Part 5

On the strength of his dream, San-Syeng immediately began preparations for his journey to the spot that had been indicated to him. While yet some distance from the island, he could distinguish on the beach a man and woman, both apparently very young, talking and gesticulating with great earnestness. Soon he imagined he could catch a few words which were carried to him on the light breeze, causing the impression that a disagreement had arisen between the two young people. When he came within hailing distance he called politely: “Why are you quarreling in this way when Spring-time is smiling upon you so sweetly?”

Ki-Si replied: “We would like to cross the sea but having no boat and deprived of all resources, we are contemplating suicide. But I do not want my gentle companion to follow me to the grave, while she, on the other hand, is bent upon dying with me. That is the cause of our dispute.”

“Give up your melancholy ideas,” remonstrated San-Syeng. “You are not going to die. I will place my boat at your disposal and take you wherever you want to go.”

“Many thanks, you have saved our lives,” cried Ki-Si, joyfully.

The young King and Queen immediately clambered aboard the boat and San-Syeng made a rapid trip over the arm of the sea which separated the island of Cho-To from the city of Chang-Yang.

When they were safely ashore, Ki-Si inquired of San-Syeng if he would kindly direct him to a place where he and his wife could pass the night. San-Syeng suggested that they put up at the same inn where he was staying--an invitation which they heartily accepted.

So far San-Syeng’s dream had been realized. Nothing was left for him to do but to make sure that the young people were really those of whom San-Houni had told him. But this was no easy thing. He did not dare question them too closely. There was too much at stake to reveal the truth. San-Syeng resolved to wait until time and opportunity would dispel his doubt.

Meantime, the house on the island where the young Prince had lived since he had left the Capital had become food for the fire and flame. The guard in charge of Ki-Si rushed to inform the General whom Ja-Jo-Mi had appointed to watch the island of Cho-To. The General, greatly agitated and worried, gave orders to double the guards about the garden wall. Anyone who sought to leave was to be arrested on the spot. Other soldiers were instructed to do their utmost in fighting the spread of the flames. They were too late. The house was now like unto a gigantic furnace.

“Search everywhere for the King,” ordered the General. “If he isn’t dead he must be hidden somewhere in the garden. Look in all the corners and dark places.”

This hunt was, as we well know, unsuccessful, and the General, concluding that the royal prisoner had perished in the flames, sent word to that effect posthaste to Ja-Jo-Mi.

Upon receipt of this news, the Prime Minister was elated. The death of the rightful King swept aside the last obstruction in the path of his plans. He immediately summoned the General whom he had placed in command of the guards at Cho-To, and when the latter came Ja-Jo-Mi met him with these words:

“How lucky we are! Such an event deserves to be celebrated in proper style. Let’s have a grand banquet to which we can invite all our friends.”

Ja-Jo-Mi’s partisans were living in idleness and ease, wallowing in an era of merry-making and debauchery. Everywhere they went they continually sang the praises of Ja-Jo-Mi, “the coming King of Korea.” The people, however, were grumbling and commenting, but the fear of the tyrant kept them from expressing too openly their complaints.

Ki-Si, whom Ja-Jo-Mi believed to be dead, was keeping under cover at the little town of Chang-Yang. One day when he was chatting with San-Syeng, the proprietor of the inn burst in upon them excitedly, saying: “There is great excitement in the streets. Quite a number of troops, who are on their way to the Capital, have just arrived in town.”

“What’s exciting about that?” questioned San-Syeng.

“These soldiers were ordered to guard our young exiled King at the island of Cho-To. It seems that the poor Prince lost his life in a big fire and the General, who had charge of this mission, is bringing back his men. The people, you know, fairly hate Ja-Jo-Mi, who holds the support of the army and who has placed a heavy yoke about the neck of all Korea. Hence, at the sight of these soldiers, excitement has spread all over the town.”

“Do you hate Ja-Jo-Mi, too?” asked San-Syeng of the inn-keeper.

“The same as every one else, sir.”

“Well, it doesn’t seem an easy matter to me to overthrow this Ja-Jo-Mi. He has the army with him and they haven’t much love for the common people.”

“That’s where you are wrong, sir. The only troops really devoted to the Prime Minister’s cause are those at the Capital; in fact, the others are hostile to him. Why, the garrison of our town and the Mandarin himself are opposed to Ja-Jo-Mi. If our Mandarin were to appeal to the soldiers who are here and if his example were followed by the other Mandarins, Ja-Jo-Mi and his satellites could easily be put down.”

“But once Ja-Jo-Mi is deposed, whom can they place upon the throne?”

“That, sir, is a difficult question. Unhappily, the King’s son is dead. Perhaps, however, a member of the Royal Family might be found who would accept the trust.”

“And suppose, for the sake of argument, that it were not true that the King’s son were dead?”

“The simplest thing would be to confer upon him the succession to his father.”

“Your reasoning is good,” continued San-Syeng. “You stand well in the eyes of the people and you are a friend of the Mandarin. Would you consent for us to undertake the enterprise?”

“Willingly,” replied the innkeeper. “We should get together on this. I must, however, leave you now for a while. I’ll see you presently.”

When he was alone with Ki-Si, San-Syeng asked: “Would you like to join us in our fight against Ja-Jo-Mi?” At the question the Prince, who had seemed afflicted with great uneasiness and a sort of illness during the preceding conversation, fell to the floor in a faint. San-Syeng turned his attention at once to the prostrate form of his friend who lay as rigid as a log and seemed to be unable to utter the least sound. San-Syeng called Cheng-Si and she came running in terror to her husband. San-Houni’s son told her what had taken place. The young woman threw herself on her husband’s breast and drenched him with her tears. San-Syeng, profoundly moved by this sight, cried to Cheng-Si: “In Heaven’s name, madame, tell me who you are!”

“I have great confidence in you, sir. You have saved our lives and I will tell you the truth. My husband is Ja-Jo-Mi’s victim, the King’s son. I met him by chance. I fell into the sea and was carried by a turtle to the island where the Prince was held captive. I became his wife and we fled from our prison together and you met us, rescued us, and brought us here. That’s our story. And, now you understand, sir, do you not?”

Meanwhile the young King had regained consciousness. When San-Syeng observed this he began to withdraw toward the door saying: “Sire, forgive my imprudence--excuse my impatience--.”

Ki-Si tried to stop him.

“No, sire, first of all you must pardon the familiarity with which I treated you. My excuse is that I did not know with what august personages I was speaking. Now that I do know, it is hardly fitting that I remain in the same room as yourselves.”

It happened that the owner of the inn was passing before the door of the room where Ki-Si and his wife were and San-Syeng promptly told him the story. The innkeeper prostrated himself and, with his face to the floor, cried: “It is a supreme honor to be permitted to house Your Majesties.”

He lost no time in telling the Mandarin, who was thunderstruck with amazement and who could scarcely suppress his joy at hearing the news. Summoning an escort of troops, he marched to the inn where the King lodged. The soldiers surrounded the house, while the Mandarin, in all the glory of his gorgeous robes, went to pay his respects to the Sovereign.

The Prince gave him a hearty welcome. By his side stood San-Syeng, who, after bowing to the King, turned to the Mandarin and said: “We must take our Sovereign to the To-Wan (the Mandarin’s palace, or town hall) so that he may be sheltered by a roof worthy of his rank.”

The Mandarin approved this suggestion, and at once the party set out for the To-Wan.

Hardly was he there before the King turned to San-Syeng, saying: “I wish to bring about a complete re-organization of the Government.”

“Sire, all my ability, all my strength, are at your disposal,” was San-Syeng’s respectful reply.

“Good, then you become my General!” replied the Prince.

San-Syeng was confused, but had to obey the wishes of the Prince and he knew the latter would confer offices only upon those whom he deemed the most worthy among his followers. Orders were issued for the preparation of a great banquet and for the dispatch of couriers to all corners of the Kingdom to announce to the people the coming of their King.

This welcome news put joy and happiness into the hearts of the Koreans, and shouts of joy were heard throughout the length and breadth of the land.

“O Beloved King! Night has vanished to give place to the day. The times of wretchedness and evil are gone and the era of happiness is at hand. Clouds were hiding the face of the Sun, and the flowers, deprived of light, were wasting away; but the wind has swept away the clouds and the light comes to us again. Everything will flourish in the gentle, healthful rays of the wonderful Sun. Hail, son, hail brother--hail to our King! Forward! Hold back--not for fire, nor for the waters, nor for the mountains. Sweep aside all obstacles. If the wicked-hearted seek to restrain you, kill them. But look ever to the Sun; its warmth will give you strength and courage. We want you--beloved King! And we will serve you and keep you always. Now--away with tender things and soft things--we’re off to war!”

While the populace was manifesting its delight in talk and other harmless ways, the King was busy with his preparations for the overthrowing of the usurper. He questioned San-Syeng as to the distance to the Capital. This distance was considerable and, at the advice of his General, he decided that he would put his forces on the march as soon as possible.

San-Syeng took an active interest in the training of the army. To toughen his men, he made them attach small, but heavy, bags of sand to their legs. For an entire day they were obliged to march with this equipment.

The following day, the army broke camp and took the field. The soldiers now having only their weapons to carry, made rapid progress. At the end of two days they were before the Capital City. San-Syeng stationed his troops in a cordon about the city with orders to let no one--no matter who it might be--leave or enter the town. Then he wrote an ultimatum, which he ordered to be copied many times on strips of bamboo, and distributed widely in all parts of the city. This proclamation announced the arrival of the legitimate King at the head of his army and that His Majesty came to give battle to the unfaithful Minister, Ja-Jo-Mi, the unscrupulous. The latter was living in an atmosphere of absolute security. Entertainment followed entertainment; feast followed feast. Suddenly it was announced to Ja-Jo-Mi that the King’s son was at the gates of the Capital with an army and that there was a great disturbance among the people.

Ja-Jo-Mi, astounded by the news, summoned his General, at whom he cast the most violent reproaches and profane oaths (some of these we dare not print as the transcriber of this legend is a pious man). “How is it that you told me that the King’s son was dead and now they say that the city is in a state of siege? Who is it that is at the head of the troops who are attacking us?”

“It cannot possibly be the King’s son,” replied the General, humbly. “I am positive that he died in that fire--his body is ashes. Doubtless it is some daring adventurer who has brought this horde of rogues and robbers upon us.”

There was no time for further discussion. The populace, having read the bamboo messages, arose in revolt. They were already advancing toward the Prime Minister’s palace. They burst down the doors and swept through the palace like the demon waves of the Yellow Sea. Ja-Jo-Mi and his General were seized--the palace set on fire. Simultaneously the King made a peaceful entry into the city at the head of his troops and the people turned over to him the usurping Minister and his General.

Ki-Si called his Commander-in-Chief, San-Syeng.

“No one shall be put to death. It will be sufficient, for the time being, to throw the guilty wretches into prison.” Subsequently, he issued orders to the effect that only Ja-Jo-Mi, his General, and their principal adherents, be held as prisoners.

The new King had barely taken possession of the palace of his fathers than he ordered a reduction in the taxes which were oppressing his people. These measures were approved by his Queen who desired that they be even carried further.

“Who knows,” she said, “if the Mandarins will carry out the orders; perhaps they will continue to persecute the people to their profit? You must be assured that everything is going as you wish and dispatch deputies who are charged with seeing that your decrees are observed.”

The King recognized the wisdom of this idea and ordered San-Syeng to send out in all directions honest and devoted men on this errand. This done, the new General left the Capital, wearing the modest clothes he had worn when the King had placed the command of the troops in his hands.

* * * * *

_Here cometh to a close the seventh stage of our legend._

VIII

VIII

San-Syeng had been a very powerful factor in establishing the legitimate sovereign of Korea on the throne but he did not by any means consider his life work as finished. His primary duty was to find his parents and to return to the lovely girl to whom he had given his heart. Despite the many adventures through which he had passed, he had never ceased thinking of Yeng-So-Yei. He did not suspect that serious events were also taking place in her own little sphere.

Now it came to pass one morning after San-Syeng’s departure that Yeng-So-Yei found her mother dead in her room. The poor young woman was prostrated with grief. She refused to be consoled and the solitude in which she lived merely aggravated her anguish. And yet a new calamity lay right in her path. The populace, rising in revolt against the nobility and tax collectors, were burning and pillaging throughout the village and Yeng-So-Yei just had time enough to dash through a secret gate in the city wall and make her escape into the open country.

In a short space of time she had lost her mother, her fortune and her home. She did not, however, feel entirely cast down. “At least San-Syeng is left to me,” was her thought.

“I shall go to the Capital and hunt for him.” In order to carry out her project more easily, she assumed masculine attire and, thus disguised, set out on her journey.

Now it came to pass that having no notion of the road she should follow, she completely lost her way. Moreover, an intense fog settled down upon the fields and earth to make her situation more unpleasant. She walked and walked, but to her great despair she met no one, nor could she find the slightest shelter wherein she might escape the dampness. Tired, almost unto death, she threw herself down beside a clump of tall bamboo, intending to rest but a few moments, but in spite of her well-meaning resolutions, she was soon fast asleep.

The grove of bamboo toward which Fate had turned the steps of Yeng-So-Yei was the very one where so many long years before Yeng-Si had given birth to San-Syeng. The unfortunate woman who was obliged to abandon her child and to become a nun would often visit the spot which brought back such painful memories; indeed, she seemed to take a keen pleasure in seeing the spot where she had become a mother. And the sight thereof would cause her to weep.

It so happened that one day the nun, returning from her sad pilgrimage, saw a young man, sound asleep, stretched across the narrow footpath. At first she was a bit startled and frightened but, conquering her distrust, she gazed curiously at the sleeper. “My son would have been about the same age,” she reflected. “I will wait until this young man awakes and speak with him.” She stood by his prostrate form and it seemed as if she were unable to take her eyes from his face. Finally, unable to be patient any longer, and after satisfying herself that no one was watching her, she decided to wake the strange traveler.

“Pardon my curiosity, sir--but this situation is a strange one.”

“What situation?” demanded Yeng-So-Yei.

“How comes it that you are sleeping here on this road?”

“It comes--because I was very tired.”

“Where do you live?”

“At Yen-Yu, but I am on my way to the Capital.”

“To the Capital? But you are not on the right road.”

“Am I lost? Oh, what shall I do?”

Tears came into the poor girl’s eyes. Yeng-Si was moved also.

“How,” she asked again, “does it happen that you are traveling alone in this way? It is hardly safe for you.”

“I know that, but I am forced to do so for I am an orphan.”

“Would you like to come with me?”

“Yes, but I can accept your hospitality for a short time only. I must be on my way.”

At these words, they walked together toward the temple of Ro-Ja.

Ou-Pung, the sister, consented to take the young traveler in, but made it very plain that it was impossible for her to keep a man about the house for more than two or three days.

Yeng-So-Yei asked no more than that. After she was installed in her room, she went to seek Yeng-Si. The latter related the tale of her sad life and this pitiful story so touched the young woman that she wept with her new friend in sympathy.

The next morning Yeng-Si stopped at the traveler’s room. Picking up a ring which she saw lying on the table, she examined it closely and demanded, sharply:

“Perhaps, I may be a bit inquisitive, but I would be very much obliged to you if you would tell me where you obtained this ring?”

“It is a keepsake from my best friend.”

“Where is your best friend?”

“He has gone to the Capital. I want to join him as soon as I can.”

“How old is he?”

“We are almost the same age--both of us. But why do you ask these questions?”

Yeng-Si did not reply, at once. Her eyes filled with tears, and suddenly she broke out, sobbing:

“My son! My poor son! Where are you?”

These words made a vivid impression on Yeng-So-Yei. “Can it be that this poor woman is my husband’s mother?” she thought to herself.

She tenderly took her tearful companion in her arms and asked gently,

“Was your son called San-Syeng?”

At the sound of this name, Yeng-Si, more agitated than before, cried:

“Yes, that was the name I gave him and I personally inscribed the name of San-Syeng on my baby’s arm in characters that could not be removed. This ring, which I hold in my hand, I placed in his clothes when I was obliged to abandon him.”

“Mother, my dear mother,” cried Yeng-So-Yei, throwing herself in Yeng-Si’s arms. “Your son is my husband and I am on my way to find him.”

“Do my ears hear aright?” cried Yeng-Si. “But, what in the world does this costume mean?”

“I put it on so as to be able to travel with more security.”

The two women embraced each other tenderly, mingling their warm tears. Ou-Pung, the sister, who was passing outside, hearing the sound of sobs, entered the room.

“What are you crying about?” she asked.

“Good friend, we have been showing hospitality not to a young man, but to the wife of my own lost son,” replied Yeng-Si.

“How happy I am for your sakes!”

Yeng-So-Yei then explained to the nun why she had assumed the garb of a man.

“You were right,” rejoined the sister, “but what motive impelled you to leave the town where you were living?”

The young wife briefly told the story of her misfortune. She was now more anxious than ever to find her husband and she wasted few words in her recital.

“I shall find him easily,” she added, “no matter how changed he may be. He has probably kept the horse which I gave him when he left me and if I cannot recognize the husband, I will know my father’s horse.”

“Well,” said the nun to Yeng-Si, “the end of all your sorrows is at hand. Follow your daughter and together you will find San-Syeng.”

“Yes, it will not be our fault if we do not find him.”

Accustomed to having lived together for so long, Yeng-Si and the sister experienced keen regret at parting from each other. But Ou-Pung was the first to suggest that Yeng-Si leave with her daughter-in-law for she was happy at the good fortune which had come to her deserving companion.

So it came to pass that Yeng-Si and Yeng-So-Yei set out together for the Capital. When they came close to the grove of bamboo, San-Syeng’s mother could not suppress her tears.

“Why are you crying so, mother?”

“It was here, my child, that seventeen years ago I gave birth to him who is now your husband. A short distance from here I abandoned him to go with Ou-Pung, the nun. These recollections pain me greatly.”

The two women continued on their way. After several hours’ walking, they came to the shores of a wide lake. Yeng-Si paused by the water’s edge, and raising her eyes to Heaven, cried in a weak and trembling voice:

“Dear and unfortunate friend, what has become of you?”

She told Yeng-So-Yei of the sublime devotion of the woman, who had enabled her to escape from the hands of Su-Rung.

During the few following days their trip was without incident until they came to the town of San-Jon. Here they resolved to remain for a day as they were fatigued by their journey and they entered the first inn which they stumbled upon.

The inn-keeper’s son was at once smitten by Yeng-So-Yei who was, as we know, a marvel of grace and beauty. Finding his attentions repulsed, he resolved to obtain revenge--the mark of a small mind. One of the maid-servants was ordered to place in the young wife’s apartment some jewels which belonged to the young man. The thing was done without difficulty--and the servant swore under threats of punishment that she would tell the plot to no one.

Next morning the rejected suitor entered Yeng-So-Yei’s room, saying:

“Madame, you will pardon me? Some one has stolen my jewels. I have searched in all the other rooms of the house and I ask your permission to do the same in yours.”

“Willingly, sir.”

It can be readily imagined that the two women were greatly astonished to see the young man discover in their rooms, as if by magic, the jewels which he claimed had been stolen from him. They asserted that they were innocent, but it was useless. They were arrested in the name of the Mandarin and were taken before him for a preliminary examination.

They renewed vigorously their denials, the Mandarin meanwhile listening attentively. He had been impressed by the singular beauty of Yeng-So-Yei, but gave no visible evidence of it, and committed the two women to prison. A few moments after, he had word brought to them that if Yeng-So-Yei would consent to marry him, no mention would ever be made of the theft. In case of refusal--it was to be--death.

The young wife spurned the Mandarin’s messenger with great indignation.

“Tell your master that he is a villain. I am married and I will never be unfaithful to my husband, not even to escape torture and death.”

The Mandarin, very much irritated, gave orders that the execution of the prisoners should take place in three days. The keeper of the prison, who was also the executioner, went about his sinister preparations. Keenly touched by the plight of the two women, he visited them and said: