Jack London Bookstore
Jack London Bookstore
| << Table of Contents |
—401—
|
Spring 1904 WITH war threatening to flare up any moment between Japan and Russia, the San Francisco Examiner asked Jack London if he would be ready to go out at call. Jack, near the close of his sea novel, sorely needing funds, held himself awaiting the summons. He arranged his finances so that regular payments would be made to his mother as well as to his children, with instructions to his eastern publishers to stand prepared to advance any necessary further sums should his wife call for the same. Meanwhile the Managing Editor haled him to San Francisco, to sit for photographs against the day of featuring a sensational departure. The pictures were posed on the roof of the Examiner Building, and portray a very lovable, very boyish, unmodish person, with tousled curls. Although hostilities had not yet been actually declared, Jack was dispatched on the S. S. Siberia. To Cloudesley on January 7 he dashed off: "Sail to-day for Yokohama. Am going for Hearst. Could have gone for Harper's, Collier's, and N. Y. Herald—but Hearst made the best offer " Other newspapermen aboard were Captain Lionel James, London Times; Percival Phillips, London Daily Express; Sheldon Inglis Williams, artist for London Sphere; 0. K. Davis, New York Herald; Frederick Palmer and R. L. Dunn, for Collier's Weekly, and Collier's veteran war photographer, James H. Hare. En masse "The Crowd" saw Jack off at the dock; and of the Crowd, George Sterling and I were entrusted jointly —402—
with the Century Magazine and the Macmillan proof-reading of "The Sea Wolf," the manuscript of which had been completed and signed the previous evening, and shipped off to the Century Magazine for immediate serialization. The original script of this novel lay in a steel safe throughout San Francisco's Great Earthquake and Fire of 1906, and to this day the incinerated sheets preserve their form, the only visible markings being lead-penciled corrections, which withstood the heat. Five days later, at the Sterlings' in Piedmont, a few of us gathered to celebrate Jack's twenty-eighth birthday. Early in the voyage, he had an attack of grippe; and the day the Siberia cleared from Honolulu, during deck sports Jack's left foot was badly injured. There is not space in this biography to incorporate Jack London's articles on the Japanese-Russian War. But I quote excerpts from letters written to me, and these will serve to illustrate the almost intolerable irk endured under the rigors of Japanese discipline toward the newspaper man. "They settled the war correspondent forever," he often exclaimed, "——and they proved that he was a dispensable feature of warfare." Near the time of Jack's death, among other collections of unpublished book material, he had arranged his Japanese-Russian and also his 1914 Mexican War-Notes, which shall presently be issued as he intended. His utter disgust with the lack of opportunity given the journalist, to deliver what would be really worth-while articles, accounts for his long delay in bringing out his notes. His 3-A Kodak, however, had the distinction of being the first to supply pictures for the American public, although so poor was the mail service in and out of Korea, he never knew until his return six months afterward whether or not his films and cables had been received. One can give no better idea of his experience and frame of mind than by quoting from his letters to myself: —403— "S.S. Siberia,
"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 the 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. . . ." "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 firemen 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,' are 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 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 . . . 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 —404—
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 feet and a 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 broom-handle. Of course, my foot went up alongside 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, an 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 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." —405— "S.S. Siberia, Jan. 24/04. "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. 24/04. "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 Tokio. 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." "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 warmer down here. It was bitter cold up Yokohama-way. "If I do not refer to war doings, know that there is a censor ship, 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). —406—
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 country Monday night to town of Kokura. Examined me again. Committed. Tried Tuesday. Found guilty. Fined five yen, and camera confiscated. Have telegraphed American Minister at Tokio, 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 to-day to petition the judges (three judges sat on me in black caps) to get up mock auction of camera, when they will bid it in and present it to me with their compliments. 'Very uncertain,' how ever, they say. "Expect to leave for Chemulpo on the 6th or 7th hist." "On board Junk, off Korean Coast,
"The wildest and most 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 a third class passage—and it was a native steamer—no white man's chow (food) even first class, and I had to sleep on deck. Dashing aboard in steam launch, got one trunk overboard but saved it. Got wet —407—
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 preceding night convoyed by two torpedo boats. "Well, fired ashore this morning, I chartered this junk, took five of the Japanese 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 until 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, 1904. "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 Japanese, and the 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 the 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 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 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, off the Korean Coast. —408—
"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 the 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 12½ cents from a Korean at a village, where we have landed for water." "Saturday, Feb. 11, 1904. "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 li—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 submerged 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 the 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 much care what happened; yet I remember, when we drove in 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 —409—
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 through such rough 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, 1904. 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 a 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 put up at a fishing village (Korean) where they live still more 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. "In some of these villages, I am the first white man, and a curiosity. "I showed one old fellow my false teeth at midnight. He proceeded to rouse the house. Must have given him bad dreams, for he crept in to me at three in the morning and woke me in order to have another look. "We are under way this morning—for Chemulpo. I hope I don't drop dead when I finally arrive there. "The land is covered with snow. The wind has just hauled —410—
ahead again. Our sail has come in, and the men are at the oars. If it blows up it'll be another run for shelter. O, this is a wild and bitter coast." "Tuesday night, Feb. 16, Chemulpo. "Just arrived. Am preparing outfit—horses, interpreter, coolies, etc., for campaign into the North toward the Yalu and most probably into Manchuria." "Buy everything in sight and get ready to start for Ping-Yang!" Jack was greeted when he landed at Chemulpo. It was the first white-man s speech he had heard in eight days. The welcome tongues were those of Jones and MacLeod, who had preceded him. One of these men, who had known Jack, did not recognize him, so disfigured and cadaverous was he from sunburn and illness, and so crippled. And now, for the first time, he learned that war was on—had been on for five days. "Chemulpo, Feb. 17/04. ". . . Am preparing to advance north—campaign to the Yalu and perhaps into Manchuria. I shall accompany. Am busy getting interpreters, coolies, horses, saddles, provisions, etc. Only four outside newspapermen here. The rest, a host, cannot get here." "Grand Hotel, Seoul, Feb. 24/04. ". . . Am starting in five minutes for the North. Have been about crazy trying to outfit and start:
Of all the correspondents in the field, Jack was the last to reach Seoul, but the first to the Front. At Seoul, no one seemed to have any orders about him, so he lost not a moment hitting the road for the North. But from Sunan, —411—
the farthest point yet reached by any correspondent, and near the firing line, he was ruthlessly ordered back to Seoul. "Ping-Yang, March 4/04. "Have made 180 miles on horseback to this place. I shall be able to ride a little with you when I return, for it appears there are months of riding before me. I have one of the best horses in Korea—was the Russian Minister's at Seoul before he went away. Very little chance to write these days am not writing enough for the Examiner as it is. Worked to death with the trouble of traveling. "Have received no more letters from you nor anybody. "Am pulling North soon for Anju and maybe the Yalu. Am now in the midst of accounts with correspondents, interpreters, mapus and what not, so cannot think. . . . I do not know when I shall ever be able to write you a real letter lack of time. "But I'm learning about horses last two days traveled 50 miles a day, and I was saddle-sore and raw. I am living in a Japanese hotel crammed with soldiers. (Only three of us—1 English correspondent—1 American photographer.) Am ordering whiskey just now for them." "Poral-Colli, March 8/04. "How the letters have roused me up! . . . Furthermore, they have proved to me, or, rather, reassured me, that I am a white man. "As a sample of many days, let me give to-day. Was for bidden departure by Gen. Sasaki at Ping-Yang—argued it out through interpreters—vexations, delays, drive me mad. Should have started at 7 A.M. Scarcely started to load pack horses, when summoned by Japanese Consul—more interpreter—distraction—successful bluff—pull out late in afternoon. "Arrive at this forlorn village; people scared to death. Already have had Russian and Japanese soldiers—we put the finishing touch to their fright. They swear they have no room for us, no fuel, no charcoal, no food for our horses, no room for our horses, nothing—no grub for our mapus and interpreters. We storm the village—force our way into the stables—capture 25 Ibs. barley hidden in man's trousers—and so forth and so forth, for two mortal hours—chatter and chin-chin to drive one mad. —412—
"And this is but one of all the days. One can scarcely think white man's thoughts. . . . As I write this, the horses are breaking loose in the stable—native horses are fiends, and I have desisted writing long enough to stir up the mapus. "The horse I was astride of to-day is named Belle. I named her after your Belle. She is as sweet and gentle as yours, and she is the only sweet and gentle horse in Korea. She is an Australian barb, and have I told you she was the Russian Minister's at Seoul? She is gigantic compared with all other horses in Korea—Chinese, Japanese, and Korean horses—and excites universal wonder and admiration. "As I write this a cold wind is blowing from the North, and snow is driving. Also, before my door are groaning and creaking a hundred bullock-carts loaded with army supplies and pushing North. "My interpreter comes in with his daily report. Manyoungi, my Korean cook and interpreter, comes in with tea and toast. Dunn sends down half a can of hot pork and beans—and there are a thousand interruptions." "Wednesday, Mar. 9/04. Here we are—captured and detained, while the wires are working hot between here and Ping-Yang and Seoul. I mean captured by Japanese soldiers who will not let us proceed North to Anjou. And five more vexatious hours have just elapsed—chin-chin and delay galore. "As I write this, a thousand soldiers are passing through the village past my door. My men are busy drawing rations for themselves and horses from the Army. "Red cross ponies, pioneers, pack horses loaded with munitions and supplies, for foot soldiers, are streaming by. Captains are dropping in to shake hands and leave their cards, and then going on. "IMPORTANT. ANOTHER VEXATION! "Just caught five body lice on my undershirt. That is, I discovered them, Manyoungi picked them off, the while he interpreted for me an invitation from a Korean nobleman to come to his place and occupy better quarters! The nobleman looked on, while the —413—
lice were caught and I changed my clothes. Lice drive me clean crazy. I am itching all over. I am sure, every second, that a score of them are on me. And how under the sun am I to write for the Examiner or write to you! "Intermission—the horses, stabled within ten feet of me, have been kicking up a rumpus—kicking, biting, stampeding my Belle and my three other horses—and broken legs would not be welcome just now. I am advised to get my life insured. "And the troops stream by, the horses fight—and mapus, cook and interpreter, are squabbling 4 feet away from me. And the frost is in the air. I must close my doors and light my candles. "A Korean family of refugees—their household goods on their backs, just went by." "Japanese Consulate,
"To Mr. Jack London:
"I have the honor to inform you by the order that you would stay here until our Land Forces under Major General Sasaki proceed for the North. "Yours truly,
Jack, referring to the foregoing, notes as follows: "This is one of many commands not heeded. This was issued yesterday at Ping-Yang. I am now North of that city and in advance of General Sasaki. "The first command, had I obeyed it, would have held me in Tokio to this day, where are 50 other correspondents who did heed. I am prepared, however, to be held up by Japanese scouts at any moment and be brought back to Ping-Yang. But it's all in the game. I am the only correspondent thus far in advance. With me is Dunn, a photographer for Collier's Weekly. . . . In Ping-Yang are two other correspondents—and that is all the regular correspondents in Korea at present moment." —414— "Sunan, Mar. 11/04. "Have just returned from a ride on Belle—doesn't that strike you familiarly? North I may ride for a hundred yards, and when I come thundering up at a lope the Japanese guard turns out on the run, presenting bayonets to me in token that I may proceed no farther. East, West, and South I may ride as far as I wish, but North, where fighting is soon to begin, I may not go. Nor may I go until I receive permission from Lieut.-General Inouye, commander of the 12th Division of 12,000 men, and just now at Seoul, a couple of hundred miles to the South. " . . . Your two letters I received several days ago were brought up, horseback, from Seoul. As I write I look out my door and a dozen feet from where I am sitting, see Belle munching away at her barley ration which I have drawn for her from the Army. She is a joy! . . . I am my own riding teacher. I hope I don't learn to ride all wrong. But anyway, I'll manage to stick on a horse somehow, and we'll have some glorious rides together." "Sunan, March 12/04. ". . . You needn't worry about my welfare. The Japanese are taking very good care of me. Here I am, 40 miles from the front, and here I stay. The only other newspaperman who reached this far, Dunn, has gone back. So I'm farthest north of all the correspondents. Furthermore, no others may now pass out of Ping-Yang." He quotes several short poems from the Korean, and comments: "These are sweet, are they not? They are the only sweet things I have seen among the Koreans!" "Ping-Yang, March 14/04. ". . . Ordered back to Ping-Yang yesterday by the authorities—so here I am, and a chance to mail this." "Ping-Yang, March 16/04. "Here beginneth the retrograde movement. Have been ordered back 50 li from Sunan to this place. Am now ordered back 540 li from this place to Seoul—the Japanese are disciplining us for our —415—
rush ahead and the scoop we made—and they are doing it for the sake of the correspondents who remained in Japan by advice of Japanese and who have made life miserable for the Japanese by pointing out that we have been ahead gathering all the plums. "540 li to Seoul and 540 li back = 1080 useless li I have to ride, plus 100 (Sunan and return) = 1180 useless li. Well, I'll become used to the saddle at any rate." "Seoul, March 18/04. "Just arrived, fired hence from the North. Pull out on a little side jump to Wei-hai-wei to-morrow morning early. Learn that a bunch of letters is chasing around after me up at Ping- Yang. . . . Shall get them a week hence when return from Wei-hai-wei." "March 19/04. ". . . Didn't go to Wei-hai-wei after all." "Seoul, Korea, March 29/04. "Here I am, still in Seoul, assigned to the first column but not permitted to go to the Front. None of the correspondents at front. All held back by Japanese, and in this matter we are being treated abominably. ". . . I have decided that I shall remain away no more than a year. Ten months from the time I left San Francisco, I shall cable Hearst to send out another man to take my place at the front—if I've got to the front by that time. ". . . Since writing you from north of Ping-Yang at Sunan, I have not only received not one letter from any one else, but not one letter from you. . . . You, at least, have my miserable letters to the Examiner to read. Have never been so disgusted with anything I have done. Perfect rot I am turning out. It's not war correspondence at all, and the Japs are not allowing us to see any war. Photographs inclosed taken at table upon which I am writing this." "Grand Hotel, Seoul, Korea, April 1/04. And still no mail. . . . I'll never go to a war between Orientals again. The vexation and delay are too great. Here I am, still penned up in Seoul, my 5 horses and interpreters at Chemulpo, my outfit at Ping-Yang, my post at Anjou—and eating my heart —416—
out with inactivity. Such inactivity, such irritating inactivity, that I cannot even write letters. "Mark you, while inactive, I am busy all the time. What worries is that I am busy with worries and nothing is accomplished. Never mind, I may not ride beautifully or correctly, but I'11 wager that I stick on and keep up with you in the rides we may have to gether. "Just now I'm riding all kinds of Chinese ponies, with all kinds of saddles, in all kinds of places (and some of the ponies are vicious brutes). I was out yesterday, without stirrups, and loped all over the shop with another fellow, down crowded streets, narrow streets, crooked streets, over sprawling babies, for the ponies are hard-mouthed and headstrong (a thousand shaves), and live to tell the tale." Here is a letter received by Jack from Mr. James, Chemulpo, at this juncture: "Dear London: "Your mare and the ponies are well looked after. Only a little influenza in her and she wants a lot more exercise. She is quite fat. "Chin-chin, old chap. Yours as a Sourdough,
And at foot, this note from Jack's interpreter, K. Yamada: "For you don't returned within long time there happened trouble yesterday that I had been arrested to Japanese gendarme as reporting military secret to you and after 10 hours examined several questions, I could come back to my boarding house. Received telegram and I shall do your order. "Y.ff'ly [affectionately?!],
"If you don't come back I can't help plenty troubles." Jack comments upon the two communications above: "These two letters, on same sheet, as indicative of some of my troubles. Here I am, compelled to remain in Seoul, my horses at —417—
Chemulpo. My interpreter, K. Yamada, left in charge of horses, arrested. My mare with influenza, and suffering from 'hay-belly,' which James mistakes for being in foal. Hay I had sternly for bidden, for I had learned effect on mare. James (an Ex-Klondiker) and making a dash for Chemulpo, I asked to take a look at my horses." In very bad humor over the holding up of his mail, he writes: "Seoul, Korea, April 5/04. ". . . I am going out to ride off steam now on a jockey saddle and a spanking big horse, and if we don't kill each other we'11 kill a few native babies or blind men. Had the horse out yesterday—hardest mouth—took half a block to bring it to a walk and half a dozen to hold it when I got off to pay a call. How I stuck on I don't know—but I never took the reins in both hands, a la Japanaise, nor did I throw my arms around his neck. Oh, I'm learning, I'm learning. I never had time in my life to learn to play billiards, but I'm learning now. I never had time to learn to dance, but if this war keeps on I'll learn that, too—only the missionaries don't dance, and the Kresang (Korean dancing girls) can't dance because the Emperor's mother is dead and the court is in mourning. "To-morrow night I give a reading from 'Call of Wild' before foreign residents for benefit of local Y. M. C. A.—and I give it in evening dress! ! ! Custom of the country and I had to come to it. In Japan, however, one has to have a frock coat and top hat—imagine me in a Prince Albert and a stovepipe. Anyway, if Japan wins this war the Japs will be so cocky that white people will be unable to live in Japan. . . . ". . . Here's the horse, and I go. Say, I have learned a new swear-word (Korean), 'Jamie.' Whenever you want to swear just say 'Jamie' softly, and people won't know you are swearing." "O-Pay, Korea, April 16/04. "In the saddle again . . . and riding long hours. Roads are muddy. Was putting Belle in up to the shoulders as darkness fell last night. Have breakfast eaten and am under way at 6 a.m. It —418—
is now 9 :30 p.m., and I have just finished supper and am going (in about one minute) rather tired to bed." "Anjou House, April 17/04. "Plugging along in the race for Japanese Headquarters. Four men ahead of me, but expect to overhaul them, though I am bringing my packs along and they are traveling light. The rest of the bunch is left in the rear. "Beautiful long hours in the saddle, and beautiful mud. . . . Am prouder than a peacock, for I am able to keep Belle's shoes on her, to tighten them when they get loose, and to put on a shoe when she casts and loses one. Of course, it is coldshoeing, but they work! they work!" Wiju, April 24th. "Well, I didn't overtake the four men ahead of me, though I caught up with them where they were stopped farther back along the road, and arrived here with them, where we shall stop for some time. "Now, to business. As I understand it, Macmillans expect to bring out 'The Sea Wolf' late this Fall. I shall not be able to go over the proof-sheets. And you must do this for me. I shall write Macmillans telling them this and asking them to get into communication with you. In the first place, before any of the book is set up in print, you must get from them the original MS. in their possession. Much in this MS. will have been cut out in the Century published part. What was cut out I want put back in the book. On the other hand, many GOOD alterations have been made by you and George [Sterling], and by the Century people—these alterations I want in the book. So here's the task—take the Macmillan MS., and, reading the Century published stuff, put into Macmillan MS. the good alterations. "Furthermore, anything that offends you, strike out or change on your own responsibility. You know me well enough to know that I won't kick." "Headquarters 1st Japanese Army,
". . . I am well, in splendid health, though profoundly irritated by the futility of my position in this Army and sheer inability —419—
(caused by the position) to do decent work. Whatever I have done I am ashamed of. The only compensation for these months of irritation is a better comprehension of Asiatic geography and Asiatic character. Only in another war, with a whiteman's army, may I Hope to redeem myself. It can never be done here by any possibility." "Headqrs. First Jap. Army,
". . . I have so far done no decent work. Have lost enthusiasm and hardly hope to do anything decent. Another war will be required for me to redeem myself, when I can accompany our army or an English army. Well, time rolls on. In six weeks the rainy season will be here. The chances are that I'll pull out for some point in China where I can get in touch with a cable. . . . "Do you know—beyond my camera experience at Moji (mailed before the War) I do not know whether the Examiner has received one article of mine (I have sent 19) or one film (and I have sent hundreds of photographs)." "Headquarters First Japanese Army,
"My heart does not incline to writing these days. It could only wail, for I am disgusted at being here. War? Bosh! Let me give you my daily life. "I am camped in a beautiful grove of pine trees on a beautiful hill-slope. Near-by is a temple. It is glorious summer weather. I am awakened in the early morning by the songs of birds. Cuckoo calls through the night. At 6 :30 I shave. Manyoungi, my Korean boy, is cooking breakfast and waiting on me. Sakai, my interpreter, is shining my boots and receiving instructions for the morning. Yuen-hi-kee, a Chinese, is lending a hand at various things. My Seoul mapu is helping in the breakfast and cleaning up generally. My Ping-Yang mapu is feeding the horses. "Breakfast at 7. Then try to grind something out of nothing for the Examiner. Perhaps go out and take some photographs, which I may not send any more for the Censor will not permit —420—
them to go out undeveloped and I have no developing outfit or chemicals with me. "I am at liberty to ride in to headquarters at Feng-Wang-Cheng, less than a mile away. And I am at liberty to ride about in a circle around the city of a radius little more than a mile. Never were correspondents treated in any war as they have been in this. It's absurd, childish, ridiculous, rich, comedy. "In the afternoon, the call goes forth, and we (the correspondents) go swimming in a glorious pool—clear water, over our heads, plenty of it. It all reminds me of Glen Ellen. A campfire at night, whereby we curse God, or Fate, and divers peoples and things which I shall not mention for the Censor's sake, and the day is ended. "Disgusted, utterly disgusted. "I have this day written the Examiner that in a month or six weeks (at outside) I shall pull out of the country and go to someplace where I can get in direct communication with them; that my position here is futile; that there is no reason for my continuing here, and that, unless arrangements have been made for me to go on the Russian side, I shall return to the United States—unless they expressly bid me remain. "Now I don't think it is possible for them to make arrangements for me to go on the Russian side, so . . . as you read this I may be starting on my way back to the States, to God's country, the Whiteman's country. . . . Who knows? Who knows? At any rate, believe me . . . it would take a many times bigger salary than I am receiving to persuade me to put in a year again in Japan much less pay for the year out of my own pocket. In the past I have preached the Economic Yellow Peril; henceforth I shall preach the Militant Yellow Peril. "And just imagine the Censor reading all this. . . . Not a letter, not a line. I know not what is happening. ". . . I have no heart, no head, no hand, for anything. In preposterous good health, but ungodly sick of soul. . . ." Jack London always cherished a high regard for Richard Harding Davis. Mr. Davis, together with John Fox, Jr., and a large contingent of other writers, were held tightly, though courteously and hospitably, bottled up —421—
in Tokyo by the Nippon Government. Here they were eating out their hearts in enforced inaction, doubtlessly envious, and excusably, of the seven men who, Jack among them, had somehow got ahead with the First Army. And yet, when it was rumored in Tokyo that Jack London, a white man, a countryman, was in sore straits with the brown military authorities away up in Korea, and like to be summarily dealt with, it was Richard Harding Davis, white man to white man's rescue, although personally he knew him not, who first set the wires burning to Washington, where Theodore Roosevelt sat in the President's chair. I have heard Jack's account of the fracas that "put him in wrong" with General Kuroki. Later on, someone circulated that he had been sent back to America for "violation of neutrality." Being very rusty on the facts, I took occasion, during a visit from James H. Hare in 1917, to refresh my meniory. When Jack renewed acquaintance with both "Jimmie" Hare and "Dick" Davis in 1914 at Vera Cruz, I had the pleasure of meeting them. The seven who were lucky enough to be members of the Japanese First Army were Jack London, Captain Thomas (French), William Maxwell (British), Mr. Fraser, and, for Collier's Weekly, Mr. Hare, Mr. Palmer, and Mr. O. K. Davis—all absolute subjects of the iron machine of which they were part. Each possessed his own outfit and servants, including a mapu (horse-boy), and every week these mapus went to the Japanese quartermaster to obtain feed for their masters beasts. On one such day, Jack's boy had some dispute with another mapu. Going to see what the row was about, Jack's boy explained that the other had prevented him from getting his proper share of the feed. This same offender Jack recognized as one who had been stealing his "grub" for some time back; but knowing how risky it would be for an unwelcome white correspondent to strike a Japanese, no matter how low in station, had regretfully refrained from taking it out on the other's hide. —422—
On the present occasion Jack interposed, by word of mouth, and the impudent thief, presuming too far upon a fancied security, made a threatening bluff in his direction. Jack watched carefully, and only when the fellow came actually at him, did he let out that small, scientific fist. "Lord, Lord," I can hear him muse, "I only hit him once—stopped him with my fist, rather—you know, he fell right into it; and then down with a thud. And he went around whimpering in bandages for two weeks." But Jack nor his friends minimized the danger he was in, for the beaten mapu lost no time reporting to headquarters, and there were black looks everywhere. Jack was called on the carpet by General Kuroki's chief of staff, General Fuji, while the six other white men armed themselves, determined to stand with their comrade against the whole brown Army if need be, and go down together—a lovely thing, the most inspiring and romantic in the world. Matters looked very serious for a while, although General Fuji did at length condescend to listen to Jack's side. Richard Harding Davis's effort undoubtedly halted any sudden execution by court martial that might have been in the minds of the staff. At any rate the storm blew over; but for days the seven men kept closely together, ready for emergency. Again, in 1914, Mr. Davis extended a second white-man's hand in an unforeseen difficulty; but that story belongs elsewhere. And when Jack sailed from Yokohama, coming home, he left Mr. Davis still awaiting, with the other soul-sick correspondents, their permission to go to the Front. |
 |
 |