Traveling through the streets of Seoul in style in the late 19th or early 20th century / Robert Neff Collection

On May 15, 1891, Bishop Daniel A. Goodsell and his wife Sarah arrived in Seoul to visit the American Methodist community. Quite surprisingly, apart from their religious duties, very little is known about their monthlong stay in the city. The usual gossipers' letters and journals are strangely silent — perhaps due to religious differences — and do not even record their visit.

However, Goodsell did leave us an amusing and wonderfully descriptive account of their departure from Seoul, highlighting the troubles and tribulations that constituted traveling in Korea during the late 19th century.

When the Goodsells first traveled from Jemulpo (today's Incheon) to Seoul, they had done so overland — a grueling and exhausting trek they were determined not to repeat. Thus, in mid-June, they were delighted to learn a small steamer was scheduled to depart Mapo (a river port serving Seoul) the following morning at 11 a.m. Wasting no time, the bishop resolved to secure passage and immediately began making preparations.

A Korean official and his palanquin in the late 19th century / Robert Neff Collection

The Han River was notorious for its many shoals and shifting sandbars, and the bishop acknowledged the risks, noting that he had "heard stories of leaky boilers and long detentions aground." However, he deemed it the most comfortable means of reaching Jemulpo, where he and his wife would board the Japanese steamship Higo Maru bound for Japan.

When they had initially come to Seoul, Goodsell and his wife had traveled relatively lightly, bringing only a small trunk. However, during their monthlong stay, they had accumulated a considerable amount of curios and knickknacks, despite having been warned that there was nothing of real value to purchase in the city. Among their acquisitions were:

"A lacquered trunk, bound intricately with brass, and inlaid with mother-of-pearl, in beauty beyond anything we had seen; wonderful brass ware, a butterfly brooch of white jade, silver, malachite, mother-of-pearl, red jade and false pearls fit to deceive the wisest; dainty brushes, embroidered satin pillow ends, chains of charms of Indian, Chinese, Japanese and Korean old coins, a venerable matchlock, native silk and grass-cloth, old brass-bound cabinets and dressing cases where again mother-of-pearl painted the birds and fishes of Korea."

Through the "deft hands" of a missionary's "white-robed and black-hatted teacher," the Goodsells' belongings were carefully packed into "one trunk, three bags, and a box, no more than the stout little pony could well carry."

Korean straw sandals were cheap and in constant demand by porters and travelers. Courtesy of Diane Nars Collection

Next, Goodsell arranged for two sedan chairs (palanquins) to be ready the following morning. He anticipated that six chair-bearers would suffice for each but the Korean headman insisted on 10 men for Mrs. Goodsell's chair and 12 for the bishop's — a demand perhaps influenced by Goodsell's imposing stature of just over 183 cm tall and weight exceeding 136 kg, though Goodsell failed to mention his size in his own account. Adding to his consternation, the headman demanded that the men be paid in advance for transporting the Goodsells to Mapo. With no alternative, the Goodsells acquiesced, lamenting, "The inevitable always conquers me."

The following morning, just before 10 a.m., the Goodsells bade farewell to the small Methodist community and began the 6-kilometer jaunt to Mapo. According to the bishop, "There were twenty-five men, one pony, one horse and two boys in our procession, a most unusual cavalcade. One of the boys led the pack pony, another, a little beggar with only a cloth about his loins, joined us for revenue only."

Traveling outside of Seoul in the late 19th or early 20th century / Robert Neff Collection

As they made their way through the streets of Seoul, they passed little Korean shops with interiors open to the street, but "displayed little to attract attention: dried fish, grass ropes, straw sandals, beans and rice in all stages, hulled and unhulled, a few vegetables, together with wire nails of foreign make, coarse and metallic looking stone pots, and the universal brassware…" But while Goodsell was no longer interested in making purchases, he was enthralled with the scenes around him.

"The fine scenery is within the city walls and beyond. A noble range of pink mountains bounds the eastern horizon, while the green heights of the western mountain near the west gate rise refreshingly out of the many tones of gray. Above the west arch rose the tower over the gate with its curved eaves and pyramidal roof, on the angles of which fantastic dogs and lions of terra cotta were silhouetted against the sky. This wall and these gates are laughed at by the Koreans themselves. I saw a score of men scale it at a point where the stones were a little out of line through the lifting power of the rank vines which at once beautified and ruined it; but under that blue sky and dazzling sunlight they were as picturesque as one could wish."

The scenery was not the only thing that jolted him — so did the chair-bearers. The relief-chair-bearers marched alongside the carrying bearers, lifting the poles without always being careful to raise each end or side at the same time. "As they walked, the bearers [would] change, and the inmate of the chair was accordingly pitched forward and then backward, and tossed sideways, and put in peril of his neck every three minutes."

Women wash laundry in a stream in the early 20th century. Robert Neff Collection

Trying to remain positive, Goodsell noted that he soon became accustomed to the experience and even learned the Korean words for stones, puddles, ditch and mud by listening to the lead chair-bearers call out warnings to their peers.

Their route, a "half road, half path," took them through finely cultivated and rich fields where vegetables grew "most thriftly." According to Goodsell, the bountiful growth of the vegetables was not due to the hands of men, but rather women. "Curled up in the shade or smoking long pipes under thatched shelters, hardly a man was in the fields. But the women were there, some up to their knees in mud, puddling the paddy-fields."

Goodsell was extremely observant, but even more importantly, he possessed a remarkable gift to convey his impressions colorfully through his writing. He captured the sounds of his journey with great detail — the laughter and animated chatter of his porters calling out to acquaintances, the beautiful singing of Korean birds hidden in the fields and the everyday noises of women doing their household chores — particularly laundry.

"Constantly heard," he wrote, "was the rhythmical clatter of the sticks with which the faithful Korean wives polish and whiten the grass-cloth garments of their lords. Winding these on cylinders, they pound away all the day and late in the night until their work is dazzlingly white and glistening. It was not unlike a Colorado stamp mill [an ore crusher] heard at a distance."

The bishop was impressed by the clothing of Korean men, which he described as "eminently decent, and even stately." He noted that the men themselves — especially those of the higher class — were "fine looking, straight eyed, with a noticeably Hebrew cast of features in many cases; and, in some, completely European, as of Spanish or Italian blood." By contrast, the lower classes, particularly the coolies or porters, were dirty, wore almost no clothing during the summer, and had "the contented and unaspiring look of oxen."

Drawing water from a village well in the late 19th century / Robert Neff Collection

Korean women he described as being "veritable dowdies" with their ill-fitted clothing of contrasting colors, and "waistbands up to their armpits." Their "expressionless faces" did little to complement their attire.

He frequently encountered "women in red dresses and green capotes [hooded overcoats], with heavy baskets, passed on their way to market, while little girls, each with a baby tied on her back, its head bobbing violently as its small nurse ran from the ‘foreign teachers,' stood watching us when a safe distance was attained." Yet, what surprised him the most were the "Korean mothers standing with protruding breasts, otherwise decently covered; the dignity of motherhood marked by this privilege."

On the road to Mapo, Goodsell and his party encountered "splendid bulls, sleek and mighty, walking majestically under great loads of firewood and stacks of hay." Despite their imposing size, these gentle giants were easily managed by young boys. Meanwhile, wolfish dogs snarled challenges at the intruders but quickly lost heart and retreated back into their compounds as the procession drew close.

It was the Korean holiday season of Dano, celebrated on the fifth day of the fifth month on the lunar calendar. Goodsell observed that "every high tree [had] swings of straw rope hung or swung wonderfully, under the skill of grown men." As his procession passed one of these parties of swingers, the cork from a bottle of Japanese carbonated water popped loudly — sending the cork high into the air. Rather than startling the swingers and scaring them away, the unexpected sound had the opposite effect — they eagerly mobbed the procession, begging for some of the "gun water."

The road from Seoul to Mapo had "few gaps in the line of thatched and tiled houses" that bordered it. The porters, smoking their long-stemmed pipes incessantly and chattering cheerily among themselves, seized every opportunity to stop at inns or drinking establishments along the way — ostensibly to refresh themselves. "I am loath to believe that the weight they carried had anything to do" with these frequent stops, Goodsell lamented, before sagely noting his belief that the true cause was the Koreans' passion for rice wine (soju). Considering the early hour and the short distance between Seoul and Mapo, I suspect the good bishop may have been guilty of a touch of exaggeration to make his tale even more amusing.

The foul stench that filled the air heralded the procession's entry into Mapo, which in those days was a rather dismal river port. "One-story huts, sometimes tiled, more often thatched, shut in narrow alleys whose open gutters smoked with filth," Goodsell observed. As the procession wound its way through these narrow, twisted alleys, the chair-bearers made little or no effort to avoid the villagers and pedestrians, instead shouting for people to clear the way, declaring a foreign yangban (gentry) was passing through. The bishop wryly remarked, "In this sort I gained my Korean patent of nobility."

When the procession reached the river landing, Goodsell was both surprised and dismayed to learn that the river steamer had already gone. The captain had "miscalculated the tides" and departed two hours earlier than the departure time announced in the notices posted in Seoul. This left the bishop in a horrible predicament; the Higo Maru, the Japanese steamer bound for Japan, was scheduled to leave Jemulpo the following day. His only option was to travel overland to the seaport. However, the pony, the boy and the men had only been hired to accompany him to the river. Eighteen of the men outright refused to continue the journey: one claimed he needed to tend to his fields, another complained of exhaustion, and the rest, lamented Goodsell, were simply "too lazy."

Time was running out for the Goodsells. Without transportation, how could they possibly get to Jemulpo in time to catch their steamship?

I would like to thank Diane Nars for her invaluable assistance and for allowing me to use one of her images.

Robert Neff has authored and co-authored several books, including Letters from Joseon, Korea Through Western Eyes and Brief Encounters.