And while this work was being done, thirty-three men, fifteen of them Christians, were preparing in secret the day of announcement of independence. In every township they set up a local committee, each committee knit to the next, and this though spies were everywhere. Meanwhile the leaders, in the name of the people, besought the rulers to allow them a day of mourning for the dead King, and the request was finally, though most unwillingly, granted. The first day of the third month was the day allotted and toward that day all worked together. The plan was this: crowds were to assemble everywhere, and the sign, village to village, was to be fires blazing on the mountains as beacons, until over the whole country people were ready to gather at the same hour to hear the announcement made of their independence. Then the crowds were to parade the streets of every city and town and village, waving their national flags and shouting the national cry, “Mansei! Mansei!”
… Somehow the secret was kept, the instructions carried in loaves of bread, in the coils of men’s hair, under their hats, in the long sleeves of women, until every citizen knew that on the first day of the third month, which was the seventh day of the week, at two hours past noon, all were to gather in their own streets. The Japanese rulers, still aware of nothing, had nevertheless feared what might happen, and to every hundred Koreans over the nation they had appointed a policeman and had added many hundreds of spies to those already at work.
At noon upon the chosen day the thirty-three signers of the Proclamation gathered to eat their noon meal together in the Bright Moon Restaurant in the capital city. As soon as the hour struck two, they rose and walked together to give themselves to the police, and this without violence or any resistance. Among them Yul-han walked first, his steps measured, his face calm.
The police at first were dazed when the men stood before them. They hesitated, not knowing whether they should arrest these ringleaders. In doubt they accepted them, but left them in a room in the police station, free except for two soldiers as guards, while they went to ask for orders from their superiors.
“These guards are not necessary,” Yul-han told them as they went. “We have no wish to escape. It is our purpose to go to prison.”
The police were further confounded by such words and fearing some trickery and shaking their heads, they went on. Meanwhile all over the nation the people were obeying instructions and the streets were crowded everywhere with singing, shouting people, waving flags and crying “Mansei.” But the thirty-three sat waiting with the two guards for many hours.
At the end of that time the police still had not returned, and going toward the window, Yul-han saw a strange small commotion. The glass was so clouded with dust that he could not see through, but as he watched, and he had learned to watch small signs without speaking, he saw a round place washed clean, and he saw that this spot was being washed clean by Ippun wetting her forefinger in her mouth and then rubbing the glass. To the clean spot she applied one eye and a part of her face, enough for her to see Yul-han and to motion to him violently with her finger crooked. The guards by this time were careless and drowsy, and without sound he went to the door, tried it and found it not locked and so he went out. It was twilight and to the east he saw a glow that lighted the sky.
East? Then it could not be the sunset.
“Fire!” Ippun breathed hoarsely at his ear. “They have set the church on fire. Your daughter is there — and her mother—”
He did not wait for more. Through the crowds still milling in the streets he ran, past the bellowing police and the soldiers everywhere beating and berating the people, stooping to crush himself between legs and pushing bodies out of his way. Now he knew why they had been left so long with only two guards. The whole city was under attack. Hundreds of men and women and children were lying in the streets, bleeding from the blows of clubs, dead from the bullets of guns. He stayed neither to look nor to ask. He ran to the church and saw it ablaze. He ran up the steps and tried the doors. They were locked. From within came cries and wailing and yet above all he heard the sound of human voices soaring through the flames, singing the words of a Christian hymn.
“Nearer my God to thee—”
“Induk!” he shouted. “Induk — Induk!”
He remembered the vestry and the little door there that led into the church. That door they may have forgotten to lock! The flames were only on the roof. She might still be alive and he could snatch her out of the fire. He ran through the glittering brightness, the blackening shadows, the clouds of smoke to the rear of the church. Ah, the door was not locked! He was choking and coughing in the vestry, feeling his way to the door into the church. He felt the knob. The door opened and he flung himself into the shadows streaked with wild and livid light. At the same moment he heard a thunder of falling beams, a booming crash and human voices screaming in agony. The blazing roof had fallen in. For one instant he knew, and then he knew no more.
… Outside, Ippun waited. Now she saw and she covered her ears with her hands and shut her eyes and ran through the night. She ran without stopping, her arms flailing like wings at her shoulders to speed her way. Through the unguarded city gate she ran, and down the country road until she reached Il-han’s house. Still without stopping, stark-mad with fright and horror, she ran into the house where Il-han and Sunia sat side by side. Before them on the ondul floor Liang played with a vehicle he had made from a paper box. He had built wheels to it, and he was working with a broken wheel.
Upon these Ippun burst, her hair streaming down her back and her face a grimace, the wide mouth stretched, the eyes ready to burst from their sockets. She pointed with her shaking forefinger at the child.
“That — that one,” she stammered, her voice a high strange whine, “that one — he is all you have left—”
And she fell upon the floor unconscious.
All, all was lost. Before the night had passed, Il-han knew that thousands lay dying in the streets. In every city, town and hamlet they lay dying. Before days had passed he knew that villages blazed against the night sky and other Christian churches were burned, many with their congregation inside. The deadly stench of roasted human flesh hung about the streets of the capital.
… Meanwhile the beatings continued of those who had been taken prisoner. The missionary haunted the streets like a white ghost to prevent what he could, and an American, hired to be adviser to the Japanese, could not restrain his horror though he dared not give his name. What he wrote to his own countrymen and what was printed in America was printed also on the small sheets which Il-han still found under his door:
A few hundred yards from where I sit, the beating goes on, day after day. The victims are tied down to a frame and beaten on the naked body with rods until they become unconscious. Then cold water is poured on them until they are revived, when the process is repeated many times. Men and women and children are shot down or bayoneted. The Christian Church is especially chosen as an object of fury, and to the Christians is meted out special severity.