Curious residents of Seoul watch Percival Lowell as he snaps their picture in the winter of 1883-84. Robert Neff Collection
Over the years, Captain Philo McGiffin has become a folk hero — especially at the American Naval Academy. Many articles and books have been written about him, but they often have conflicting information. In 1968, Lee McGiffin — whose husband was Captain McGiffin’s nephew — wrote an interesting, but informal, biography about the captain, titled "Yankee of the Yalu."
In her preface she wrote:
“Any true story must come from a reliable source. Yankee of the Yalu came right out of the sea chest of Captain Philo Norton McGiffin. In this wooden trunk with the blue cotton lining where the letters he wrote his family, the articles he published in magazines and newspapers, and the stories written about him…. But the contents of a sea chest alone do not make a book. Through the years the material has been augmented by McGiffins from coast to coast and by reminiscences of Annapolis classmates, now dead.”
In her book, she wove a wonderful tale of adventure, but, unfortunately, did not include citations so it is impossible to verify many of the anecdotes — especially in the chapter dealing with McGiffin’s 1886 stay in Korea.
The palace in the winter of 1883-84 / Robert Neff Collection
According to her, McGiffin had a staff of 120 men and for several weeks they “tramped or rode the coastline, measuring, drawing maps, and identifying coves, inlets, and harbors.” He then sent them back to China while he and one interpreter went to explore the Korean interior.
Like many early Western visitors, whenever he passed through a village, McGiffin found himself the center of attention. At first, he thought it was because of his Chinese naval uniform but then “he realized his position in the Chinese navy had nothing to do with the crowds he drew.” The people had never seen a “white barbarian.”
McGiffin did his share of people-watching:
“The Korean dress consisted of many layers of long white gowns girdled under the arms and with wide sleeves. He noticed as the weather grew warmer they shed the layers one by one until they were comfortable. On their heads they wore odd shaped hats of horsehair. Their height was built up by bundles of cotton under their feet.”
Through her pen we learn that the Korean people lived in abject poverty surrounded by filth, disease, mangy dogs and empty rice bowls. Everything was primitive. “Instead of a steel plow, a tree root was pulled through the earth by a bullock. Past him on the dirt road trudged coolies carrying heavy burdens in wooden cradles attached to their backs. He saw not one cart, wagon, or wheelbarrow. Everything was transported on the backs of men, oxen, or ponies.”
The palace’s audience hall in the winter of 1883-84 / Robert Neff Collection
However, his biographer’s account seems very similar to the writing of an English travel writer, Isabelle Bird Bishop, who visited Korea in the mid-1890s. In a letter home, partially published in a newspaper in the United States, McGiffin described Korean ponies as being primarily used as beast of burden and “from the time of their birth the colts are accustomed to man and kind treatment. In a few weeks a wisp or straw or something is tied over his back and thus he grows up with a thorough acquaintance with burdens and pack-saddles.” His description of their perceived gentleness contradicts severely with the general opinion of other early visitors.
In his letter home, he stated coolies (laborers) were a common sight in Korea and the primary beast of burden. They earned 4 to 10 cents daily while carpenters, masons and other skilled laborers could earn as much as 30 cents.
The biography states he took a palanquin from “Guensan” to Seoul and the 26-mile trip took him 11 hours. Obviously this is a mistake and she meant to write Jemulpo (modern Incheon). She then provides an anecdote about McGiffin being mobbed by curious Koreans — all wanting to see the “white devil” — when he stopped at a village. When he presented his binoculars to an elderly man to view a distant mountain, the man “began to howl in fright [as] he though the far-off mountain had been moved closer by an evil spirit.” An amusing account but one that seems more fiction than fact.
The biography then describes his entrance into Seoul through the iron-bound gates where “he was met by Korean dignitaries who greeted him not as a ‘white devil' but as a representative of Li Hung Chang.” He was given spacious quarters in Gyeongbok Palace and later, after a lavish state dinner, he “walked through the palace grounds and looked up at the snow-capped mountains which ringed [Seoul] like remote guards.”
That night he was awakened by “a heavy boom [that] jarred him to his feet.” He later learned that “it was the clang of a 25-ton bell suspended in a pagoda-like cage near the heart of the city. Once it sounded, the gates of the city were closed, not to be opened until morning.”
A view of the large pillars in the palace in the winter of 1883-84 / Robert Neff Collection
McGiffin enjoyed the “red carpet treatment” he received and spent nearly a week in Seoul. Apparently one of his highlights was a guided tour through the palace:
“[He] spent an entire day roaming through part of the 2,000 acres set aside for the royal family. He wandered from palace to carved stone bridge to artificial lake, through a grotto and under a waterfall. He decided wryly that the king must have had a large family to occupy so much land. The most striking building was the royal audience hall, a single room 100 by 150 feet with a 90-foot-high vaulted ceiling supported by rows of wooden columns each composed of a single tree trunk four to five feet in diameter.”
According to the biography, he may have taken the liberty of sitting upon the throne but found it as “hard as a church pew on Sunday morning!”
The next day he left Seoul. While traveling to Jemulpo in a palanquin, his bearers had to step aside to allow another palanquin to pass. He was surprised to hear the occupant of the other palanquin issuing orders in English. McGiffin “sprang to the ground, eager to greet anyone who spoke his language in this strange land.”
He was amazed to discover it was Captain William H. Parker, “former officer in the U.S. Navy, now the first U.S. minister to Korea.” The two men sat at the side of the rode and talked about mutual friends before they finally parted to continue their separate journeys.
It is a wonderful tale — but one filled with inaccuracies and fabrications.
In the beginning of the narrative, the biographer described the snow-capped mountains around Seoul which would suggest the trip occurred in the spring. However, Parker — who was not the first U.S. minister to Korea — did not arrive in Korea until June and was gone at the beginning of September. Considering his constant state of drunkenness, it is very unlikely Parker traveled alone in palanquin to Jemulpo — especially during the turbulent period of his stay.
It is also strange that McGiffin did not meet any of the other foreigners in Seoul. There were several Americans — including an adviser to the Korean government — as well as other foreign diplomats. As a representative of the Chinese government, why didn’t McGiffin stay at the Chinese Legation in Seoul or at least meet with Yuan Shi-kai, the Chinese minister to Korea?
Many of the descriptions of Seoul seem to have been gleaned from books while others enjoyed a very liberal dash of artistic license in order to make the narrative more exotic. It is a shame the biographer did not use more of McGiffin’s own writing so that we, the readers, could gauge whether the many inaccuracies were due to the biographer’s own poor research or McGiffin’s mischievous storytelling.
According to a review by The Kirkus Service:
“As told by the wife of a nephew … this is the partly fictionalized biography of a lesser known but colorful hero, further brightened by anecdotes and first-hand impressions of mandarin China.”
While the reviewers were impressed with the book, I was disappointed. With no citations, it is impossible to determine which anecdotes were truly McGiffin’s nor can we accurately date them. I agree with Lee McGiffin’s statement that a “true story must come from a reliable source” — unfortunately, her biography is not a reliable source.
My appreciation to Diane Nars for her assistance.
Robert Neff has authored and co-authored several books, including Letters from Joseon, Korea Through Western Eyes and Brief Encounters.
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