“No, no, begone!  The merry bowl
   Again shall bolster up my soul
   Against itself.  What, good man, hold! 
   Canst tell me where red wine is sold? 
   Nay, just beyond yon peach-tree?  There? 
   Good luck be thine; I’ll thither fare.”

Hendrik Hamel, scheming and crafty, ever encouraged and urged me in my antic course that brought Kim’s favour, not alone to me, but through me to Hendrik Hamel and all our company.  I here mention Hendrik Hamel as my adviser, for it has a bearing on much that followed at Keijo in the winning of Yunsan’s favour, the Lady Om’s heart, and the Emperor’s tolerance.  I had the will and the fearlessness for the game I played, and some of the wit; but most of the wit I freely admit was supplied me by Hendrik Hamel.

And so we journeyed up to Keijo, from walled city to walled city across a snowy mountain land that was hollowed with innumerable fat farming valleys.  And every evening, at fall of day, beacon fires sprang from peak to peak and ran along the land.  Always Kim watched for this nightly display.  From all the coasts of Cho-Sen, Kim told me, these chains of fire-speech ran to Keijo to carry their message to the Emperor.  One beacon meant the land was in peace.  Two beacons meant revolt or invasion.  We never saw but one beacon.  And ever, as we rode, Vandervoot brought up the rear, wondering, “God in heaven, what now?”

Keijo we found a vast city where all the population, with the exception of the nobles or yang-bans, dressed in the eternal white.  This, Kim explained, was an automatic determination and advertisement of caste.  Thus, at a glance, could one tell, the status of an individual by the degrees of cleanness or of filthiness of his garments.  It stood to reason that a coolie, possessing but the clothes he stood up in, must be extremely dirty.  And to reason it stood that the individual in immaculate white must possess many changes and command the labour of laundresses to keep his changes immaculate.  As for the yang-bans who wore the pale, vari-coloured silks, they were beyond such common yardstick of place.

After resting in an inn for several days, during which time we washed our garments and repaired the ravages of shipwreck and travel, we were summoned before the Emperor.  In the great open space before the palace wall were colossal stone dogs that looked more like tortoises.  They crouched on massive stone pedestals of twice the height of a tall man.  The walls of the palace were huge and of dressed stone.  So thick were these walls that they could defy a breach from the mightiest of cannon in a year-long siege.  The mere gateway was of the size of a palace in itself, rising pagoda-like, in many retreating stories, each story fringed with tile-roofing.  A smart guard of soldiers turned out at the gateway.  These, Kim told me, were the Tiger Hunters of Pyeng-yang, the fiercest and most terrible fighting men of which Cho-Sen could boast.