Once we were clear of the hill slope, the muddy beach appeared, spreading like a long strip of unplanted paddy fields. At its northern end, at the beginning of the wharf, were anchored two large black ships, the sides of their prows painted with white Korean words that none of us could understand. They were cargo ships, whose tonnage must have been over three thousand, and each had a pair of tall funnels puffing out dark smoke. On the beach hundreds of armed GIs had already assembled; General Smart, in a helmet, was also there waiting for us. Together with him were a group of junior officers and about twenty Chinese men in the uniforms marked with PW.
We were made to form up into eighteen lines on the beach. Each of the junior officers took one of the Chinese helpers to the head of a line and began checking us one by one. "Turncoat!" somebody cursed one of the collaborators. Obviously they were searching for Pei, who was standing next to me. These Chinese helpers had all served in our division and had met Pei before; perhaps they could recognize their commissar, whose face might be memorable to them for his bright eyes, stout nose, and fat ears. I wondered what we should do if they identified him.
The two men in charge of our line were moving closer. I stared at them and forced myself not to show any fear. The second they passed me, the mousy Chinese man lifted his hand to point at Pei. The American officer turned and yelled, "We got him!"
Dozens of GIs rushed over. The commissar stepped out of the line, turned around to wave at us, then walked away with them without a word. I was amazed by such a peaceful apprehension. Had this happened to Mr. Park, the Koreans would definitely have gone berserk and broken ranks to fight with the GIs.
"Well, Mr. Pei, we finally meet," General Smart sneered, his arched upper lip curled.
The commissar didn't respond and stood sideways to us as though to keep his face partly out of our view. Somebody poked my back and I turned around. It was Zhao Teng. He whispered to me, "Go to the front and tell them we won't board the ships unless Commissar Pei comes with us."
I hesitated, unsure whether the GIs would allow me to get there. Zhao Teng pushed me. "Go now!"
I stepped out of the line and walked toward Pei. "Turn back!" a sergeant shouted at me.
"I have an urgent message for General Smart." I raised both hands above my head. He came over, put his big hands on my stomach, and searched me; then he stepped aside and let me pass.
I went up to the heavyset general and said, "I was sent over to inform you that none of these men will board the ships without Mr. Pei coming along with us."
He turned to look at the swarm of dusty, emaciated faces. I too gazed at my comrades. I could feel their fear and anger. They were tense, their eyes all fastened on us. I repeated, "General Smart, they won't get on the ships if you take Mr. Pei away."
"Who are you?"
"I'm just a regular serviceman who happens to know English. Just a messenger."
"Tell them, Don't bluff me!"
Suddenly a voice boomed in Chinese, "We won't board the ships!" That was Zhao Teng.
Most of the six thousand men followed him to shout in unison. The GIs were stunned by the sheer volume of the voices; so was I. I realized that my comrades were frightened and desperately needed Commissar Pei as their protector. To their minds, he was the only man capable of leading and organizing them, and without him they'd be lost. He embodied the Party to them.
"Return Commissar Pei to us!" a voice shouted. Again they roared together.
General Smart smirked, but he too realized the seriousness of the demand. Although unarmed, we outnumbered the GIs by fifteen to one. If a fight broke out, for sure there would be a disaster for both sides. Smart summoned a photographer over to take a picture of Pei. He then turned to talk with an officer who seemed to be his aide-decamp. Meanwhile, the prisoners went on shouting our demand.
When the photographer arrived, Pei motioned for me to come over. He wanted to take the photo with me. General Smart frowned, but didn't interfere. So I went up to Pei and stood beside him for the picture.
That done, Smart straightened up and said to Pei, "All right, we never meant to harm you, and you can go to Cheju with them. But we'll keep you separate from the crowd from now on."
I translated his words to the commissar, who nodded, apparently pleased.
So he was taken away to the second ship, and I rejoined the crowd. We all saw him go down into a cabin near the stern ramp. To us this was a victory, though I doubted if the Americans had ever intended to keep Pei on Koje Island. Zhao Teng patted my shoulder and said, "Great job, Yuan!"
Then we began boarding the ships.
20. ARRIVAL AT CHEJUISLAND
Although we had been shut into the cabins, the ships didn't weigh anchor until two hours later. The cabin I was in was swarming with about five hundred men, some sitting and some standing. Every bit of space in here was taken; it was impossible for anyone to lie down. A line of lamps behind glazed glass affixed along the walls shed dim light on the prisoners' faces and rendered them more sallow. Fortunately I was pushed against a wall, so I managed to settle down in a corner. The dust on the floor was at least half an inch thick. In the air there was a strong odor of dung – the ship must formerly have carried fertilizer or guano. Ten yards away from me, a man with a trampled leg was whimpering. There was no medic among us, so nobody could help him. Two men, exhausted from standing, even sat on the injured fellow's good leg, but they got up after others objected. I was angry at the way the Americans were transporting us. Why couldn't they use more ships or move us batch by batch?
Gradually the cabin began to stink with human stench. Curses went up here and there, even louder than the roaring of the engine. Those men who had to stand on their feet tired out, and grew clamorous and aggressive, jabbing their elbows at one another. Against the aft wall of the cabin stood a line of oil drums, all sawed in half, which we called "honey buckets" because they served as night pails in the camp. At the beginning of the trip some men vomited into them, but soon some began to use them to relieve themselves. Whenever the ship rocked, the half dozen oil drums would shift and even careen. Eventually two of them tipped over, the liquid stuff spilling on the floor; yet people had no choice but to remain where they were, some of their blanket rolls soaked with urine. Unless you were unable to hold it any longer, you wouldn't fight your way to reach one of those buckets to relieve yourself, not because of the shame of urinating or doing a BM in front of so many eyes but because you couldn't possibly regain your spot once you had left and would have to stand all the way afterward.
I rooted in my corner and closed my eyes to shut out this hellish sight. In a dazed state of mind I drifted off to sleep from time to time. I don't know how long I had been asleep before a metallic thud from above woke me up. The hatch on the deck was opened and a gust of air rushed in. Ah, fresh air! I inhaled it ravenously. Then an iron bucket tied to a hemp rope came down, overflowing with cold rice. All at once people near the opening began scrambling toward the food, and abuse was tossed out in all directions. As they were shoving and tussling, another few buckets of rice were lowered down, but it was impossible for most men to reach the food; as a result, only about a third of the prisoners actually had a bite. I was too far away from the rice buckets, so I gave up trying.