1
LONDON’SCORRESPONDENCE AND NEWSPAPER REPORTS
FROM KOREA AND MANCHURIA DURING THE OPENING
PHASES OF THE RUSSO-JAPANESE WAR
[Editor’s Note:The Hearst newspaper empire hired Jack London to be its chief correspondent covering the Russo-Japanese War (1904-1905).When London arrived in Tokyo in late January, 1904, he found that the Japanese government had no intention of allowing any foreign correspondents near its army as it marched north through Korea to meet Russian forces waiting in Manchuria.Refusing to spend the war attending banquets, London raced across Japan searching for a vessel to take him to Korea.After considerable difficulty London reached the Japanese army in late winter 1904 in Korea and was able to accompany the troops as they marched north through Korea and into Manchuria to confront the Russians.London continued his coverage of the war through June of 1904.
The following narrative is perhaps the best journalistic account of the early stages of the war.We see the harsh conditions of Japanese forces as they marched north from Seoul, the frightened reaction of Korean refugees, the industrious nature of Chinese farmers and merchants, and the pathetic faces of captured Russian soldiers.London’s narrative reads better than even some of his best adventure stories.We even see flashes of London’s humor as he frightens Koreans with his dentures, rides a blind stallion that runs into walls in Seoul, and tries in vain to figure out Korea’s complex monetary system.
The first section consists of excerpts from letters London sent to Charmian Kittredge, who married London in 1905 after his return from Manchuria.There follows the complete set of articles that London wrote in Japan, Korea and Manchuria, most of which were published in the San Francisco Examiner.
Source:King Hendricks and Irving Shepard, Eds., Jack London Reports: War Correspondence, Sports Articles and Miscellaneous Writings.New York: Doubleday & Co., 1970.Pages 3-125.
JACK LONDON’S LETTERS TO HIS FUTURE WIFE CHARMIAN ANDOTHER CORRESPONDENCE FROM ASIA, 1904:
LETTERS FROM KOREA TO CHAIRMIAN
S.S. Siberia, Jan. 13/04
Somewhat weak and wobbly, but still in the ring. Came down with a beautiful attack of La Grippe. Of course, didn’t go to bed with it, but spent time in a steamer chair, for one day half out of my head. And oh, how all my bones ache, even now! And what wild dreams I had!
Honolulu is in sight, and in an hour I shall be ashore mailing this, and learning whether or not there is war.
Am, Grippe excepted, having a nice trip. The weather is perfect. So is the steamer. Sit at the Captain’s table, and all the rest—you know.
S.S. Siberia, Jan 15/04
Well, we sailed yesterday from Honolulu. Am still miserable with my Grippe, but getting better. Had a swim in the surf at Waikiki. Took in the concert at the Hawaiian Hotel, and had a general nice time.
Had some fun. I bucked a game run by the Chinese fireman of the Siberia, and in twenty-five minutes broke three banks and won $14.85. So, you see, I have discovered a new career for myself.
The war correspondents, the “Vultures,” and a jolly crowd. We are bunched up at the Captain’s table, now that the passenger list has been reduced by the lot who left at Honolulu. In fact, the trip to Honolulu had three bridal couples which sat at the upper end of the table. This is a funny letter—the correspondents are cutting up all around me; and just now I am being joshed good and plenty.
S.S. Siberia, Jan. 20/04
Quite a time since I last wrote. You’ll wonder why. Well, know that I am the most fortunate of the unfortunate men. The evening of the day we left Honolulu I smashed my left ankle. For sixty-five sweaty hours I lay on my back. Yesterday I was carried on deck, on the back of one of the English correspondents. And to-day I have been carried on deck again.
The smashed ankle is the misfortune, the fortune (which has prevented me form writing to you) is the crowd of friends I seem to have collected. From six o’clock in the morning till eleven at night, there was never a moment that my stateroom did not have at least one visitor. As a rule there were three or four, and very often twice as many. I had thought, when the accident happened, that I should have plenty of time for reading; but I was not left alone long enough to read a line.
I am looking forward with interest to the sixth day, when, if the surgeon does not change his mind, I may put my foot to the deck and try to walk with the aid of crutches.
Of course, what you want to know is what the smash consists in. I was jumping and coming down from a height of three and half. I landed on my left foot—having “taken off” with my right. But my left foot did not land on the deck. It landed on a round stick, and lengthwise with the stick. Stick about diameter of a broom handle. Of course, my foot went up alongside of my leg. My ankle was strained on one side, sprained on the other. That is, the tendons on the inside were stretched and ruptured, the bones on the outside ground against each other, bruising themselves and pinching the nerves—result, and irresistible combination.
Now I have two weak ankles. I fear me I am getting old. Both my knees have been smashed, and now both my ankles. It might be worse, however. What bothers me just now is that I don’t know just how bad this last ankle is. Absolute rest, in a rigid bandage, has been the treatment, so not even the surgeon will know till I try to walk on it. Don’t worry because I have let my worry out in this letter. Anyway, I’ll be able to write you later, before we make Yokohama, and let you know more. I hope the report will be promising.
S.S. Siberia, Jan. 21/04
You should see me to-day. Quite the cripple, hobbling around on a pair of crutches. I can’t stand on the ankle yet, but hope to be able to walk by the time we make Yokohama. To-day is Thursday, and we didn’t expect to arrive next Monday morning. I hope war isn’t declared for at least a month after I arrive in Japan—will give my ankle a chance to strengthen.
All hands are very good to me, and I might say I am almost worn out by being made comfortable. I am in for a game of cards now, so more anon.
S.S. Siberia, Jan. 23/04
Yesterday I dragged about on crutches to the boat deck and to tiffin, and to bed. To-day I have ventured without crutches. But I walk very little—just from stateroom to boat deck. A young gale is on, but the Siberia is behaving splendidly.
P.S. the young gale is still growing.
S.S. Siberia, Jan. 28/04
Just packing up. Shall be in Yokohama at six to-morrow morning. Ankle is improving. Am walking (very slowly, and limpingly, and carefully), without crutches. I just missed breaking the leg—so you can see what a twist it was. Hope the war holds off for a month yet.
Thursday, Jan. 28/04
If you can read this. The train is joggling, and the temperature inside the car is 40. I am on the express bound for Kobe—where, on Jan. 31, if not sooner, I expect to get a steamer for Korea. I am bound for Seoul, the capital. Was pretty busy in Yokohama and Tokyo. Arrived Monday, and have been on the jump until now, though this writing looks as though I were still jumping.
Ankle is getting better very slowly.
I called, and called, and called for your letter which should have come on the same steamer with me. But no letter to date. Either it is lost or missed the steamer.
Jan. 29/04
You should have seen me plunging out of Kobe this morning, myself and luggage in three rickshaws, with push-boys and pull-boys and all the rest, and racing to catch the express for Nagasaki. No steamer out of Kobe till Feb. 3rd, so am going to try my luck at Nagasaki, twenty-two hours ride on the train and no sleeping car.
Weather is a bit warmer down here. It was bitter cold up Yokohama-way.
Have caught beautiful glimpses of the Inland Sea to-day, the sea whereon you and I shall soon be sailing. I think, however, we’ll say in May at the earliest—spend summer in Japan, and winter in say India.
If I do not refer to war doing, know that there is a censorship and cables, etc. are held up.
Shimonoseki, Feb. 3/04
Still trying to sail to Chemulpo. Made an all-day ride back from Nagasaki to Moji to catch a steamer, Feb. 1 (Monday). Bought ticket, stepped outside, and snapped three street scenes. Now Moji is a fortified place. Japanese police “Very Sorry,” but they arrested me. Spent the day examining me. Of course, I missed steamer. “Very sorry.” Carted me down to country Monday night to town of Kokura. Examined me again. Committed. Tried Tuesday. Found guilty. Fined 5 yen and camera confiscated. Have telegraphed American minister at Tokyo, who is now trying to recover camera.
Received last night a deputation from all the Japanese newspaper correspondents in this vicinity. Present their good offices, and “Very sorry.” They are my brothers in the craft. They are today to petition the judges (three judges sat on me in black caps) to set up a mock auction of camera, when they will bid it in and present it to me with their compliments. “Very uncertain,” however, they say.
Expect to leave Chemulpo on the 6th or 7th inst.
On board junk, off Korean Coast
Tuesday, Feb. 9, 1904
The wildest and gorgeous thing ever! If you could see me just now, captain of a junk with a crew of three Koreans who speak neither English nor Japanese and with five Japanese guests (strayed travelers) who speak neither English nor Korean—that is, all but one, which last knows a couple of dozen English words. And with this polyglot following I am bound on a voyage of several hundred miles along the Korean Coast to Chemulpo.
And how did it happen? I was to sail Monday, Feb. 8th, on the Keigo Maru for Chemulpo. Saturday, Feb. 6th, returning in the afternoon from Kokura (where my camera had been returned to me)—returning to Shimonoseki, I learned the Keigo Maru had been taken off its run by the Jap. government. Learned also that many Jap. warships had passed the straits bound out, and that soldiers had been called from their homes to join their regiments in the middle of the night.
And I made a dash right away. Caught, just as it was getting under way, a small steamer for Fusan. Had to take third class passage—and it was a native steamer, no white man’s chow (food) even first class I had to sleep on deck. Dashing aboard in steam launch, got one trunk overboard but saved it. Got wet myself, and my rugs and baggage, crossing the Japan Sea. At Fusan, caught a little 120 ton steamer, loaded with Koreans and Japs, and deck load piled to the sky, for Chemulpo. Made Mokpo, with a list to starboard of fully thirty degrees. It would take a couple of hundred of such steamers to make a Siberia. But this morning all passengers and freight were fired ashore, willy nilly, for Jap. government had taken the steamer to use. We had traveled the proceeding night convoyed by two torpedo boats.
Well, fired ashore this morning, I chartered this junk, took five of the Jap. passengers along, and here I am, still bound for Chemulpo. Hardest job I ever undertook. Have had no news for several days, do not know if war has been declared—and shall not know till I make Chemulpo—or maybe Kun San, at which place I drop my passengers. God, but I’d like to have a mouthful of white-man’s speech. It’s not quite satisfying to do business with a 24-word vocabulary and gesticulations.
Thursday, Feb. 11/04
On board another junk. Grows more gorgeous. Night and day traveled for Kun San. Caught on lee-shore yesterday, and wind howling over Yellow Sea. You should have seen us clawing off—one man at the tiller and a man at each sheet (Koreans), four scared Japs, and a fifth too seasick to be scared. Of course, we cleared off, or you wouldn’t be reading this.
Made Kun San at nightfall, after having carried away a mast and smashed a rudder. And we arrived in driving rain, wind cutting like a knife. And then, you should have seen me being made comfortable last night—five Japanese maidens helping me undress, take a bath, and get into bed, the while visitors, male and female were being entertained (my visitors). And the maidens passing remarks upon my beautiful white skin, etc. And this morning, same thing repeated—the Mayor of Kun San, the captain of the police leading citizens, all in my bed-room, visiting while I was being shaved, dressed, washed, and fed.
And all the leading citizens of the town came down to see me off and cheered me, and cried “Sayonara” countless times.
New junk, manned by Japanese—five—and not one knows one word of English, and here I am adrift with them on the Korean coast.
No white man’s news for a long time. Hear native rumors of sea fights, and of landing of troops, but nothing I may believe without doubting. But when I get to Chemulpo, I’ll know “where I’m at.”
And maybe you think it isn’t cold, traveling as I am, by junk. The snow is on the land, and in some places, on North slopes, comes down to water’s edge.
And there are no stoves by which to keep warm—charcoal boxes, with half a dozen small embers, are not to be sneered at—I am beside one now, which I just bought for 12 ½ cents from a Korean at a village, where we have landed for water.
Saturday, Feb. 13/04
Still wilder, but can hardly say so “gorgeous,” unless landscapes and seascapes, seen between driving snow squalls, be gorgeous. You know the tides on this Coast range from 40 to 60 feet (we’re at anchor now, in the midst of ten thousand islands, reefs and shoals, waiting four hours until the tide shall turn toward Chemulpo—30 ri, which means 75 miles away).
Well, concerning tides. Yesterday morning found us on a lee shore all rocks, with a gale pounding the whole Yellow Sea down upon us. Our only chance for refuge, dead to leeward, a small bay, and high and dry. Had to wait on the 40 ft. tide and we waited, anchored under a small reef across which the breakers broke, until, tide rising, they submerge it. Never thought a sampan (an open crazy boat) could live through what ours did. A gale of wind, with driving snow—you can imagine how cold it was. But I’m glad I have Japanese sailors. They’re braver and cooler and more daring than Koreans. Well, we waited till eleven A.M. it was twixt the devil and the deep sea—stay and be swamped, run for the little bay and run the chance of striking in the surf. We couldn’t possibly stay longer, so we showed a piece of sail and ran for it. Well, I was nearly blind with a headache which I had brought away with me from Kun San, and which had been increasing ever since; and I did not care much what happened; yet I remember, when we drove in across that foaming bar, the white water showing reefs and shoals clear across, that I took off my overcoat, and loosened my shoes—and I didn’t bother a bit about trying to save the camera.
But we made it—half full of water—but we made it. And maybe it didn’t howl all night, so cold that it froze the salt water.
All of which I wouldn’t mind, if it weren’t for my ankles. I used to favor the right with the left, but with the left now smashed worse than the right, you can imagine how careful I have to be (where it is impossible to be careful) in a crazy junk going thro’ such weather. And yet I have escaped any bad twists so far.
Junks, crazy—I should say so. Rags, tatters, rotten—something always carrying away—how they navigate is a miracle. I wonder if Hearst thinks I’m lost.
Monday, Feb. 15/04
Oh, yes, we waited four hours! When four hours had passed, wind came down out of the north, dead in our teeth. Lay all night in confounded tide-rip, junk standing on both ends, and driving me crazy what of my headache.
At four in the morning turned out in the midst of driving snow to change anchorage on account of sea.
It was cruel day-break we witnessed; at 8 a.m. we showed a bit of sail and ran for shelter.
My sailors live roughly, and we spent Sunday and Sunday night there—my five sailors, myself—and about 20 men, women, and children jammed into a room in a hut, the floor space of which room was about equivalent to that of a good double-bed.
And my foreign food is giving out, and I was compelled to begin on native chow. I hope my stomach will forgive me some of the things I have thrust upon it—filth, dirt, indescribable, and the worst of it is that I can’t help thinking of the filth and dirt as I take each mouthful.