. Moreover, it would be wiser, if, under no
conceivable circumstances, single women were permitted to
proselytise beyond the carefully prescribed treaty limits of the
different settlements. Again, missionaries with families, as well as
single women, should not be allowed to live beyond the areas of
these neutral zones.

THE STREETS ARE MAGNIFICENT

These restraints upon missionary labours will, of course, be


resented. If the total number of lives which have been lost in Korea,
China, and Japan, by the interference of Western missionaries, were
published, their vast aggregate would reveal to the unthinking
masses of the public how urgent is the need for strong action. Such
restraint is morally justifiable by the appalling massacres with which
the world is now familiar. The blind perseverance of the missionary
has frequently brought about the simultaneous baptism and
crucifixion of the convert. What more does the fanatical enthusiast
wish than that some one should be thus doubly glorified by his
means? The increasing death-roll among masters and pupils supplies
the only necessary argument for immediate rectification of the entire
system of missionary enterprise.
CHAPTER XXIII
Inland journeying—Ponies, servants, interpreters, food and accommodation—What
to take and how to take it—Up the Han River, frolic and leisure

Travelling in the inland regions of Korea is not the most


comfortable pastime which can be devised, although it has many
attractions. The lively bustle of the roads gradually gives place to the
passing panorama of the scenery, which presents in constant
variation a landscape of much natural beauty, with hills and
meadows, bush-clad mountains and rice-fields, rivers, lakes, and
raging torrents as prominent features. The shifting camp soon leaves
the outposts of civilisation behind. This slow passing into the
wilderness gives a subtle charm to the journey. Each turn of the
track emphasises the desolation of the ever-changing scene. The
wide expanse of plains and valleys makes way for the depths of wild
and gloomy forests, where the ragged mountain-paths are slippery
and dangerous. The ozone of a new life pervades the air. There is no
doubt that such moments seem, for the time, the most perfect
existence imaginable. Freedom is untrammelled by a care; the world
for the day is comprised within a space as great as can be seen.
Upon the morrow, its limitation is only a little more remote. The
birds of the air, the beasts of the field, the game in the bushes,
supply the provender of the camp. Villages provide rice, vegetables
and eggs, the hillside springs give water, the rivers permit bathing.
The air is pure, and the whole aspect of life is beautiful and joyous.
At the end of a trying day, one, perhaps, marred by an accident to
an animal, trouble with the native servants, rain, fog, or the
difficulties of the track, there is the evening camp. Those hours of
rest and idleness, when the horses are fed and groomed, the packs
unswung, the camp-beds slung beneath the mosquito curtains, and
the evening meal prepared, are full of a supreme sensation of
contentment. I have always loved these moments of peace,
accepting what they brought as the best that life held for me at the
time. At such an hour the refinements of civilisation and the
restrictions of convention seem puerile enough. Moreover, there is
much material benefit to be derived from such an undertaking. The
trials and difficulties develop stability of character; the risks and
dangers promote resource and self-reliance. There is much to be
learnt from this contact with a human nature differing so radically
from the prescribed types and patterns of the Western standard.
There is something new in every phase of the experience. If it be
only an impression, such as I have endeavoured to trace in these
few lines, it is one which lingers in the mind long after other
memories have faded.
Preparation for an inland journey of any extent takes a
considerable time; ponies have to be hired, servants engaged, and
interpreters secured. It is as well to personally examine the pack
ponies which are to carry the loads. Koreans treat their animals
shamefully, and the missionaries make no efforts to lighten the lot of
these unhappy beasts. In consequence of the carelessness with
which the ponies are treated by their Korean masters, the poor little
brutes suffer from back-sores larger and more dreadful than
anything I have seen in any other part of the globe. If the Koreans
could be taught the rudiments of horse-mastering and a more
humane principle of loading and packing their rough saddles, as well
as some practical veterinary knowledge, the lot of the unlucky little
pony of the capital might be softened. But the spectacle of broken
knees, raw necks, bleeding backs, and sore heels which these poor
animals present, as they pass in quick succession along the streets
of Seoul, is revolting. The American missionaries boast so much of
their good deeds that it seems strange that they should neglect such
a crying evil as this. There is, I presume, no credit to be “gotten”
from alleviating the sufferings of a mere, broken-down, Korean pack
pony.
Large numbers of the pack ponies of Korea come from Quelpart.
They are diminutive in size, little larger than the Shetland breed, and
rather smaller than the Welsh pony. They are usually stallions, given
to fighting and kicking amongst themselves, and reputed savage.
Their wildness is aggravated through a daily irritation by the rough
surfaces of their pack saddles of the inflamed swellings on their
backs. They endure longer marches and shorter food allowances
than almost any other species of horse; they are quick in their gait,
very strong, and willing, good feeders, and reveal extraordinary
obstinacy, tenacity, and patience. Much of the pleasure in my travels
in Korea, however, was entirely spoilt by the abominable neglect with
which the native grooms treated their charges. Their dreadful
condition goaded one to fury, and almost daily I remonstrated with
one or other of the grooms for gross cruelty. My remarks had not the
smallest effect, however, save that they wore me out, and in the end
I abandoned my expeditions to avoid the horrors of such spectacles.
The Korean is quite callous to the sufferings of his animals. He will
feed them well, and he will willingly disturb himself at night to
prepare their food; but he will not allow ulcerated and running
wounds to interfere with the daily work of the poor beasts. This is
comprehensible; but he will not, upon his own initiative, even
endeavour to bridge the sore by the tricky placing of a pad. However
bad the gathering may be, on goes the load, the agony of the poor
pony manifesting itself in a flourish of kicks, bites, and squeals.
In demonstration of this extreme callousness I may mention this
incident. Once, outside Won-san, I saw a Korean seat himself upon
the side of a stone, and leisurely proceed to rain blows upon the
head of a dog which he was holding, until the poor thing collapsed
insensible. He then beat it about the ribs, and put the body on the
embers of a fire. We were several hundred yards off when this
attracted my notice; but I chased the brute across two paddy
stretches, until the heavy going compelled me to abandon it. At a
later time I noticed that the grooms were most careful to dress the
backs of the horses at our different halts, and also to endeavour to
prevent the pack saddles from rubbing the wounds, prompted, I
have no doubt, to this most desirable kindliness by the lesson which
they had read between the lines upon the occasion of the dog
incident.
The character of the native followers who accompany these
journeys is a matter of great importance to the future welfare of the
traveller. The proprietor of the Station Hotel, Seoul, secured me an
excellent boy. Shortly after entering my service, an American
missionary, who had been hankering after the lad for some time
before he was brought to me, suborned him. He deserted me upon
the eve of my second expedition. This trick is seldom perpetrated
east of Suez between Europeans with native servants; it is one of
the few unwritten laws of the East and observed everywhere. I
reported the matter to the American Minister, Dr. Allen, but the
missionary kept the boy. Servants, grooms, and a coolie of a sort,
are all necessary upon these expeditions; one groom to each horse
is a wise allowance. Koreans like to send three horses to two men;
however, my division is the better. Europeans require a body-servant,
who will look after the personal effects of his master, and wait at
table. An interpreter, who can speak Chinese and some European
language, either German, French, or English, is invaluable. It is safer
in each case to take men who are not converts. A coolie is useful
and gives a little variety to the beasts of burden; he carries the
camera, water-bottles, and small impedimenta of the hour. A chef is
not really necessary—my interpreter voluntarily served as cook. The
interpreter in any journey inland should be mounted; it saves
considerable friction if the personal servants be allowed to ride on
the baggage ponies. Interpreters receive from thirty to forty dollars a
month; personal servants from eight to twenty dollars a month;
coolies from eight to ten dollars a month. The hire for the horses,
with whom the grooms are included, is a dollar a day, half the
amount paid down in advance upon the day of starting. All
calculations are made in Korean currency. The entire staff, except
the horses and grooms, is fed by the traveller. The interpreter takes
charge of the accounts. He will, if ordered, take down the Chinese
and Korean names of the villages, streams, lakes, valleys, plains,
mountains and roads which are passed. This is useful; the map of
Korea is most hopelessly out of date, and by forwarding these
names to the Geographical Society some little good is accomplished.
The interpreter will pay the coolies, grooms, and other servants in
debased currency, and charge the account in Mexican dollars,
making a profit of seventy-five per cent.; he is greedy and tenacious
to the interests of his pocket, and he will suggest that he requires a
servant. For this remark he should be flogged. He will muddle his
accounts whenever he can; he will lose receipts if he can find no
other way of squeezing. He is apparently an innocent, transparently
honest, and devoted to the principles of sobriety and virtue—unless
there is an opportunity to go the usual path. Under every condition
he should be watched.
The Korean does not approach the Chinaman as a body-servant;
he has neither initiative nor the capacity for the work, while he
combines intemperance, immorality, and laziness in varying degrees.
The master usually ends by waiting upon his man. There is,
however, an antidote for this state of things. If sufficient point be
put into the argument, and the demonstration be further enforced
by an occasional kick, as circumstances may require, it is possible to
convert a first-class, sun-loving wastrel into a willing, if unintelligent,
servant. Under any conditions, his dishonesty will be incorrigible.
It is never necessary to take any large stock of provisions when
travelling in Korea. Eggs, fowl, fresh fish, fruit, matches, tobacco,
vegetables, and crushed rice flour can be procured at any village in
large quantities. The inhabitants will perhaps declare that there are
no such things in the village; that they are miserably poor. The
village usually bears the stamp of its condition pretty plainly, and I
found that where this occurred the most effectual remedy was to call
up the oldest man visible, to offer him a cigarette, to calm him
down, and then to give the interpreter some money and to send off
the pair of them. Once this system failed in a flea-infested hole on
the west coast, where the village inn had no stables, and I really
thought there were no fowls; of a sudden, as though satirising the
expression of regret of several villagers, two fowls fluttered over a
wall into the road. The meeting broke up in confusion. The grooms,
the servants and the interpreter at once tackled the mob, laying
about them with their whips; little damage was done, but
considerable commotion ensued, and stables, fowls and eggs were
at once forthcoming and as promptly paid for. In regard to payments
made to the villagers, it is as well to make certain that the grooms
pay for the horses’ accommodation; if they can avoid it they will do
so, and a memory of this lingering in the mind of the inn-keeper,
makes him shut his doors when the next foreigner is passing. But, in
a general way, if everything is paid for, anything is procurable—even
crockery and charcoal stoves, at a pinch, when the difficulties of the
precipitous track have played unusual havoc in the china basket.
In the routine of the march, it is pleasant to camp beyond the
village for the noonday halt; near the river, if the weather permits
bathing. The food can be prepared in the sunlight under some trees.
This picnic halt gives an agreeable change from the native inn, over
which the missionaries wail perpetually; it is, indeed, always to be
avoided. I was several times in Korean inns, driven in by some
sudden and temporary downpour, which cut off my retreat. The
evening camp made me independent of them in general; every
evening the interpreter found the cleanest-looking private house and
bargained with its proprietor to let two rooms for the time of my
visit. The arrangement was never refused, nor was I ever subjected
to rudeness or to any insult upon these occasions. The family would
freely help my servants, and when the grooms had removed
themselves and their horses to the inn stables, no one was
disturbed. The boy prepared breakfast in the morning. The space
allotted to us was always ample for my camp-bed, kit, and mosquito
curtains. It opened, as a rule, upon the courtyard, around which the
house is built. There was plenty of air, as one side was open; the
flooring was of thick timbers, raised from the ground. If the weather
proved inclement the place afforded warmth and shelter. Moreover,
this system has much to commend it on the score of cleanliness; the
price paid by me, half a dollar, for the rooms was of course usually
double the price which had been arranged. Occasionally while
travelling, when these private houses were unprocurable, other
makeshifts had to be adopted, an open encampment or the official
quarters at the Yamen. This latter place was inconvenient, and we
always accepted anything of a private nature rather than venture
into the Yamen or the inn. Many nights were passed upon the
verandahs of these houses, with a private room leading from it at
the back, in case it became necessary. Our beds were pitched as
much in the open as possible, the silent beauty of the night hours
quite justifying the measure. Many nights I undressed upon the edge
of the street, my camp-bed pitched beneath a verandah, a peaceful
and inoffensive crowd of Koreans smoking and watching me a few
feet off. I would get into my sleeping-suit, roll into my camp-bed,
and close the mosquito curtains, upon which the crowd would
quietly disperse. As publicity was unavoidable, and it was useless to
object, it was easier to accept the situation than to struggle with the
curiosity of the spectators.
It is always well to dispense with everything which can be
discarded. A camp-bed well off the ground and more strongly made
than those of the usual American pattern, is essential; a field kit
canvas valise, the Wolseley pattern, containing a pocket at either
end, with a cork mattress, is also indispensable. It will carry all
personal effects. Flannel shirts, towels, socks and the like, including
a book or two, writing materials, mackintosh sheets, mosquito
curtains, and insect-powder are all which need to be included. Fresh
mint is useful against fleas if thrown about near the sleeping things
in little heaps. It is an invaluable remedy and usually effective,
though, by the way, I found the fleas and bugs in the houses of New
York and Philadelphia infinitely less amenable to such treatment than
any I came across in Korea during my stay there. A camera, a
colonial saddle, Zeiss glasses, a shot-gun, a sporting-rifle, a revolver,
a hunting-knife, and a large vulcanite water-bottle are necessary. A
supply of sparklets is to be recommended; these articles, with a coil
of rope, balls of string, jam, cocoa, tea, sugar, alcohol, potted meats,
tinned fruits, and biscuits, enamelled ware eating and cooking
things, with a few toilet accessories, completed my materials. It is
good policy to take a small hamper of wines and luxuries, in case
the opportunity occurs of extending hospitality to an official or some
other travelling European. They are very serviceable among the
officials. Native tobacco is light, mild, and easily smokable. I carried
a pouch of it invariably. Canvas valises of the service type are better
than any kind of a box. With this arrangement there are no corners
or sharp edges to hurt the horses, and as a load, too, they do not
make such hard, unyielding objects against the side of a horse as
any leather, tin, or wooden contrivance. My bed and field-kit just
balanced upon one pony; my provisions and servants’ baggage fitted
another. There was one spare pony. The interpreter and myself rode;
the servants were mounted upon the baggage animals, the coolie
walked.
At one time, when I was travelling with a German friend, our
retinue was exceedingly numerous; we each had our personal
establishment and a combined staff for the expedition. This,
however, is not quite the way to rough it. It was, moreover,
comparatively expensive and a bother, inasmuch that so large a
cavalcade required no little managing. There was, however,
something luxurious and enjoyable in that procession across Korea,
although it is not the plan to be adopted in general.
There was little further to be accomplished by me in Korea. My
journey overland had taken me from Fusan to Seoul, and again from
Seoul to Won-san, my examination of the inland and coast centres of
mining and industry was concluded: the beauties of the Diamond
Mountains, with their Buddhist monasteries, had been studied. At
the end of these labours, I was weary and ill at ease; moreover the
time was approaching when my long journey overland from Seoul,
the ancient capital of Korea, to Vladivostock, the seat of Russian
authority upon the Pacific coast, would have to be begun. The heat
in Seoul had been most oppressive, when one day Mr. Gubbins, the
British Minister, suggested a short spell of rest and recuperation
upon an island a few miles up the Han River. Before nightfall, my
staff and I were floating, with the turn of the tide, up the estuary of
the river. Sea breezes blew over the mighty expanse of the smoothly
gliding waters, and the burden of weariness which had been
depressing me, lightened under the influence of these gusty winds
and the freshening air from the harbour. The change from the hot
and stuffy surroundings of the capital, where the crowds had ceased
to be attractive and domestic bothers, arising from the preparation
for my Vladivostock journey, had begun to jar upon the nerves, was
most entrancing. When the moon burst out from behind a blackened
canopy of cloud, as we sailed easily against the rapid current of the
river, the rugged outline of the cliffs across the waters proved the
reality of the transformation. During the small hours of the night I
lay awake, playing with the bubbles and froth of the water in sweet
contentment. I resolved to dally for a few days upon the small
islands in the stream, halting in the heat of the sun and moving
forward at night or in the twilight, when sea-birds could be killed for
the pot and fish dragged from their cool depths for the breakfast
dish. How delightful were the plunges into that swift current; and
how often they were taken in the cool shade of some island
backwater! Care and anxiety dropped away in those days of idle
frolic, giving the mind, worn by the strain of many months of travel
and the hardships of two campaigns, opportunity to recover its
vigour. Then came some pleasant weeks in the island monastery,
where, from a Buddhist haunt, perched high upon a lofty peak on
Kang-wha, mile upon mile of smiling scenery lay open to inspection
from my chamber window.
BEYOND THE AMUR

The salt water estuary of the Han is tempestuous and deep, given
over to much shipping and small craft. The river itself does not begin
for twenty miles above the tide-water mouth, the intervening stretch
of water belonging more correctly to the sea. Above Chemulpo,
where the full force of the Han current is hardly felt, the velocity of
the stream is quite five knots an hour. Where the breadth of the river
narrows the rapidity of the flow increases. At a point, where the river
makes a sudden sweep round some overhanging bluffs, which
confront each other from opposite banks, the heavy volume of water
thus tumbling down becomes a swirling, boisterous mill-race, as it
twists and foams through its tortuous channels into another tide-
swollen reach. The place of meeting between the sea and the river
current shows itself in a line of choppy water, neither rough nor
smooth. The water is always bubbling and always breaking at this
point, in a manner poetically suggestive of the spirits of the restless
deep. The Han river gives access to Seoul. In the days before the
railway, the choice of route to the capital lay between spending a
night aground upon one of the many shifting sand-banks in the river
or the risks of a belated journey overland, with pack ponies and the
delights of a sand-bath in the Little Sahara. There were many who
found the “all land” way preferable to the “land and water system,”
to which many groundings and much wading reduced the
experiment of travelling by junk or steam-launch in those days. Now,
however, the iron horse rules the road.

ON THE HAN RIVER


CHAPTER XXIV
Kang-wha, brief history of the island—A monastic retreat, an ideal rest—Nocturnal
visitors—Midnight masses—Return to the capital—Preparations for a great journey
—Riots and confusion

Kang-wha, the island to which I was sailing in these easy stages,


lies in the north-east quarter of the gulf, formed by the right angle
which the coast makes before taking that northerly sweep which
carries it, with a curve, to the mouth of the Yalu River. On the south
and south-west, Kang-wha is exposed to the open sea; on the north,
the island is separated from the mainland by the Han estuary; and
on the east a narrow strait, scarce two hundred yards wide, through
which boats, journeying from Chemulpo to Seoul must travel, severs
the island from the mainland.

WASHING CLOTHES IN A DRAIN


The geographical features of the island include four clearly-defined
ranges of mountains, with peaks attaining to an altitude of some two
thousand feet. Broad and fertile valleys, running from east to west,
separate these ranges, the agricultural industry of the population
being conducted in their open spaces. The villages and farmsteads,
in which the farming population dwell, are folded away in little
hollows along the sides of the valleys, securing shelter and
protection from the severity of the winter. Many hundred acres of
the flats, which form the approaches to these valleys from the coast,
have been reclaimed from the sea during the last two centuries, the
erection of sea dykes of considerable length and immense strength
having proceeded apace. But for these heavy earthworks, what is
now a flourishing agricultural area would be nothing but a sea of
mud washed by every spring tide. The continuous encroachment of
the sea threatened at one time the extinction of all the low-lying
level land.
Kang-wha, with its curious monasteries and high protecting
battlements, now reduced to picturesque decay, played a prominent
part in the early history of Korea. It has repelled invasion, and
afforded sanctuary to the Royal Family and the Government in days
of trouble; the boldness of its position has made it the first outpost
to be attacked and the most important to be defended. Twice in the
thirteenth century the capital was removed to Kang-wha under
stress of foreign invasion. With the exception of the terrible
Japanese invasion under Hideyoshi in 1592, and the Chino-Japanese
War in 1894-95, Kang-wha has felt the full force of nearly every
foreign expedition which has disturbed the peace of the country
during the past eight centuries, notably those of the Mongols in the
thirteenth, of the Manchus in the seventeenth centuries, of the
French in 1866, and of the Americans in 1871. Furthermore, Kang-
wha was the scene of the affair between Koreans and Japanese
which led to the conclusion of the first treaty between Korea and
Japan in 1876. The actual signing of that instrument, the first of the
series which has thrown open Korea to the world, took place in
Kang-wha city. The predecessor of the present Emperor of Korea
was born in Kang-wha in 1831, living in retirement in the capital city
until he was called to the throne in 1849. Upon occasion, Kang-wha
has been deemed a suitable place of exile for dethroned monarchs,
inconvenient scions of Royalty, and disgraced Ministers.
At two points in the narrow strait upon the east are ferries to carry
passengers to the mainland. Kang-song, where the stream makes an
abrupt turn between low cliffs, is the scene of the American
expedition of 1871; near the southern entrance of the strait, and
close to the ferry, are the forts which repelled the American
storming-party. The famous rapids and whirlpool of Son-dol-mok,
whose evil reputation is the terror of the coast, are close by. There
are numerous forts dotted round the coast of the island, recalling
the Martello towers of Great Britain. They were not all erected at
one time; the majority of them date only from the close of the
seventeenth century, having been raised in the early years of Suk-
chong. The rampart upon the eastern shore, which frowns down
upon the straits and river below, was erected in 1253. Ko-chong, of
the Ko-ryö dynasty, fled before the Mongol invasion of that date,
removing his Court and capital from Song-do to Kang-wha. Kak-kot-
chi, where there is a second ferry, is a few miles beyond Kang-song.
At the point where the ferry plies, the hill of Mun-su rises twelve
hundred feet high from the water’s edge. From a junk a short
distance from the shore it appears to block the straits, so closely do
the cliffs of Kang-wha gather to the mainland. This little place
became the headquarters of the French expeditionary force in 1866.
The capital of the island, Kang-wha city, is a battlemented citadel,
with walls fifteen li in circumference, and four pavilioned city gates.
It is a garrison town, beautiful in its combination of green vistas and
ancient, crumbling walls. The Chino-Japanese War, so fatal to many
of the old institutions of Korea, diminished the ancient glory of Kang-
wha. For two hundred and sixty years prior to this campaign, Kang-
wha ranked with Song-do, Kang-chyu, Syu-won and Chyön-chyön as
one of the O-to, or Five Citadels, upon which the safety of the
Empire depended. It controlled a garrison of ten thousand troops;
the various officials numbered nearly one thousand. The change in
the destiny of the kingdom brought a turn in the fortunes of the
island, and it is now administered by an official of little importance.
It is still, however, the seat of government for a widely scattered
region, and the centre of trade and industry for some thirty
thousand people. Agriculture is the staple industry; stone-quarrying
and mat-making are other means by which the population exists. At
the water’s-side there are salt-pans; a certain amount of fishing, a
little pottery-making, smelting, the weaving of coarse linen, to which
work the wives of the farmers devote themselves, complete the
occupation of the inhabitants. One pursuit, horse-breeding, for
which Kang-wha was once famous, is now completely abandoned.
There are nine monasteries under the government of the island.
Seven are situated upon the island; the chief of these is the fortified
monastery of Chung-deung, the Temple of Histories, the sometime
pillar of defence of the Kingdom, thirty li south of Kang-wha, famous
as the scene of the reverse suffered by the French troops in 1866.
Mun-su-sa, standing upon the mainland opposite, is included in this
little colony of Buddhistic retreats, as is another, upon the island of
Ma-eum-to, called Po-mun-sa, famous for the wildness of its scenery
and for a natural rock temple in the side of the hill upon which it
stands. The monks of Chung-deung-sa enjoyed military rank until
quite recently. They were regarded as soldiers in times of national
distress; they received Government allowances, food, and arms, in
order to maintain them in a state of efficiency. Buddhism has lost
much of its hold upon the islanders, although it existed before 1266.
There is a branch of the English Mission (Seoul) in Kang-wha, under
the administration of the Rev. Mark Napier Trollope, whose notes
upon this island were presented in a paper which their author read
before the local branch of the Royal Asiatic Society during my stay in
Korea. They materially assisted me to collect the interesting data
from which these few paragraphs have been compiled.
I stayed five weeks in Kang-wha monastery, preparing the
skeleton of this present volume. Having gone there for a week at the
outside, I found the quiet and solitude of the spot such a sanctuary
from trouble, and such a panacea to the nerves, that I was loath to
abandon it. After a few days in the cramped confinement of the
native junk which had conveyed me from Chemulpo, delaying much
en route, it was pleasant to stretch my limbs again upon the shore.
Landing one morning at daybreak, I fell upon the unsuspecting
guardian of the English Mission, Father Trollope, and moved off at a
later hour in the day across country to the monastery. The monks
were not at all disturbed by my intrusion. Although strangers are not
such frequent visitors to this monastery as to those in the Diamond
Mountains, their presence excites no comment, and they are allowed
to go their way with that kindly indifference to their existence which
is, under the circumstances, the height of courtesy. The Chief Abbot
was informed of my arrival, and, after a little explanation, ordered a
very airy building to be prepared for my reception. It was well raised
from the ground, and, situated just below the main courtyard,
afforded a magnificent view of the entire domain. In the distance I
could see the farm-lands of the island and the sparkle of the sunlight
upon the water; more within the picture, and quite near to my new
home, were two wells, a running stream, and a stretch of mountain
slopes, cool, fragrant, and overgrown with scrub and bush. Temples
revealed themselves in a sea of foliage, through which the drifting
breezes played soft music. At one end of this Hall of Entertainment
were placed the cooking and eating paraphernalia, in the middle my
camp-bed, and, overlooking the landscape, an improvised writing
table with my books and papers. There was no element of unrest in
the setting of my little camp. Every morning the Chief Abbot
welcomed me to the glories of another day; in the evening we,
through the medium of my interpreter, talked together upon an
amazing variety of subjects—Buddha and Christ, this world and the
next, Paris, London, America. Duties in the monastery would prevent
these new friends from coming on certain nights; but they always
forewarned me of their absence, never disturbing me at my work,
never taking me by surprise. The sense of consideration and
courtesy which their kindly hospitality displayed was manifested in
countless ways. The small return which it was possible to make quite
shamed me before them. Frequently, at midnight, when my lights
were burning, the Abbot would walk across from his own apartments
and force me to bed with many smiles and much gentle pressure,
covering my manuscript with his hands and nodding towards my
camp-bed. There was no screen to the front of my building, so it
was always possible for them to observe the stranger within their
gates. This inspection was most quietly carried on; indeed, if I
turned to the open courtyard, those who, perhaps, had been noting
the structure of my camp-bed, or the contents of my valise, hanging
to air upon a stout rope, flitted away like ghosts. I was left, as I
wished, in peaceful contemplation of my work and the splendour of
the scenery around me.
Catering arrangements were quite simple during my stay in this
monastery. Rice and eggs and fowls were procurable from the
villages beyond the walls of the temple, and rice-flour or vegetables
could be procured from the butterman of the monastery. It was my
plan to take breakfast about ten o’clock in the morning, and to dine
about six o’clock in the evening. Between these hours was my time
for writing, and I was always fully occupied. Before breakfast I
walked abroad or prepared my notes of the work for the day; after
dinner I received my callers, arranging anything of interest in my
notes when they were gone. Usually I witnessed the midnight
gathering of the monks, listening, with pleasure, to the booming of
the great bell of the monastery and the accompanying peals of
smaller bells of less melodious volume and much shriller tone. The
vibration in the air, as these wonderful noises broke upon it, filled
the high woods with melody and the deep valleys with haunted
strains as of spirit-music. After the midnight mass, when the echoes
had died away, the delight of the moment was supreme. In utter
weariness and most absolute contentment I stretched myself to
slumber beneath the protecting draperies of the mosquito-curtains,
within the vaulted spaciousness of my Hall of Entertainment.
A DAY OF FESTIVAL

Visitors to Chung-deung-sa were frequent during my stay, some


attracted by the reported presence of a foreigner, others by their
very genuine wish to sacrifice to the All-Blessed-One. Two Korean
ladies of position arrived in the course of one morning to plead for
the intercession of Buddha in their burden of domestic misery and
unhappiness. Presenting the Korean equivalent for ten shillings to
the funds of the monastery, they arranged with the Abbot for the
celebration of a nocturnal mass in the Temple of the Great Heroes.
During the afternoon the priests prepared the temple in which the
celebration was to be held; elaborate screens of Korean pictorial
design were carried into the temple from the cell of the Chief Abbot;
large quantities of the finest rice were boiled. High, conical piles of
sweetmeats and sacrificial cakes were placed in large copper dishes
before the main altar, where the three figures of Buddha sat in their
usual attitude of divine meditation. In front of each figure stood a
carved, gilded tablet, twelve inches high, exactly opposite to which
the food was placed, with bowls of burning incense at intervals
between the dishes. Lighted candles, in long sticks, were placed at
either end of the altar; above it, in the centre, serving as a lamp and
hanging from a long gilded chain, was suspended a bowl of white
jade, in which lay the smoking end of a lighted wick. Numerous side
altars were similarly decorated. The furniture of the temple
comprised a big drum, a heavy, cracked bell, cast in the thirteenth
century, and a pair of cymbals. There were five monks; the two
women sat, mute, upon the left of the Abbot. The four priests
arranged themselves upon the right—one to the bell, one to the
drum, and two to the pair of cymbals, in the playing of which they
took turns. Upon each side of the temple, recessed right and left of
the main altar, were mural representations of the Ten Judges. Save
for the altar illuminations, the effect of which was to render the
interior even gloomier and more eerie than usual, the building was in
darkness.
The service began with the customary calling for Buddha. The
Abbot tapped upon a bamboo cane; every one leant forward, their
faces pressed down, and their foreheads resting upon the floor. The
palms of their hands were extended beyond their heads in an
attitude of reverence and humility. This prostration was accompanied
by the intoning of a Thibetan chant, to the accompaniment of a
brass gong, struck with a horn handle by the Abbot himself. Further
prostrations followed upon the part of the entire assemblage, the
women joining in this part of the service. For the most part they
squatted silently and reverently in their corner of the temple. As the
different services concluded the Abbot shifted the offerings before
the main altar to their appointed stations before the smaller shrines,
when the prayers proceeded afresh. Protracted overtures were made
to the picture of the Ten Judges, before which the service apparently
became fully choral. One priest danced amazing and grotesque
steps, strangely reminiscent of a Kaffir war-dance, the sole of one
foot striking the floor to the accompaniment of a clash of cymbals as
the other leapt into the air. Another priest played upon the cracked
bell, and a third kept up a dull, monotonous thumping on the drum.
The sole idea of the priests, as conveyed to my mind by their
celebration, seemed to be the breaking up of the solemn silence of
the night by the most amazing medley of noises. At intervals, in the
course of the unmusical colloquy between the drums, the cymbals,
and the big bell, the monks chanted their dirges, which were, in
turn, punctuated by the dislocated tapping of the Abbot’s brass bell
and wooden knocker.
It was deafening, the most penetrating discord of which I have
ever been the unfortunate auditor. With the conclusion of the
exercises upon the cymbals, which were beaten together in a wide,
circular sweep of the arms, then tossed aloft, caught, and clanged
together after the fashion of the South African native with his spear
and shield, the performing priest returned to the companion who
relieved him. His more immediate activities over, he stood aside
laughing and talking with his colleagues in a voice which quite
drowned the chants in which his companions were engaged. Then,
panting with his late exertions, he proceeded to fan himself with the
most perfect unconcern, finally examining the hem of his jacket for
lice; his search repaying him, he returned to his seat upon the floor
and lifted up his voice with the others. After the sacrifices and
prayers had been offered before the main altar and those upon the
right and left, extra tables of fruit, apples, dates, nuts, cakes and
incense, together with the previous dishes of rice, cakes, incense
and bread, were spread before a small shrine placed in front of the
screen. Rice was piled into a bowl, and, while the other monks were
laughing and chattering among themselves in the temple itself
during the progress of the sacrifice, the two women approached the
shrine and made obeisance three times, then touching each dish
with their fingers, bowed again and retired to their corner. At the
same time three priests, breaking from the group that were talking
by the doors of the building, sat down in the centre of the temple
upon their praying-mats, seven or eight feet from the shrine. While
one chanted Korean prayers from a roll of paper, another struck and
rang the brass bell repeatedly, and the third hammered the gong.
Throughout this part of the service the others chatted volubly, until
they, too, joined in a chorus and pæan of thanksgiving, breaking off
from that to chant, in low, suppressed tones, a not unimpressive
litany.
Repetitions of the services I have described continued all night.
Sometimes there was more noise, sometimes less, occasionally there
was none, the tired, quavering voices of the sleepy priests
tremulously chanting the requisite number of litanies. The women,
who sat with wide-opened eyes, watched with interest and were
satisfied. The priests seemed bored. Personally I was tired, dazed
and stunned by the uproar. During the progress of this strange
service, I was struck by the utter absence of that devotional fervour
which was so characteristic of the priests in the principal
monasteries of the Diamond Mountains.
The ceremony presently shifted from the Temple of the Great
Heroes to the spacious courtyard in front of it. Here, when numerous
fires had been lighted, the Abbot and three priests, together with
the two Korean women, moved in procession. Their march was
accompanied by the striking of many gongs and bells. The monks
offered prayers round heaps of pine branches, which had been
thrown together and lighted at the different spots. Chants and
prayers were repeated, and the same clashing of instruments went
on as before. It was not until a heavy rain descended that the
worshippers returned to the seclusion of the temple. I felt,
somehow, quite grateful to that shower of rain. In the morning, my
interpreter told me that this progress in the courtyard formed a part
of services which accompanied the offering of special prayers for
rain. It would be a curious coincidence if this were so. Next day, at
the hour of my breakfast, there was some desire to continue the
celebration. My head was still aching with the jarring discord of the
bells, gongs, and cymbals of the previous entertainment, and at the
sight of the preparations my appetite vanished. Breakfast became
impossible; I relinquished it to pray for peace. Happily this blessing
was granted me; and it was decided to hold no further service—the
rain, I presume, having appeared—and to devour the sacrifices. All
that day the monks and their two guests ate the offerings. It was
therefore a day of undisturbed quiet, and as my prayer also had
been granted, each was satisfied, and we were a happy family.
RUSSIAN POST ON THE KOREAN FRONTIER

My little holiday passed all too quickly. One day I found myself
preparing very sorrowfully to return to Seoul. This accomplished, the
news of my intended journey was quickly bruited abroad by my
servants. During these days curio-dealers crowded the compound of
the Station Hotel, where, made very comfortable by the kindly
forethought of Mr. and Mrs. Emberley, I was still living. There is little
enough to buy in Seoul: quaint, brass cooking-utensils; iron, inlaid
with silver; tobacco boxes, jade cups, fans, screens, and scrolls. My
purchases were few; the native furniture, massive presses, and
cabinets faced with copper plates, and small tea-tables, attracting
me more than anything else. The Emperor had already sent a
present of silk and fans to my hotel, and, with these few remaining
articles, my stock of Korean relics was completed. The dealers were
importunate, and crowded into the private apartments of the hotel
like bleating sheep into a pen. Remonstrances were in vain, and I
found the specific cure for their pestiferous attentions to be
administered best in the shape of a little vigorous kicking. They took
the cuffing with much good humour, and retired to the courtyard,
where, at intervals in the day, a plaintive voice would be heard
calling upon His Highness to inspect the treasures of his slave. His
Highness, however, had concluded his inspection.
The atmosphere in these hot days in Seoul was very bad; the air
was heavy with malodorous vapour; the days were muggy and the
nights damp. The steaming heat of the capital emphasised the
wisdom of an immediate departure, and I hastened my exodus,
touched up with a little ague and a troublesome throat. The endless
business of obtaining servants, guides, and horses was repeated,
until at last the day of my removal was arranged and the hour of
actual departure fixed. The prospect was alluring—a journey from
Seoul to Vladivostock, through a wild and desolate region, nearly
eight hundred miles in length, lay before me. Much of it was
unexplored. It was the chance of a lifetime, and, in thus embarking
upon it, I was very happy. My last farewells were said; my last calls
had been paid—the kindly hospitality of Seoul is not forgotten. The
day had come at last, the horses were pawing in the courtyard. My
effects, my guns, and camp-bed, my tent and stores, were packed
and roped. The horses had been loaded; the hotel account had been
settled, when my interpreter quietly told me that my servants had
struck for ten dollars Mexican—one sovereign—monthly increase in
the wages of each. Mr. Emberley stood out against the transaction; I
offered to compound with half; they were obdurate. It seemed to
me that a crisis was impending. I was too tired and too cross to
remonstrate. I raised my offer to eight dollars; it was refused—the
servants were dismissed. Uproar broke out in the courtyard, which
Mr. Emberley pacified by inducing the boys to accept my last offer—a
rise of eight dollars Mexican. My head-servant, the brother of my
interpreter, repudiated the arrangement, but the significance of this
increase had assumed great importance. It was necessary to be
firm. I think now that it was unwise to have entertained any change
at all in the standard of payment. Upon the question of the
additional two dollars I stood firm; nothing more would be given.
The interpreter approached me to intimate that if his brother did not
go he also would stay behind. I looked at him for a moment, at last
understanding the plot, and struck him. He ran into the courtyard
and yelled that he was dead—that he had been murdered. The
grooms in charge of the horses gathered round him with loud cries
of sympathy. Mr. Emberley called them to him and explained the
position of affairs. I strode into the compound. The head groom
came up to me, demanding an increase of thirty dollars, Korean
currency, upon the terms which he had already accepted; he
wanted, further, three-quarters of the contract price to be paid in
advance; one quarter was the original stipulation. I refused the thirty
dollars, and thrashed him with my whip.
The end of my journey for the moment had come, with a
vengeance. The head groom stormed and cursed and ran raving in
and out of the crowd. He then came for me with a huge boulder,
and, as I let out upon his temple, the riot began. My baggage was
thrown off the horses and stones flew through the air. I hit and
slashed at my assailants and for a few minutes became the centre of
a very nasty situation. Servants and grooms, my interpreter, and a
few of the spectators went at it keenly while the fight continued. In
the end, Mr. Emberley cleared his courtyard and recovered my kit;
but I was cut a little upon the head and my right hand showed a
compound fracture—native heads are bad things to hammer.
Postponement was now more than ever essential; my fears about
my health were realised. By nightfall upon the day of this outbreak
signs of sickness had developed; the pain had increased in my hand
and arm; my head was aching; my throat was inflamed. I was
advised to leave at once for Japan; upon the next day I sailed,
proposing to go to Yokohama and thence to Vladivostock, starting
the expedition from the Russian fortress. However, by the time my
steamer arrived at Japan, I was in the clutch of enteric fever. Further
travel was out of the question, and when they moved me from an
hotel in Yokohama to a cabin upon a Japanese steamer, which was
to carry me to England, in my mind I had bidden farewell to the
countries of this world, for the doctor told me that I was dying.
APPENDIX I
SCHEDULE OF TRAIN SERVICE

Leave Day Arrive


Port Arthur Tuesday Moscow
and 13 days, 2 hours, 42 minutes
Dalny
Thursday

Through trains from Moscow arrive at Dalny and Port Arthur on


Wednesdays and Saturdays.
The train comprises first- and second-class cars and dining-car.
The cost of the journey is almost prohibitive if compared with
ocean steamer charges.
The train service is very unreliable and subject to many
interruptions.
The steamers of the Chinese Eastern Railway Company are
scheduled to make the connection with Korea upon arrival of the
train. Time required, from twenty-four to forty-eight hours.
The estimate of the length of time occupied by the journey
between Korea and Japan upon the completion of the Seoul-Fusan
Railway is forty-four hours.

Chemulpo or Seoul to Fusan 10 hours


Fusan to Moji by sea 4 ”
Moji to Kobe 15 ”
Kobe to Tokio 15 ”
APPENDIX II
RETURN OF ALL SHIPPING ENTERED AT THE OPEN PORTS OF KOREA
DURING THE YEAR 1902.

Chemulpo Fusan Won-san


Sailing Steam Sailing Steam Sailing Ste
Flag
Number Number Number Number Number Number
of Tons of Tons of Tons of Tons of Tons of
Vessels Vessels Vessels Vessels Vessels Vessels
British — — 3 7198 — — 1 4800 — — —
Korean 167 4031 187 34,877 12 308 77 32,633 5 190 94
Chinese 73 406 — — — — — — — —
French — — — — 1 1744 — — — — —
German — — 1 1379 — — — — — — —
Italian — — — — — — 1 2791 — — —
Japanese 205 12,945 299 186,050 943 28,447 685 326,858 77 8238 189
Norwegian — — — — — — 1 25 — — 1
Russian — — 42 58,332 — — 21 12,555 4 294 41
United States 6 162 1 15 — — — — — — —
Total 451 17,544 533 287,851 956 30,499 786 379,662 86 8722 325
” 1901 571 18,839 465 220,053 765 30,147 686 312,029 65 6333 259
Average, five
years, 1898-
1902 596 19,968 415 206,996 726 27,086 569 287,725 63 6085 243

Chin-am-po Mok-po Kun-san[3]


Sailing Steam Sailing Steam Sailing Ste
Flag
Number Number Number Number Number Number
of Tons of Tons of Tons of Tons of Tons of
Vessels Vessels Vessels Vessels Vessels Vessels
British — — — — — — — — — — —
Korean 412 6897 200 26,898 9 154 92 20,694 35 666 101
Chinese 264 3113 — — 1 4 — — 1 8 —
French — — — — — — — — — — —
German — — — — — — — — — — —
Italian — — — — — — — — — — —
Japanese 126 5349 52 31,263 62 3672 281 144,422 33 818 66
Norwegian — — — — — — — — — — —
Russian — — — — — — — — — — —
United States 53 1408 31 465 — — — — — — —
Total 855 16,767 283 58,626 72 3830 373 165,116 69 1492 167
” 1901 870 18,424 203 35,826 75 4572 320 133,494 111 2731 141
Average, five
years, 1898-
1902 716 14,678 195 36,793 100 4655 278 121,014 — — —

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