Three days after it started, the South Korean military handed
over the capital of Seoul and retreated farther south. Then sixteen
nations, with the United States in the lead, formed a United Nations force
and intervened in the Korean War. U.S. forces landed at Incheon and pushed
toward Wonsan, a major industrial city in North Korea.
It was only natural for Heungnam Prison to be a target for U.S. aerial
bombing operations. When the bombing began the prison guards would
leave the prisoners and go into bomb shelters. They weren’t concerned
whether we lived or died. One day Jesus appeared right before me with a
tearful face. This gave me a strong premonition so I shouted, “Everyone
stay within twelve meters of me!” Soon after that a huge bomb exploded
just twelve meters from where I stood. The prisoners who had stayed
close to me survived.
As the bombing became more intense, guards began executing prisoners.
They called out the prisoners’ numbers and told them to come
with three days’ food rations and a shovel. The prisoners assumed they
were being moved to another prison, but in reality they were marched
into the mountains, made to dig a hole, and then buried there. Prisoners
were being called out in the order of the length of their sentences, with
those with the longest sentences being called first. I realized that my
turn would come the next day.
The night before my scheduled execution the bombs fell like rain
in the monsoon season. It was October 13, 1950, and the U.S. forces,
having succeeded in the Incheon landing, had come up the peninsula
to take Pyongyang and were now pressing against Heungnam. The U.S.
military attacked Heungnam with full force that night, with B-29
bombers in the lead. The bombing was so intense that it seemed all of
Heungnam had been turned into a sea of fire. The high walls around the
prison began to fall and the guards ran for their lives. Finally the gate of
the prison that had kept us in that place opened. At around two o’clock
in the morning on the next day, I walked calmly out of Heungnam
Prison with dignity.
I had been imprisoned for two years and eight months, so I was a
terrible sight. My underwear and outerwear were in tatters. Dressed in
those rags, instead of going to my hometown, I headed to Pyongyang
with a group of people who had followed me in prison. Some chose to
come with me instead of going in search of their wives and children. I
could clearly imagine how my mother must be crying every day out of
concern for my welfare, but it was more important that I look after the
members of my congregation in Pyongyang.
On the way to Pyongyang we could see clearly how North Korea
had prepared for this war. Major cities were all connected by twolane
roads that could be used for military purposes in an emergency.
Many of the bridges had been constructed with enough cement to let
them withstand the weight of thirty-ton tanks. The fertilizer that the
prisoners in Heungnam Prison had risked their lives to put into bags
was sent to Russia in exchange for outdated weaponry that was then
deployed along the 38th parallel.
As soon as I arrived in Pyongyang I went in search of the members
who were with me before my incarceration. I needed to find out where
they were and what their situation was. They had been scattered by the
war, but I felt responsible to find them and help them figure out a way
to carry on their lives. I didn’t know where they might be living, so my
only option was to search the city of Pyongyang from one corner to the other.
After a week of searching I had found only three or four people.
I had saved some powdered rice I received while still in prison, so I
mixed it with water to make rice cake to share with them. On the trip
from Heungnam I staved off my hunger with one or two potatoes that
were frozen solid. I had not touched the rice powder. It made me feel
full just to watch them eagerly eat the rice cake.
I stayed in Pyongyang for forty days looking for anyone I could think
of, whether young or old. In the end I never did find out what happened
to most of them. But they have never been erased from my heart. On
the night of December 2, I began walking south. Church members,
including Won Pil Kim, and I followed behind a long line of refugees
that extended about seven and a half miles.
We even took with us a member who could not walk properly. He
had been among those who followed me in Heungnam Prison. His family
name was Pak. He had been released before me. When I found him
in his home, all the other members of his family had left for the South.
He was alone in the house with a broken leg. I placed him on a bicycle
and took him with me. The North Korean army had already recaptured
the flat roads for military use, so we traveled across frozen rice paddies
heading south as quickly as we could. The Chinese army was not far
behind us, but it was difficult to move quickly when we had someone
with us who could not walk. Half the time the road was so bad that I
carried him on my back and someone else pushed the empty bicycle
along. He kept saying he didn’t want to be a burden to me and tried
several times to take his own life. I convinced him to go on, sometimes
scolding him loudly, and we stayed together until the end.
We were refugees on the run who still had to eat. We went into homes
whose inhabitants had headed south before us and searched for rice or
any other food that might have been left behind. We boiled anything we
found, whether it was rice, barley, or potatoes. We were barely able to
stay alive this way. There were no rice bowls and we had to use pieces of
wood as chopsticks, but the food tasted good. The Bible says, “Blessed
are the poor,” doesn’t it? We could eat anything that made our stomachs
growl with satisfaction. Even a humble piece of barley cake tasted so
good that we would not have felt jealous of a king’s meal. No matter
how hungry I might be, I always made sure to stop eating before the
others. This way they could eat a little more themselves.
After walking a long distance, we were approaching the northern
bank of the Imjin River. Somehow I felt it was important that we
cross the river quickly and that we didn’t have a moment to spare. I
felt strongly that we had to get over this obstacle for us to stay alive.
I pushed Won Pil Kim mercilessly. Kim was young and he would
fall asleep as we walked, but I kept forcing him on and pulling the
bicycle. We covered twenty miles that night and reached the bank of
the Imjin River. Fortunately, the river was frozen solid. We followed
some refugees in front of us across the river. A long line of refugees
stretched out behind us. As soon as we had crossed the river, however,
the U.N. forces closed the crossing and stopped letting people
across. Had we arrived at the river even a few minutes later, we
would not have been able to cross.
After we had crossed, Won Pil Kim looked back at the road we had
come on and asked, “How did you know the river crossing was about
to be closed?”
“Sure I knew,” I said. “This kind of thing happens often to anyone
who takes the path of Heaven. People often don’t know that salvation is
just beyond the next obstacle. We didn’t have a single moment to waste,
and if necessary I would have grabbed you by the scruff of the neck and
pulled you across.”
Kim seemed moved by my words, but my heart was uneasy. When
we arrived at the point where the 38th parallel divided the peninsula in
two, I placed one foot in South Korea and one foot in North Korea and
began to pray.
“For now, we are pushed southward like this, but soon I will return
to the North. I will gather the forces of the free world behind me to
liberate North Korea and unite North and South.”
This was how I had prayed during the entire time we walked along
with the refugees.
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