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DIARY OF A
TRIP TO THE DIAMOND MOUNTAINS. (Sept to
21st, Oct 22nd, 1917.) We were off for a month to the Diamond
Mountains and
what a heap of baggage we seemed to require:
sleeping-rolls, boxes of canned
goods, hamper-baskets of clothes, pots, pans and
kettles. Foreigners are surely
to be pitied compared with the light travelling man of
the east, who picks
himself up with a wisp of trouser, transparent jacket
and a pair of straw shoes
and hies him off on light and easy toe. He is not
cangued with collar or cuffs,
but goes simple as nature made him. With all the hair
on his head, thick and
black, to protect him from the sun, he laughs to scorn
William Shakespeare and
company as he flings hat and turban to the winds and
faces the day undaunted.
How close to nature he is. My friend Yi as interpreter
for the world in general
went along. He is congenial and can read the
inscriptions down the face of
time-worn rocks in a way that would make the Rhys
Davids and Sayces of the
world look green with envy. Another general help was the Chokha,
nephew of a man
we left at home on guard. My wife, who likes English
sounds in preference to Korean,
calls him “the Choker.” Thus we drew out of Nandaimon station
along the Gensan
(Wonsan) line, that swings off toward the east
skirting the bank of the river.
It was a lovely morning with an abundance
of sunshine
to bless and cheer the world. After making the round of the city, the
railway line
turns almost directly north toward the port of Gensan. We passed many stations, some of which
have the word
light in their names; others dragon, foot-prints of
the Buddha and the old
philosopher. One is called Euijung-boo, (議政府) government office. This is a sad
reminder of the days of 1392 A. D. when the man who
founded the dynasty, like Saul
the son of Kish, changed his vocation from farmer to
king. Like Saul, also, he
was not happy, for he was the head of a household of
lawless sons, who turned
against the counsels of their father and against one
another. He threw up the
job of being king and went off in a huff to his native
Hamheung, some 220 miles
to the north. Later, his people begged him to come
back. He finally
came as far as this railway station, where he set up a
temporary rule, and so
the place to-day is called Government Office. On we hurry north through fields of rice
and millet
till we come to Pyung-kang (平康) 75 miles
from Seoul. The name of the place means Peace. All unexpectedly, on the landing, I met
an old friend
Pak, a most interesting character, headman of his
town, whom I had come to know
from the fact that he had no end of experiences with
“fire-devils” in the
thatch, that had set not only his house but the
palings ablaze time and again.
He had told me all about it and how he could feel the
devils going up and down
his back playing heusal heusal
with
the soul within him. Pak’s experiences continued till
one day these fire-devils,
suddenly got the better of him and up went his house
in smoke, and thirty
others with it. Pak left the village, but where he had
gone I did not
know, till, suddenly, he reappeared to-day on the
station platform, and hailed
me with such a smile as would have done honour to a
king, All our bundles, packs, traps, and boxes,
he handed
over to the care of his son and marched us off
triumphantly to his home in the
town. Whither were we bound? He would help us on our
way though it were to the
moon. Pak’s face was slightly redder than when I had
seen him last, and there
was a suggestion of light drinks about him, but he was
so kindly hospitable
that even a Wilbur Crafts could not have found it in
his heart to launch out on
a tea-total sermon. We found the distance to the Diamond
Mountains, to be
220 li, or
73 miles though it turned
out to be 90. Pak scoured the town for horses, and
four of them at last came
hobbling in. They would take our packs and let us ride
to Chang-an Temple for
five yen and fifty sen a head. Pak had really done us good service, for
hiring horses
from the ordinary dealer is one of the trying
experiences of East Asia. They
were soon loaded and off we went, 17 miles south-east,
to Kim-wha (金化) (Golden
Transformation). What Buddha or old Philosopher in the
past, I wonder,
tipped this place with his wings and left so exalted a name?
Religious foot-prints are evident all along the way—it
was a yellow golden
afternoon with long stretches of rice-field before us
blending into the
declining day—the road was like the high smooth
entrance to a palace. So we
found it, all those 90 miles, with the exception of a
broken bridge-way here
and there it was level as a table, a wonderful band of
silver winding its way
through the inaccessible approaches to Kang-wun
province. But we ran into difficulties: the small
boy, George,
who was to ride on the coolie’s back, seated in a
little chair, found his man
unable to keep up with the rapid stepping ponies, he
fell away out of reach of
his mother’s ear, and so all the caravan must stop. It
finally came to putting
the six-year old lad on a pony by himself and giving
him a rope-end to hold by. For part of the way, the road led along
the
table-land, till suddenly we turned the corner of a
hill and dropped down into
the rice-field lowlands—round and round we went past
smoking hamlets, where the
evening meal was being prepared, on and on till
darkness fell and then into the
the uncertainties of the night we drove following the
mapoos, who led the horeses along by a
swinging gait One mapoo
was old, 68 years he had seen, and still he tramped
the roadway at his horse’s
head. I inquired as to his welfare and he replied
“damnedly mang
hayusso. “Why?” I asked. “Three
daughters and no son.” Poor old fellow! The only consolation I
saw him have,
in all the weary round of the day, was his long
pipe—frequently he would fill
it and puff sweet clouds of pure tobacco far to the
rear. The younger mapoo
was an unwashed lad, who sang lustily as the evening
stars came out—he had no
wife and no family, and not a care in the world—his
face shone and his firm
knit body swung along on easy step that kept pace with
the moving world. We found a little Japanese inn and put up
comfortably
for the night. By 8 A.M. we were off again into
the glorious mists of the morning. The fields were waving heavy with crops
of grain,
rice, yellow millet, black millet, sorghum, white
beans, black beans, green
beans, buckwheat, tobacco, pumpkins, gourds, peppers,
hemp and sesamum. There
were radishes too. Tall fields of sorghum, and crowded
patches of millet
filled the lower landscape. Ripe chilli-peppers
touched off the world with
brilliant red. Soft gray leaves of tobacco lined the
roadway. Woven by the
stems into long strings of straw rope they were
hanging before the houses to
dry, row upon row. Harvest hands were out cutting the
sorghum. Women,
too, were busy picking heads off the cho, or yellow
millet One could hardly imagine a more
delightful excursion
than a September ride by pack-pony along the beautiful
road that leads to the
Diamond Mountains. I called little George’s attention to the
delights of
the way but he said he had a question to ask. What was it? “Do pack-ponies, have souls, or do they
simply die and
that’s all?” I told him I did not have any definite
knowledge as to
the future of the pack-pony. He would like to have
felt sure in heart that his
good pack-pony at least might have hopes of heaven to
come. By one o’clock we had made 50 li, or seventeen miles, and entered the
town of Kim-sung (金城) (Golden
City), by a beautiful
approach along a clear and sparkling stream. We did not leave till four o’clock, and
by that time
the shades of evening were not only upon us, but dark
clouds of wind and rain
were threatening. Would it rain ? It sprinkled now and then, grew dark and
then lighted
up, grew dark again, sprinkled more, threatened, held
off, till finally at 7 P.M.
we arrived at this little town of Chang-too where I
now write. Sep. 23rd, 1917. It was raining this morning and so we
settled down to
a quiet day. Across the way was an unsavoury house
where lived the
mother of three or four dirty children. Talk of
microbes and germs being the
enemy of man seems folly, in view of these youngsters
caked with every known
bacilli, and yet fat and vigorous and strong. The mother enlivened the day somewhat by
giving off
long paragraphs of invective in a hard, driving tone,
proving that, like John
Knox, she feared not the face of man. One would label
the children who lurked
about her noisome den as sons of dogs, swine, devils
and what not, in a way
most extraordinary. Where, in this quiet country
place, she had acquired such a
ready tongue to lash all the world with was a mystery. The day went by and closed with a sombre
evening. Sep. 24th, 1917. By 8. A.M. the four pack-ponies had
arrived, the old
man of sixty-eight and the young lad of twenty-two. Yi
informed me that
twenty-two made some slighting remark regarding the
wobbly condition of the old
man’s legs. Quick as lightning sixty-eight turned on
him, and, with an iron
grip that threatened the very soul within him twisted
his body into a lump of
excruciating agony. Twenty-two is wiser now and walks
warily in regard to
seniors. About 10 A. M. we reached the gorge of
the river Chi-t’al,
a yawning chasm, that took an hour to push our way
through. A vast sword-cut of
primeval nature it would seem that has never healed.
The surveyor’s hand has
done good work in making the way easy and safe for the
motor-car. From here on
we crossed a rather dreary upland and reached the town
of Shin-an, An hour or so later we took our departure
along the
apparent way, but called a halt on seeing a road far
to our right that bent
seemingly in the direction of the Diamond Mountains. I
asked the old mapoo
how about this and he suddenly
concluded that we must be bearing away toward the
northwest in the direction of
Hoi-yang when we ought to be going to Wha-ch’un (華川). Such an amount of profane language as
he expended
over this situation I never would have dreamed of. We finally found the right road and
entered a long
ascent that took us across the small of Korea’s back
and landed us partially on
the other side. The streams we now found running
toward the Sea of Japan and
the verdure and foliage richer and more picturesque
than ever. The long sweep down the hill was taken in
the cool of
the evening—almost cold, and by dark we reached the
picturesque village of Wha-ch’un.
Here a retired Korean soldier provided quarters for
us, very neat and clean.
His name is Song In-soo and he certainly does credit
to all Korean inn-keepers. Sep. 25th, 1917. By 8 o’clock in the morning we were off
south-east on
our way to Mal-hwi-ri, seventy li
distant. Thus had we come the whole distance of
the motor-car
road: Pyung-kang to Kim-wha, 50 li;
Kim-wha to Kim-sung 40 li; Kim-sung
to Chang-too 30 li;
Chang-too to
Shin-an 40 li;
Shin-an to Wha-ch’un
40 li; and
Wha ch’un to Mal-hwi-ri 70
li; 260 in
all. Here the special road ended and we
entered one, less favoured,
to go the remaining 7 miles to the monastery of
Chang-an-sa. The shades of night were falling as we
crossed the
Fairy Bridge that marks the entrance to the wooded
world of the Diamond
Mountains. Stately pines meet overhead and cast a deep
shadow. Just as darkness
was falling we moved briskly along unde the entrance
gateway of the temple. The abbot, Kim Pup-ke, met us and bowed
his kindly
greetings. Sep. 26th, 1917. We walked out by morning light to view
the scene. Crossing the bridge near the temple we
came to a large
white monument that I had noticed the evening before.
On closer examination I
found it to be a copy of the Nestorian Tablet, erected
by the Hon. Mrs. Gordon
in May 1916. How strange to find this recommendation
of the Christian religion
standing before one of the oldest Buddhist temples in
the land. In the afternoon my wife and I made our
way to
Pyo-hoon-sa, the second temple of the Diamond
enclosure. The way impressed us greatly. Walls of
rock, fringed
with pines to the very top, mark its border. Through
some of the rifts are seen
immense battlements ornamented with a delicate green.
We saw also temple eaves
here and there through the mazes of leaf, and rock,
and tree. The master of Pyo-hoon, named Han, a
native of Seoul,
was most cordial in his greeting, and, after talking
for a time, told us of
Chung-yang-sa, a temple some distance up the hill. We
found it a stiff climb
but were rewarded abundantly by its far-seeing top. The temple stands on a lovely elevation
in view of the
whole range of Keum-gang Mountain. The abbot, also named Han, was a charming
gentleman of
the old school. He showed us the two halls of Yaksa,
the Great Physician, and
Pan-ya; also a stone lantern that adorns the court,
which is said to have been
set up by one of the kings of Silla. He brought out two foreign books that he
desired us to
see, Mrs. Gordon’s Symbols of the
Way,
and Dr. Richard’s Epistle to All
Buddhists. Mrs. Gordon was a friend of his, he said,
and had sent
him these, books. He pointed us out Pi-ro Peak through
the gathering mists, and
other peaks as well, a view perfectly wonderful. Sep. 27th, 1917. A lovely autumn day dawned upon us, such
weather as
one sees when September blends into October, fresh,
sweet, invigorating. The
question was where should we go. We finally decided,
after conference with the
abbot, to go and see Yung-wun-am, the picturesque
temple that has a place among
the paintings of the Chosen Hotel. The distance was said to be 7 miles. The
chief told
me, too, that the road was good, and that I need have
no anxiety. But what a
Buddhist abbot regards as a good road may be the most
awful collection of
primeval rocks imaginable. He expects you to jump from
one to the other like
the wild-goat of the mountains or the ibex. We started with a coolie of the place,
who served as
guide; our man of all work, Yi Sun-saing and little
George. Leaving Chang-an-sa we entered a gorge on
the right
hand between the peaks of Chi-jang and Suk-ka. For a
time the road led through
a lovely wood, no sound accompanying but that of
running water. Cliffs circled
us about in the most amazing way, closing the view
time and again and leaving
no exit as far as the eye could see. A limpid stream
of polished water, with a
yellow tinge in its bosom, rattled down the gorge.
Enormous rocks that have
been beaten upon by wild wind and rain have here taken
on wierd and awesome
personalities. To my confusion I found we had to cross
and recross this
stream by the most precarious ways, stepping a seven
league pace from one bald
rock-head to another. These boulders have been
polished too by the passing
footsteps of 2,000 years. Forty-four such crossings,
think of it! In the maze
of watching our feet we would stop at times to look
upon a landscape that grew
more and more wonderful—the road to dreamland, the
avenue to the worlds of
mystery. The most startling part of the way is
where you come
to the River of the Yellow Shades, and the Gateway of
Hell, with the peaks
Suk-ka and Chi-jang one on each side. The Yellow Shades, or rather Springs, is
the name of
the world that lies underneath this mortal existence.
So often Koreans say, “With
what face shall I meet my father in the Yellow
Shades?” Here was its picture.
This world that is to be, surely, for startling beauty
of nature, surpasses the
imagination. The Tower of the Bright Mirror stands
over a silent
pool, the water, tinged with yellow, lying at its
feet. Such masses of walled
rock confront you; so deep the gorge, so delicate the
decorations that soften
its aged face! A little Korean girl, named Keum-wun,
nearly a hundred
years ago, passed here and wrote a description of what
she saw. She says, “The
hills seemed to close us in as prisoners. Great rocks
stood barring the way.
Round we circled, in and out, till at last we reached
what is called Pavilion
and the Tower. Here a little stretch of open greeted
us. Before it is a
wonderful wall of rock, a half hundred paces wide that
shoots up to heaven. It
is as smooth on its face is a mill-stone and as broad
as the sail of a ship. It
glittered before my eyes like polished marble. For
this reason it is called the
Bright Mirror of Past Deeds.” As we continued our way up the valley we
came upon one
of the sad reminders of failure. The King of Silla, a
thousand years ago, (918
A.D.) found the tide of events set against him and the
Wangs in power. He
resigned his kingship and bowed submission to the
usurper. His son, in
desperation, cut away from kith and kin and made this
haunt of the Diamond
Mountains his fiery soul’s retreat. Here by Hell Gate
and the amber Pool of
Hades he built himself a fortress wall in defiance of
all the tides that were
against him. I had heard of this wall, but a thousand
years of time will fling
into oblivion greater things than loose stones unset
by mortar. Was it a dream
for here to-day, the same stones were before my eyes
and the old wall still
standing as it has stood through the centuries. The
only passers in these long
years have been those who have looked with pity on the
sad remembrance of a
broken knight and a broken kingdom, and with reverent
feeling, have left the
loose stones untoucheel There it stands, one stone
upon another, as it stood in
the days of Alfred’s England Yung-wun takes its name from a boyish
priest of Silla
who came here, lived, prayed, and died. One of his
followers built the temple
and called it after him. In a little side building dedicated to
the
white-haired Na-han we lit our kerosene stove and had
a far-Western tiffin. The
main temple was quite deserted, the master being away.
Eternal silence marks this lonely region shut off from
all the noisy world. At night, the darkness and the solitude
must be as
impressive almost as in the ice-bound circle of the
Pole. Only the falling
water, and the rustling of leaves are heard, with now
and then a strange,
weird, forest cry. On our return, we found in the soft sand
at the bank
of the stream, the track of a wild-boar who had
crossed since we had come.
Tigers, no doubt, some times look out on passers from
the greedy depth of their
inner being but keep quiet. Not having yet tasted
human flesh, they let these
strange fearsome creatures go by. We came safely back and touched at
Chi-jang Temple. It
stands on the west side of Chi-jang peak, as Hell
Gate, the Pool of the Yellow
Shades, and the Tower of the Pure Mirror, stand on the
east. Chi-jang is one of the greatest of the
Bodhisattvas.
He has charge of Hell and his office seems one that
works to set sinners free.
The Hon. Mrs. Gordon sees some resemblance between his
name and that of Jesus. Sept 28th, 1917. It being too late to go to Pyo-hoon I
decided to make
a list of buildings etc. attached to the Chang-an
Temple and the abbot gave me
the following: 1. The Main Hall. 2. The Temple of the Four Holy Ones. 3.The Temple of the Light of the Sea. 4. The Pavilion of the Sanscrit King. 5. The Hall of Nirvana. 6. The Pavilion of the Fairies. 7. The Temple of the Sea Shade. 8. Pavilion of Truth. 9. The Great Censer Pavilion. 10. Small Censer Pavilion. 11. The Hall of Hades. 12. The Hall of Pi-ro. 13. Temple of Long Life to the King. The following pictures and images are
found in the
Main Hall: Images. 1. Middle, Suk-ka Yu-rai (seated). 2. Right hand Yak-sa Yu-rai (seated). 3, Left hand, A-mi-t’a Bool (seated). Pictures. 1. The Ryung-san Whoi (Spirit Mountain
Assembly). 靈山會 The Buddha in charge is Suk-ka Yu-rai. 釋迎如來 There are present the Eight Bodhisats
with faces of
yellow gold and haloes about their heads; ten great
Disciples who are called
Na-han; and the Four Kings of Heaven, besides angels
and angelic beings. 2. The Man-wul Whoi (Full Moon Assembly).
滿
月會 The Buddha in charge is Yak-sa Yu-rai. There are here present also the Eight
Bodhisats, ana
the Ten Great Disciples; while on the right-hand is
the Bodhisat of the Sun (Il-kwang
Po-sal). and on the left the Bodhisat of the Moon (Wul
kwang Po-sal). Here also
the Four Kings of Heaven are seen. 3.Keuk-nak Whoi (The Assembly of
Nirvana). 極樂會 The Buddha in charge in A-mi-Va Bool). The Eight Bodhisats are here and the Four
Kings of
Heaven wearing fierce countenances. 4.Sam-jang Whoi (Assembly of the Three
Gods of Space).
三
藏會 Middle Figure, Ch’un-jang. Right hand, Hu-kong-jang. Left hand, Chi-jang. There is a row of Na-ch’al also present
These are the
constables of Hell. Angel boys, girls, and fairies may
be seen likewise. 5.Sam-ke Whoi (Assembly of the Three
Worlds). 三界會 Middle Figure, Che-sitk Ch’un-wang. Right hand Tai-pum Ch’un-wang. Left hand, Tong-jin Po-sal. [page 23] Many constables and others are also
present 6.Ch’il-sung Whoi (Assembly of the Seven
Stars). The Buddha in charge is Ch’il-sung-hwang
Yu-rai. Three of the Seven Stars stand to the
right while four
stand on the left There are present also the Sun and
Moon Bodhisats. 7.The Mountain God with the Tiger. 山神 8.The Tok-sung Na-han (One who awakens of
himself to
the Truth). 獨聖羅漢
9.Kam-so Whoi. This is an assembly in
which all the
souls of the world are being prayed for by the
priests, seven being in charge,
three representing the past and four the future. Yi and I also examined the copy of the
Nestorian
Tablet given by Mrs. Gordon, that stands by the
roadside. On one side is
written: “After 1134 years, A.D. 1916, 5th Moon
(May) an
English lady, Gordon, had this stone cut and set up as
a memorial before the
Chang-an Temple.” On the other: “After 1079 years in Keui-mi (1859) of
Ham-poong, Ham Tai-whan
had the original stone placed under a pavilion. I
regret to say that visitors
were not allowed to see it.” Other stones stand about Chang-an that
are of no
special interest. I looked for the one with the
inscription by Yi Kok, but it
was nowhere to be found. In the afternoon Yi and I went to the
Pyo-hoon Temple
again along the pathway that leads by the Wailing
Pool. There are said to be no snakes in the
Diamond
Mountains but we saw a green one. Yi started after it
with his umbrella. He
pounded it and flung its coils right and left, but the
creature got into its
hole and disappeared. He turned to me with a very
redly excited face and said, “If
only you had given me your stick I could have finished
off this limb of evil. ‘‘Yes, and you would have broken my
bamboo,” said I, “1
could not think of giving it.” Yi was very disappointed at not having
killed the
creature that is said not to inhabit the Diamond
Mountains. I told him I could imagine the snake
going home and
telling his wife that he had narrowly escaped death at
the hands of a horrible
creature that had no religion, for Buddhists never
kill snakes. Yi replied, “I
kill the devil whenever I see him.” We passed on till we came to the Rock of
the Three
Buddhas (Sam-pool Am), which I photographed with Yi
standing at the side. This
stone was chiselled into shape by the famous priest
Nan-ong who lived in 1400
A. D., and has three Buddhas on the front, and the
Fifty Three at the back. We visited the little “Hall of Worthies”
that stands
just before the platform on which are found relic
pagodas and the tall memorial
stote of Su-san Tai-sa. In it are portraits of many
famous masters of the
Buddha, including Chi-kong (an Indian), Nan-ong,
Moo-hak, Su-san Tai-sa, and my
old friend Oong-wul whom I had met and whose
hospitality I had enjoyed 20 years
before. Sept 29th, 1917. After breakfast, when the dew had dried
somewhat from
the ground, our party crossed the bridge and started
on a fifteen minute walk
up the hill. The road branched off by a big rock that
has written on it “Nam-moo
A-mi-t’a Bool,” (I put my trust in Amida Buddha.) We climbed up to Chang-kyung Am, the
Temple of Endless
Blessing, Here we were greeted by a young priest and
an old, old priestess, who
came out with smiling face and put her arms about
Georgie. How delighted she
was to see him. “You’ll be my little boy, won’t you,
and live with me always.”
Her age was 84, and her name, Myo-tuk-haing, Beautiful
Virtue. We sat for a time and enjoyed the view,
while the old
priestess laughed and called attention to Georgie’s
Korean. Yi stood aside and
looked wonderingly and inquiringly on. Remarking on her age, he said to me,
“Anyone whose ears
cling close back to the head like hers is bound to
live long.” Later in the day Yi told me a very
interesting story.
He said when he lived in Hai-joo, forty years ago,
their next door neighbour
and special friend of his mother, was a widow No-si,
who had one son called
Seven Stars (Chyil-sung), his very dearest playmate.
As a boy, his name, too,
was Seven Stars, and so the two little Seven Stars
played together. Later, his
friend died and left a great blank in his life, but
greater in that of the
broken-hearted mother, now a widow and childless. She
had many goods and much
wealth, which relatives undertook to dispossess her
of. Being determined,
however, that this should not be, she sold all she had
and disappeared. Thirty years later Yi heard from the
abbot of Puk-han
that No-si still lived, that she had become a
priestess and had gone to the
east coast, to the Diamond Mountains. Said he, “When I met the old priestess
this morning,
heard her voice with its Whang-hai accent, and saw the
way she put her arms
round Georgie, my memory went back forty years to
No-si, who used to treat me
in just the same way. I am sure it is she and shall
immediately go and inquire.”
We also visited another temple, some ten minutes
distant along the same hill,
called Kwan-eum Am. Here we met an apple-cheeked old witchy
body whom I
had seen twice already on the road. She is evidently a
grandmother of Humpty
Dumpty judging from her cheeks and the pictures I have
seen of him. The surroundings of this temple are not
so attractive
as some of the others, but the hills behind are full
of majesty. Old Apple-Cheek told us to wait and see
the chief-priestess
who was in the rear room weaving. By an inner door we
entered, and found her at
a very simple loom weaving coarse linen. A young
priestess was by her side
lending a helping hand. She greeted us kindly but went
on with her work. My wife expressed a desire to have a
piece of linen on
which to write the names of the different abbots of
the monasteries at which we
stopped and which she hoped to embroider later. The
chief-priest of Chang-an
hearing this, brought a piece that he presented with
his very best compliments. Sept 30th, 1917. At 2 P. M. we went to see Yi’s old friend
who turned
out to be the person he thought, No-si of Hai-joo. She
had lost her son when he
was 12 years of age. He told of meeting her again, how
amazed she was when she
realized that he, the companion of her long lost Seven
Stars, was before her. We found her basking in the light of the
most glorious
sunshine. One of the finest possible views of the
hills is to be had from her
temple looking over the richly wooded valley just
beneath. The old priestess greeted us most
cordially and
referred to Yi as her boy, Ch’il-sung (Seven Stars).
She was disturbed by the
fact that she had nothing to offer us in the way of
refreshments. We assured
her, however, that that was quite unnecessary as we
had just dined. I had her sit for a photograph, Yi on one
side and
George and his mother on the other, and then I took
her alone. Speaking of her
little son she said his loss had left her
broken-hearted and that she had
become a priestess of the Buddha and had found
comfort. Yi read her a poem that he written and
had a spoonful
of rice brought with which to paste it up on the
inside of her verandah. She again turned to George and with the
simplicity of
the kindest impulse, took the string of amber beads
that she was using as a
rosary, put them round George’s neck and said, “May
you live as long as I, and
may we meet again in the happy world to come, and say
to each other: Why we
met, long long ago, in Chang-kyung Temple in the
Diamond Mountains, didn’t we?” Oct. 1st, 1917. We left our delightful home at
Chang-an-sa at 9 A.M.
and said good-bye to the abbot who came out with a
long line of retainers to
see us oft. For six days board for Yi and the coolie
and two extra meals we
paid Y4.70. I gave the abbot four yen as well for room
rent and bade him
good-bye at the foot of the stair that leads up over
the Wailing Pool. It was a
glorious morning, sweet, fresh, and fill of sunshine. We had four coolies to carry our loads
and two to help
over the impossible ways of the Cascade Valley. As we passed Blue Heron Peak (Ch’ung-hak
Pong) we came
upon the padok board carved in the rocks, as well as
the ornamental writing by
Yang Pong-nai. Pong-nai P’oong-ak,
Wun-wa Tong-ch’un. This is in some respects the most famous
inscription
in Korea while Yang Pong-nai is the most interesting
man as-sociated with the
Diamond Mountains. This Yang I knew was born in 1517 but he
was such a
strange mixture of man and fairy that I wanted a
fuller account of his life
than I had yet seen. At last I found it in the Keui-moon Chong-wha. The way through the Cascade Valley leads
over great
rocks and along gorges that echo with rushing water.
The eternal walls of
squared masonry that enclose the way on all sides look
like a building of the
gods. Over bridges of a single log we made our
precarious
ascent like the fairies, while the goods and chattels
that followed, found safe
passage on the backs of the genii. On our way up we heard calls and shouts
behind us as
though some of the bearers had fallen, load and all,
into the boiling deep.
However they came safely through, bottles and cups
undamaged. They charged 2
sen a li or
forty sen for the whole
journey. I gave them a pourboir of
40
sen each but they showed no superabundant symptoms of
gratitude over it. I
asked if they would come along, pick us up again on
the 5th and see us safely
to Yoo-jum-sa, but they said No, that was not their
custom. If it were a
continuous journey they could go through, but each
temple had its own group of
men, and we would have to employ those as we went
along. This is the far-famed Man-pok, the Valley
of Ten
Thousand Waterfalls. Mr. Bribosia, the Belgian Consul, who had
passed
through the week before us wrote the following. Mr.
Bribosia is a Frenchman as
to speech and so his fine mastery of English is not
natural but acquired. “Pagan
pilgrims in the land of the holy swastika, we direct
our steps to another
station placed in this sacred retreat of Buddhism, at
the far end of the
Asiatic continent, by the first apostles, who, long
ago, came from the warm
plains of the Indian lotus. “Slowly we
descend between walls of basaltic rocks, darkened by
time. A vegetation that no
hand dares desecrate clings and climbs toward the
skies. The torrent rolls its
limpid waters through a labyrinth of enormous rocks
fallen from the heights
above. The path forces its narrow way through wherever
it can find a hold,
gripping the flanks of the wall, taking advantage of
fallen trees, held by
creepers to the face of these gigantic monuments; it
crosses and re-crosses the
rushing waters, the leaping cascades, the dizzy
whirlpools of blue and green
piscines carved in the stone. Up and down it goes
through tortuous, shaded
stairways of heaped up rocks, due to the work of
nature, or to the kind
thoughtfulness of the monks; always through a strange
and tangled vegetation so
foreign to our eyes, a vegetation that suggests “stage
scenery” living, dying
and lying in death, the three stages of the cycle that
human utilitarianism
does not here disarrange in their respective
relations. “It is in
the maze of these gigantic boulders, heaped up
together, leaning on one another
in fantastic shapes, that is offered to the invader,
who penetrates on tip-toe,
a world so wierd, so mysterious, as to defy the
fertile imagination of a
Gustave Doré. Its disconcerts one in its twisted forms
as would the mentality
of a painted Chinese landscape. The phantasy of an
artist would discover here
the abodes and the actors of Greek mythology, with its
fauns and nymphs of
woods and waters, the queer people of the fairy tales
so dear to our childhood.
You find here too the cave of Alibaba, the spot shaded
by azaleas and lilacs,
festooned with garlands of creepers, where so long
slept the princess awaiting
the kiss of Prince Charming. Hark
Diana,
fleet of foot, may appear suddenly from behind one of
these rocks in pursuit of
the deer you hear in flight. Listen, the wind cries
through the foliage with
the rumbling noise of the torrent, like the laugh of
the satyrs, and the
frightened cry of the surprised Naiads. “Truly a
world of wonder is this sacred land of the Buddha! In
our heart grows a feeling
of gratitude toward the old religion for the refuge it
has granted to romance,
everywhere expelled from our humdrum existence. “Hooked to
the side of an immense rock, a hermitage hangs over
the valley. In its
miniscule oratorium, fastened with chains to the
basaltic wall, suspended in
space, a man of silence, on his knees before the holy
Buddha, murmurs the
eternal words, fateful formulas in a dead language, of
long ago, and which have
passed during many centuries from the lips of other
lonely recluses within these
tiny walls. “A true
scene detached from the “life of the saint.”
Unconsciously one looks around for
the dutiful raven which brings the loaf of bread to
this new Simon Stylites. “His eyes
do not even for a moment leave the object of his
adoration though the outside
world thus invades his retreat; he is far away from
this earth and the insects
that crawl upon it, his thoughts are in the divinity
which fascinates him.
Hypnotized by the life beyond, he has no other desire
but to take his flight
toward the destiny which his God prepares him. “Silently
we withdraw in a graver mood, feeling the weight of
the solitude, impressed by
the meaning of this silent little scene, and the great
unsolved problems it
recalls to our frivolous minds. “One could not
escape the thought that
perhaps, after all, the true wisdom lay with him, not
with us, in his
contemplation of this fleeting, human existence,
evanescent like the sunset’s
glow on the hills above.” At last we reached that part of the
course where we
spied the little temple that sits perched on its
projecting rock, with a long
brazen pillar beneath it. It has stood thus on its giddy edge
for many hundreds of years, holding its place in all
winds and weather. This the
Po-tuk temple mentioned by Mr. Brihosia. Near the head of the gorge and just
before we reached
Ma-ha-yun we came to a pool called Fire Dragon
(Wha-ryong Tam) from which a
specially fine view is to be had. The Mahayana Monastery stands with the
great peak of
Hyul-mang just across the way. Hyul means “hole” or
“opening” which one can see
through the mass of masonry. What part the fairies
have had in it, I know not,
but some power has cut a tunnel through its flinty
face. At nightfall the moon came sailing up
through the pine
trees over the cockscomb ridges to the east, a
splendid autumn moon, fair, and
sweet, and strong, as though it had come fresh from
the hand of the Maker, a
glorious orb of light. Oct. 2nd, 1917. At 6 A. M. the light broke in through the
paper doors
and a beautiful morning in the woods began to dawn. The maples, coloured by the touch of
autumn, had
broken out into red and yellow, giving the landscape a
gorgeous setting and
trimming with beauty the walls and battlements about
us. The saw-toothed ridge,
that rides all along the skyline, walls in this silent
world of indescribable
colour. George and I visited Pearl Pool and while
seated there
a gendarme came hurrying by, his revolver strapped at
his side and his legs
bound about with puttees. It seems that he and his
attending guard had started
off that morning to rout out a den of thieves that
were said to have their
rendezvous near Piro Peak. We questioned, when we saw
him going by, as to
whether he had caught any of them. On return to
Ma-ha-yun we learned that they
had captured three who would pass shortly. A little
later we heard calls from
the valley and following this up the pathway under a
guard of four gendarmes
carne these most unfortunate creatures. One was a big
man with a black head and
fierce beard, very ragged in dress; another a little
old man with his head
wrapped round, also most dishevelled in appearance,
the third, a pale-faced
fellow with a very ill-constructed countenance. They were tied with the regular police
cord. One had
had his arm broken the scuffle, they said. After a
short wait they all set out
on foot for Chang-an-sa, the headquarters of the
gendarme guard. Their offence
seems to be some encroachment on the Tungsten Mining
Concession that lies north
of Piro Peak. The day closed rather sullenly. Oct. 3rd, 1917. In showing me about the temple the priest
Yun-ho
called my attention to their bell whose soft muffied
note had awakened us in
the morning. It was an oon-pan,
Cloud
Gong, which is said to call all beings from the air,
the ordinary bell being
used to call dwellers from hell. The mok-u
or wooden bell, calls creatures of the sea, while the
pup-ko, or drum, is for the hairy, or
furry creation. He also showed me a set of 66 volumes of
the Wha-eum
Sutra copied off many years ago
by a famous priest named Ho-pong (Tiger Peak). This
work of Ho-pong’s is spoken
of by the scholar Chu-sa, as a creation of the genii,
so beautifully is it
done. It cost him ten years of labour and is certainly
a great literary
treasure. I learned that in the copying of the
Buddhist Scriptures,
if a single error is made on a page the whole thing is
thrown away, just as the
Jewish scribes did in days of old. In the afternoon the abbot showed us the
way up the
stream as far as Myo-kil Sang the great image of the
Buddha, that stands on the
north side of the road, a huge bas-relief 70 feet
high, reminding one somewhat
of the Dia-Butsu of Kamakura, Oct. 4th, 1917. A glorious autumn day! Last night the
wind blew and
the hills roared a long wailing note that echoed
through the valley. I looked
out, no moon had risen and fierce darkness brooded
over rock and chasm. The
spirit or Tam-moo-gal sat high on his cliff dimly
outlined against a murky sky.
By morning, the wind had fallen, and a
great calm
succeeded. The darkness took wing, and a light such as
they talk of in the
language of the Buddha, Tai-kwang,
opened up-on the world. The chill of the night had changed still
more deeply
if possible the colour of the leaves, till the
landscape had become exceeding
beautiful. No words can give any idea of this
central valley of
the Diamond Mountains in the early days of October.
Let all lovers of nature
come at this season and behold how the great Master of
water-colour can scatter
His tints over hill and valley. We start tomorrow for Yoo-jum-sa. Oct 5th, 1917. Up early this morning to leave for
Yoo-jum-sa! Ten li
it is to An-moo Jai, Inner Water
Pass. Ten li seemed
but a mere
trifle. After crossing the Pass twenty li
more to would make but a pleasant day’s outing. The men, six of them, four to carry
loads, and two to
help over rocks and streams were to be on hand early,
but Korean like, they
were not to be seen even at 8 o’clock. We started at 8.20. The morning was most
glorious, the
sunlight through the trees being tinted as if by
amber. Passing the great Buddha, Myo-kil Sang,
we followed up
the course of the stream. Sometimes the roadway was
soft and carpeted with
hignly coloured leaves; sometimes, again, it made its
way over rocks and
boulders in a manner to make one’s hair stand on end. I inquired as to the animals that inhabit
these wood,
and the carriers told me of the o-so-ri
which is like a wild dog, and yet eats earthworms.
“Then there is the tam-poi, a
most extraordinary creature,
smaller than a dog, that goes, in packs like wolves.
One tam-poi, acting as outpost, climbs a
tree and gives warning to the
others. It is exceedingly fierce and attacks and
carries off even tiger’s cubs.
“Elsewise,” said the priest, “there would be no living
in these hills for
tigers.” Thanks to the tam-poi! Then there are kom,
or bears. A young priest of our temple had seen two
cross his path at
An-moo-jai a day or two before. Bears, however, are
timid and unless suddenly
surprised seldom attack people. The ho-rang-i,
tiger, is everywhere. As we passed along, half way
between Ma-ha-yun and the
mountain top, we saw fresh marks of this lord of the
underbrush that made us
feel somewhat anxious. How close he must have been.
Our un-trained souls have
no confidence in the prayer Nam-moo A-mi-t’a Bool, to
effectually bar the tiger
on his way. Under ordinary circumstances he is afraid
of man. Unless the fatal
taste of human blood be known to him, he will, in all
probability, keep still
and watch while these strange beingrs pass. We saw no
tiger, nor did any other
of the cat tribe startle us with its cry. There are deer, sa-sim,
and no-roo,
as well as wolves, neuk-tai and
il-heui, rabbits (t’o-keui)
too, and blue rats (ch’ung-su),
sables (ton-yi),
squirrels (ta-ram-choui),
otters (soo-tal),
wild-cats (salk)
and badgers (no-koo-ri). The road was said to be ten li, an hoar’s run, but we kept on till
11.30, three hours, and
still were not in sight of the top. A few moments
later we reached it. What a
terrific climb it was. Of course the bearers stopped
and rested nearly a third
of the time. However, after making due allowance for
such delays it is two
strenuous hours to the top of the pass. Anyone going
with coolies should allow
three hours. The top, 4,300 feet above the sea, is
reached without
once meeting any dizzy height or dangerous place. How
much higher it is than
Ma-ha-yun I do not know. On the top, is a wide open space
surrounded by oaks
and chestnuts. A short time before reaching it we had
a glimpse of Pi-ro Peak
(5,800). From the pass it is not visible though a fine
view of the Chang-hyang
walls, flat topped and bare is to be had.
Then began the easy course down the hill,
a soft
twenty li I
had pictured it, but it
turned out to be a good three hours journey. At first the hills were somewhat
uninteresting but
later, as we got down to the wonderful world of
colour, with
the bald peaks of Ch’il-po-tai, Eun-sun-tai and others
standing out before us
we were intoxicated with the joy of it About noon our whole party, that is the
bearers, sat
down and drew a comfortable lunch from a net-bag and
ate while we kicked our
heels against the rocks and waited for them. The
down-trodden Oriental coolie
may appear to be but a “poor little Hindoo,” but
remember, please, that albeit
of a most unassuming guise, he is a king in his own
right, and can teach the
Ben Tillets and Hendersons, and Ramsay Mac-donalds,
points as to how the real
lords of creation command things in their own favour.
He may not be able to
read the clock but you may be sure that all the world
will go hollow cheeked
and hungry-eyed before be loses his pap.
Later on, we entered a lovely valley decorated with
every imaginable shade of
autumn colour, and the water rushing by over rock and
shingle. At one point we passed many relic budos and tall upright memorial stones,
marks of this ancient
religion. By 2.30 P. M. after six hours of
strenuous walk we
were at Yoo-jum-sa. Let any future voyager know that
six hours are required for
the trip from Ma-ha-yun. Oct. 6th, 1917. The day opened fair and fresh. Judging
from the fact
that the hill just east of the rest-house is marked
2,903 feet above the sea,
the temple here must stand about 2,600, or the height
of Pai-on-tai, Puk-han.
This explains the cool refreshing atmosphere of
Manchuria that it enjoys as it
sits high up above the world of rice and persimmon. The abbot came down to speak his morning
greeting, and
after breakfast we made a round of the temples—the
oldest in Korea, not the
actual buildings but the site. Associated with this place is the story
of the 53
Buddhas that came from the Punjab (Wul-chi Gook) in 5
A. D., or 60 years before
the first news reached China. As told by a little
Korean maid who visited this
place in 1835 it is one of the most interesting stories that
I find in connection with the Buddha. She goes on to say, “These Buddhas are
said to have
come from the Punjab, India, in the far off days of
Silla. They were made by
the Moon-soo Bodhisat, at first in the shape of bells,
but when he said his
prayers they became Buddhas and danced and flitted
before him. They sailed
across the sea, some say in a stone boat, others on an
iron bell and arrived in
the port of An-chang County where they disappeared
among the rocks and trees.
The magistrate, No Ch’oon, hearing of this, gathered
his retainers about him and
went in search of them. The Moon-soo Bodhisat hastened
to appear in a dream to
a certain priestess, telling her to go out and meet
the magistrate. He found
her sitting on a rock at a spot now known as the Nun’s
Resting Place (Yi-yoo
Am). She led him on his way, for a time, and then a
white dog made its
appearance, looked at him and wagged its tail. He
followed this animal over the
Dog Pass (Koo-ryung). Later, overcome by thirst, he
had his men dig the ground,
when water suddenly appeared, the spot being called
No-Ch’oon’s Well (No-ch’oon
Chung). As they went on the dog disappeared and a red
deer took its place. A
little later the deer too disappeared and the sound of
a bell was heard. This
place he called Deer Neck (Chang-hang). Delighted, he
hurried on over the hill
that was called Glad Hill (When-heui Ryung) because of
the bell. He continued
on and at last entered a narrow defile where he came
to a large pool with
Keyaki trees at the side. Here a bell was swinging,
and on the limbs of the
Keyaki tree sat the 53 little Buddhas. A soft fragrance filled the air. No
Ch’oon came with
his followers and bowed. He then informed King Nam-hai
(4-24 A.D.) of it and a
temple was built where the Buddhas were seated on the
Keyaki trees, the temple
being called Keyaki-tree Rest-house (Yoo-jum-sa).” We went into the main hall where a prayer
service was
going on at 10 A.M. and saw rice placed before the
altar. In the limbs of the
artificial tree sat the Buddhas, all gilded and of
different sizes. There are
now only 33 however. Three were lost early in their history,
and three years ago 17 were carried off by some thief.
Now they are wired in
carefully from the public, and when the priest is
through with his daily
prayers he takes up a little board that lies on his
table with the 33 marked,
each in its place. He counts them with the board in
hand to see that all are
where they ought to be. These 33 little Buddhas
constitute as unending source
of anxiety to those in charge. Oct. 7th, 1917. Early in the day the abbot came to call,
when I asked
him about Dog Pass, No Ch’oon’s well, Yi Yoo-am etc.
and he said we would see
them all on our way down. What about
the
writing of Queen In-mok? Keurn-wun, the little maid says in regard
to it; “Queen
In- mok (wife of Injo 1650 A. D.) copied off, with her
own hand, the
Mita-Sutra, which book is now preserved in the Yoo-
jum Monastery. She did this
when a prisoner in the West Palace. At the end she
added a note in small
characters saying, ‘May my parents and relatives, and
my son, Prince
Yung-chang, all be blessed in the next world by my
having copied this off’.” The priest showed me a document as well
written by
King Sung-jong in 1470, the year of his accession to
the throne, which proves
how beautifully a king could write in those distant
days; also a little book by
Nan-ong with Indian characters at the back, copied by
his own hand. He died in
1376. There were some very valuable pieces of
pottery too,
one a dish of the Choo Kingdom dated 1130 B. C.;
another a beautiful jade bowl,
marked 15 A.D., was said to be worth 10,000 yen. Other
dishes of Koriaki ware
were also shown us. Oct.18th, 1917. By 6.30 we had our baggage packed and
were on our way
to Sin-ke-sa. The question was, Would it rain ? We
were somewhat disappointed
with Yoo-jum-sa and needed a special send off to give
it a worthy place in our
memory. We got it on our journey out when we passed
through a world of indescribable
colour along the steep bank of a roaring torrent, over
Deer Neck Pass that No
Ch’oon had crossed 1912 years before on the track of
the 53 Buddhas. No region
could ever lend itself better to a fairy tale than
this walk by No Ch’oon’s Well,
where he drank on his thirsty way. Later we passed a wretched inn and walked
for some few
minutes along a desolate heath then dropped down over
an emerald ridge and
suddenly came upon a panorama that outdoes my powers
of description. Under
somewhat lowering clouds was a vista of hill and
valley that ended in the long
blue reaches of the sea. Deep and deeper shades of
green blended with the
thickening sky and shaded off into the watery
distance.
After a long look at this unusual picture
we began the
descent of 2,300 feet down, down, till finally we came
to a wood devoid of all
colour, and a world of soft April showers, entirely
different from the region
we had left. Gradually the poetry faded away from the
landscape,
and soon we were into flat paddy-field prose as dismal
as possible. I forgot to say that we passed Yi Yoo Am,
the rock on
which the priestess waited to point No Ch’oon on his
way. Po-hyua Tong is the
place where No Ch’oon met the Bodhisat, who directed
him upward. Not far from this is a shrine to No
Ch’oon’s wife. It
seems she was about to accompany her husband when she
suddenly realized that she
had left some washing out to dry and expressed anxiety
about it. No Ch’oon at
once told her that she was a worldly-minded woman
unfit to share the bliss of
the Buddha and that she should stay here and see the
priests hull rice for all
eternity. There she remains today. By 5.20 P.M. we had crossed a rushing
stream on the
back of a strong athletic coolie and were safe in
Sin-ke-sa. It lies at the
foot of the Mount of the Fairies (Chip-sun Pong) 5,440
feet high. Tired somewhat over the walk of 27 miles,
much of it
through mud and rain, we turned in to sleep at 8 P.M.
Oct. 9th, 1917. We passed rather a cold night but were
refreshed by a
beautiful morning breaking in upon these impressive
heights. We are walled up
on the south-west by the most tremendous
fortifications, five thousand feet
high, gray granite rocks that permit of no pathway or
exit of any kind
whatever. Oct. 10th, 1917. The day threatened rain with clouds on
the tops of the
hills so we made no special plan for a journey
anywhere. We went later up the
valley as far as the little pass beyond which is the
pebbly edge of the stream.
Here we threw stones into the water with which sport
George was delighted. When we returned home and were sitting on
our verandah
thirteen gendarmes disguised with long white outer
coats came in with nine
brigands in tow, captured near Pi-ro Pong, three women
and six men. They were a
very unsavoury looking lot. Oct. 11th, 1917. By early dawn we were informed that the
day was clear
and most hopeful for a trip, so we harried through
breakfast and made ready. At
eight thirty we were off, the old padre, three young
priests, a coolie whom I
hired, Yi Sun-saing and Yi, the man who carried
George’s chair on his back,
quite a procession in all. After an hour up through a most ponderous
canyon we
came to Diarnond Gate, just in front of it a Japanese
couple whom we had met in
the valley the previous day, have a little stall where
they sell post-cards,
ginger-ale, beer, apples, tea and cake. Before we reached this point we met a
half dozen wild
looking fellows, a part of the rabble that infests
Pi-ro Peak. Several other
uncanny creatures came out of the shadow of the bushes
as we went by. There is
evidently a numerous brood inhabiting these
inaccessible heights. Passing the Japanese fruit stall, we
bowed our heads
beneath the Diamond Gate and little by little advanced
up a very
rugged valley where no woman should ever attempt to
go. The road is all but
impassible and my anxieties were great when I thought
of our little lad being
carried on coolie back along these giddy edges with
roaring torrents far
beneath. We passed places where the road is anchored
fast by chains; where
mountain creepers are all we had to cling to; where a
single log stood between
us and a skid over 500 feet of slippery rock. We had to watch our feet so carefully
that we lost
much of the grandeur of the scene. One part of the
canyon that specially struck
my fancy was the Ok-ryong Kwan, Dragon King’s Palace,
to which we were
introduced by the Diamond Gate. Then we passed Pi-pong
Falls, a very pretty
toboggan slide over the face of the rock. A few turns further on brought us to the
Sun-tam, or
Boat Pool, that we crossed by clinging to a creeper
that was bolted to the wall.
The Boat Pool is very beautiful and yet others beyond
it are even more
attractive. Later on we found the way walled in by a
chain to which we clung as
we passed. The road gradually grew more and more
difficult till
finally my wife felt it impossible to descend to the
depths required, while the
final drop before the Dragon Fall was too dangerous to
attempt. She had to be
satisfied with looking on from a distance. I crossed
the stream and looked up
at the face of the fall , some three hundred feet
high, they say, and as white
as a sheet of bleached cotton let down from the Milky
Way. Just below the pavilion, in front, there
is an
inscription written in the rock by Song Si-yul, which
reads, The angry fall pours down and makes dizzy
the eyes
that see. Also one by Yang Pong-nai, Ch’un-chung paik-nyun man-kwoih chin-joo. (A thousand measures of white linen, ten
thousand
buckets of jewels.) I found it hard to make my return over
the slippery
rocks and could not have done so except for Yi
Sun-saing’s help. Once
more along the giddy way we went clinging to ledges by
decaying poles, holding
to iron rods and chains and moving backwards down
block stair-ways. At 12 M. we passed the corner above the
Pearl Pool
where a Japanese last year slipped foot and went
skidding down to death. The
old padre told how he had said prayers for his soul,
and how a letter and come
to him from the lad’s mother in Japan thanking him. Once more through the Diamond Gate we
passed the
wonderful opening that leades to the Dragon King’s
Palace. Oct. 12th, 1917. The morning dawned as sweetly and
beautifully as an
April day. I proposed a walk to Yang-jin along the new
road bringring us within
a mile of the sea. Yang-jin is a little corner village with
a Sun-chun
man for shop-keeper. An indifferent mortal he seemed
to be with not the first
shadow of manners about him. Here he was in his
cluttered up shop selling goods
with no more sense of order or neatness about him than
if the whole thing had
been shot out of a gun. I asked him if he was a
Buddhist? No. Was he a Christian?
By no means. What religion had he? None! From Yang-jin on the way to Onseri we had
a
magnificent view of Pi-ro Peak. Oct. 13th, 1917. It is interesting to note that the sun
went down
behind the hills, as we sat in the verandah at
Sin-ke-sa at 4.10 P.M. After breakfast we went to Po-kwang
Temple where the
priest in charge received us in the little chapel of
the Seven Stars and
treated us to chestnuts and cake. His room is filled
with all sorts of
curiosities, a scroll among other things, with the
character Bool, Buddha, in
which one of the arrows runs clean down to the bottom
of the kakamoni. His
picture of the tiger is also very good. After seeling these Buddhist temples and
making a list
of things that somewhat suggest a similarity between
Buddhism and Christianity
I give the following. BUDDHISM
CHRISTIANITY 1.
Temples
Churches 2.
Monasteries
Monasteries 3.
Monks
and Nuns
Monks and Nuns 4.
Sacred
Books
Sacred
Books (Hebrew and
(Sanscrit
and Pali)
Greek) 5.
Rosaries
Rosaries 6.
The Cross
(Swastika)
The Cross (Various Forms) 7.
Different
Denomin
Different Denominations
ations 8.
Celibacy
Celibacy 9.
The
Trinity (Amida,
The Trinity
Kwannon, Taiseji
10.
Pool (佛)
I H C (Man, arrows and bow) 11.
Prayer
in an unknown
Unknown tongue (Latin)
tongue (Sanscrit)
12.
Images
Images 13.
Robes
Robes 14.
Founded
on
Faith (Romans) Keui-sin Non (起信論) Faith 15.
Posal,
Nahan
Saints, Martyrs 16.
The
Buddha (God)
Jesus (God) 17.
Charms
and Magic
Charms and Magic 18.
From
the West
From the East 19.
The
Nestorian Stone
The Nestorian Stone
(Buddhist)
(Christian) 20.
Heaven
(Nirvana)
Heaven (Paradise) 21.
Hells
Hell 22.
The
Seven Stars
The Seven Stars (Revelation)
(Temple)
23.
Wild
Beasts (San-sil-
Wild Beasts (In
desert ruled by
lyung)
Christ) 24.
Bells
and Gongs
Bells 25.
Relics
Relics 26.
Patriarchs
Fathers 27.
Servants
of all men
Servants of all men. 28.
Hermits
Hermits Oct. 14th, 1917. This was another wild, windy morning. Yi
Sun-saing had
tried to do Manmool Sang yesterday, and had been
nearly blown off the cliffs,
so he came home with his trip unfinished and said he
had paid too dear for his
whistle. In the afternoon we as a family went to
the Nirvana
Hill to meet the old padre on his way home from
On-chung-ni. We did not see
him, however, and came back in the dusk after a very
delightful outing in the
pines. The view of the temple toward eventide from the
hill is very fine, the
valley beneath being wrapped in shade. Sin-ke-sa is the most accessible of all
the
monasteries and also the most attractive in some
respects. It sits among the
eternal hills, companion of the Fairy Peak (5,400 ft.)
and holds the gateway to
the Nine Dragon Pool. It lacks the magic spell that
accompanies the Inner
Keum-kang and those tints that mark its every winding
way, but it is wonderful
to a degree and worth a trip at any time. Oct. 15th. 1917. By 8 A. M. we were packed up and ready to
start for
the port town of Chang-jun. Four coolies waited with our goods on
their backs while
the old padre and all his retainers came out to bid us
go in peace. Very kind
and courteous have been all these sons of the Buddha. It is a lovely walk of two and a half
miles, a good
road all the way. We touched the sea half an hour
after leaving Yangjin. The
beach is somewhat bare, as Korean sea-beaches usually
are, but it is sandy and
suitable for bathing. We found the San-yo Hotel a
suitable little place with an
agreeable prospect. Here we put up. From here to Wonsan we went by road along
the beautiful
shore of the sea, golden grain all about us, and a
lovely expanse of water off
to the east. The road as it lifts and falls gives
every variety of view. The
Giant Causeway Rocks offer a new excitement in the way
of form and colour. All
the way, in fact, is a world of delight. From
Wonsan we returned home reaching Seoul Oct 22nd,
our trip having taken one month and one day. |