“Do you not know that a man came from Pyongyang to Syun-chun to warn the members of the New Peoples Society that the Governor-General was coming?”
To all these questions the answer was no, and to the charge of previous confessions, the plea was duress under torture.
So it went until the eighth day. Nor were the prisoners only students. Some were Christian pastors, some were merchants, but all denied any part in the conspiracy. At last on the evening of the eighth day Il-han saw Yul-chun on the stand. He wore the same rags, but around his head he had wound a towel to hide his cropped hair. Now Il-han strained his attention to hear every word. He had come this eighth day at dawn, so that he might be as close as possible to the stand, knowing that this must be the day for which he had waited so long. His heart beat heavily in his bosom and he felt half choked as he heard the first question.
“What is your name?”
“I am called The Living Reed.”
“In the eighth month two years ago you went to Kwaksan to tell the local members of the New Peoples Society of the arrival of the Governor-General whom it had first been decided to assassinate at Chanyon-kwan. Is this true?”
“I admitted it under torture but it is not true.”
“You bought revolvers in Manchuria with money given you by the merchant Oh Hwei-wen. Is this true?”
“I admitted it under torture but it is not true.”
“You went with others also to Wiju to assassinate the Governor-General there.”
“I admitted it under torture, but it cannot be true. The platform at Wiju is too small — we would have been noticed.”
“In the spring of 1909, when Prince Ito accompanied the King of Korea on a tour of inspection, did you not determine to attack the Prince at Chanyon-kwan? Then as the imperial train did not stop there, you took the next train and followed Prince Ito to another station. Is this true?”
“I admitted it under torture but it is not true.”
“Do you know that the object of the New Peoples Society is to build a military school, to assassinate high officials, and to wage a war to establish the independence of Korea if war breaks out with China or America?”
“I do not know such a thing. If I admitted it under torture when I was half conscious it is not true.”
At this moment the judge, a Japanese general of high rank, lost his temper. He pounded the table before him with his clenched fists.
“Torture — torture! What is this torture?”
In the same steady voice with which he answered all questions, Yul-chun replied.
“My arms were bound behind my back with ropes of silk. They cut into my flesh. Two sticks were put between my legs, which were then bound tightly together at my knees and ankles. Two policemen twisted these sticks. Pieces of bamboo, three-cornered, were tied between my fingers and tied so tightly that my flesh was torn from my bones. Day after day I was pulled out flat on the floor and beaten with split bamboo until my back was raw. Each night I was thrown into an underground dungeon where I lay in wet and slime. Each day I was taken out for torture again. I do not know how many days. I was not always conscious.”
The spell of the clear steady voice, the strong simple words telling of terrors worse than death, fell upon all alike. When Yul-chun finished speaking, he turned his head and looked at his father. His face did not change, he made no sign of recognition, but, father and son, the two men met.
“Next prisoner!” the judge shouted.
When Yul-chun came down from the stand Il-han rose from his place and left the hall. He had seen what he came to see, he had heard what he must know, and he walked the long road home to his grass roof. Behind him his servant followed, and in silence. Slowly and steadily the two men plodded their way home in the twilight. The evening air was still and hot, and the miles were many and seemed longer than they were. Il-han reached home at last and Sunia met him at the door and cried out in fright
“You look like a mountain ghost! What is wrong?”
“Ask me nothing,” he said. “It is better for you not to know.”
And however she begged him and scolded him and argued with him, he would not tell her.
“It is better for you not to know,” he said.
The trials ended and many prisoners were kept in prisons for long years, even for the rest of their lives, but some were beheaded. Whether Yul-chun was among these Il-han did not know, nor could he find out unless he asked Yul-han’s help. This he would not do, for Yul-han was in danger, too, now that he had married a Christian. He bore the burden of his secret alone and continued so to do.
… Summer passed again, and Yul-han had nearly finished his house, the maid Ippun working like any man carrying rock and mixing cement and digging the ground under the ondul floor. Once more the time had come for school to open and Yul-han must return to his teaching. This year Induk was not to teach. She had conceived and Yul-han wished her to remain at home, and home now was this small new house. He would go alone to the city for his teaching days, and return here for holidays, and she could stay with Ippun, near his parents but independent There remained only to tell the news to his parents, the expectation of a grandson for them, the plan that Induk would remain near them with Ippun. But above all, he must tell them that he had decided to become a Christian, that he was to be baptized, and that he had accepted the headship of the Christian school in the city. This was the one demand that Induk had made of him when he told her that he wished to be Christian.
“I beg you then to leave the Japanese school and stay with the Christians. Among them you will be safe: but alone, one Christian among the Japanese, you will be searched and examined and questioned and watched, wherever you are.”
She had already inquired of the missionary, who gladly had offered Yul-han the headship of the school since the present head had a consumption in his lungs and should rest in bed for many months. Yul-han therefore sent his resignation by letter to the Japanese school and when he was called to the office of the Bureau of Education, he gave the true reason for his change of work
The chief of this bureau was a young man, once an assistant professor in the University at Tokyo, and he had come because the salary here was three times what he had received there and since he had his old parents to support he had not been able to refuse. Now he sat behind a high western desk in an office barren of decoration, but with western chairs and a desk. He wore civilian clothes, western in style, and his hair was cut short and he had gold spectacles with thick lenses. He was courteous when Yul-han came in and invited him to be seated. Then he opened a document which lay on the desk.
“I note,” he said, “that you have resigned your post at the city middle school. Have you a complaint?”
“I have no complaint,” Yul-han replied. He hesitated and then said, with a slight smile on his round good-natured face, “I have changed my work because I am about to change myself. I have decided to be a Christian.”
The young man continued to study the document. “You have been baptized?” he inquired.
“No,” Yul-han said, “but I shall be baptized on the first day of next month.”
“By immersion or sprinkling?” the young Japanese asked, still not lifting his eyes.
Yul-han was surprised. “Does it make a difference?”
“There is a difference,” the young man said.
Yul-han summoned his courage and asked a question for himself. “Can it be, sir, that you also are Christian?”
“I attended a Christian school before I went to the university,” the young man said. “You understand—” Here he pushed the documents aside and lifted his head to look at Yul-han. “You understand that we are not opposed to Christianity, in principle. It is only when rebels hide among the Christians that we must be severe.”