ling in groups, weeding or
harvesting. The young men were cutting bushes on the hillsides, the father
of the family preparing new ground for the fresh crop, and the very
children frightening off the birds. At home the housewife was busy with her
children and preparing her simples and stores; and even the old men busied
themselves over light tasks, such as mat-making. Every one seemed
prosperous, busy, and happy. There were no signs of poverty. The uprising
had not touched this district, save in the most incidental fashion.

My inquiries as to where I should find any signs of the fighting always met
with the same reply--"The Japanese have been to Ichon, and have burned many
villages there." So we pushed on for Ichon as hard as we could.

The chief problem that faced the traveller in Korea who ventured away from
the railways in those days was how to hasten the speed of his party. "You
cannot travel faster than your pack," is one of those indisputable axioms
against which the impatient man fretted in vain. The pack-pony was led by a
horseman, who really controlled the situation. If he sulked and determined
to go slowly nothing could be done. If he hurried, the whole party must
move quickly.

The Korean mafoo regards seventy li (about twenty-one miles) as a fair
day's work. He prefers to average sixty li, but if you are very insistent
he may go eighty. It was imperative that I should cover from a hundred to a
hundred and twenty li a day.

I tried a mixture of harsh words, praise, and liberal tips. I was up at
three in the morning, setting the boys to work at cooking the animals'
food, and I kept them on the road until dark. Still the record was not
satisfactory. It is necessary in Korea to allow at least six hours each day
for the cooking of the horses' food and feeding them. This is a time that
no wise traveller attempts to cut. Including feeding-times, we were on the
go from sixteen to eighteen hours a day. Notwithstanding this, the most we
had reached was a hundred and ten li a day.

Then came a series of little hindrances. The pack-pony would not eat its
dinner; its load was too heavy. "Hire a boy to carry part of its load," I
replied. A hundred reasons would be found for halting, and still more for
slow departure.

It was clear that something more must be done. I called the pack-pony
leader on one side. He was a fine, broad-framed giant, a man who had in his
time gone through many fights and adventures. "You and I