IWAS still climbing when I heard a rifle shot from the valley I had just left—another followed, a few seconds later. It could only have been a short time before the wretched sentry, circling his beat, had become aware of a pile of loose earth on the hillside and had rolled the oil drum away from the bunker entrance to find the bird had flown! I reached the dense underbrush just below the hill-top, and sat down to see what line and form the enemy pursuit would take—if any: following a man in darkness on that hard ground was impossible, I believed.
Apparently, they thought that it was not. Ten minutes later I heard voices shouting from either side of the track that led due west. Torches began to flash. Once I heard the sound of dogs barking, and feared that they might have put some on my trail. A moment later I realized that this was nonsense: I had merely heard the village dogs demanding to know what all the excitement was about. The shouts died away as I went through the brush over the top of the hill, making for the pinewoods through which we had come on the truck from Sinmak. There I should find cover amongst the trees, deserted tracks, and water to quench the thirst that escaping had given me.
My journey to the west had begun!
There were many difficulties in making the journey to the coast. The flooded rice-paddy that I met again and again caused me to make detours in the early stages. There were rivers without fords or stepping stones, which had to be swum; and the effort involved taxed my few reserves of physical strength considerably. After three days I realized why the Chinese medical orderly had peered so curiously into my eyes: it was not the blue pupil which had interested him, but the yellow that had spread over the iris. From the colour of my urine I felt almost certain that I had jaundice; and when I looked at my reflection in a pool of clear water, I saw that I was right. My tonsilitis, too, was troubling me a good deal. I swallowed with difficulty the maize that I took from the fields each day. Throughout each night journey, the hills and valleys seemed determined to hinder me, forever lying across my course, never with it.
It took me two days to return to Sinmak; two days later, I was still only a dozen miles from it. Resting on some pine branches after my night march, I realized that I would have to devise a different system of travel, if I was to hope for success. Originally, I had based my calculations on a fifteen-day journey from the point of escape to the nearest suitable point on the coast. On arrival there, I had to be prepared to take anything up to three days to find a boat, bringing the total estimated time to eighteen days. The journey from there was a comparatively short one—perhaps only a few hours, if wind, tide, and current favoured me; but I could not bank on this. I estimated that I might well be at sea, needing sufficient strength to handle a boat single-handed, for anything up to two or three days. The grand total for all phases thus came up to twenty-one. Taking into account my sickness, and my diet of raw maize, I felt that three weeks was about the maximum period I might expect to remain active. It was now clear that I was not going to cover the distance in fifteen days, since I was not covering ten miles a day—the estimate on which I had based my calculations. For ten miles a day meant reducing the distance between me and the coast by ten miles, not the actual distance marched up hill and down dale to accomplish this—a much higher figure. In four days I had travelled, perhaps, twenty-four miles. Already I was sixteen miles behind schedule. As the sun rose and I ate my morning meal of maize, I decided on a new plan.
I slept until the sun was overhead. As usual, I had climbed at dawn to a high, thickly-wooded hill and would have remained there, under my previous plan, until late afternoon or early evening. On this day I rose on waking and climbed to the highest point I could find. From there I selected a route through the pine trees which I would travel in daylight; for I had decided that it was necessary to take this risk, in order to make up and keep to my time-plan. Although there was a chance of running into wooding parties, signallers laying telephone cable, or air-raid sentries, it soon became clear that this disadvantage was heavily outweighed. Selecting the route now took less time; I stopped only infrequently to check my direction. Moreover, now I could select my entire route each day; hitherto, I had been able to do this for the first part of the night march only, continuing by the stars across hill and valley, rarely finding a clear path, often making detours round rice paddy or thick bush.
Although I was anxious to make up for lost time, I realized, as I marched along during the afternoon, that I could hardly have risked moving in daylight before. East of the main highway that runs through Sinmak, every village was packed with troops or depots or both. In the area of the town there were many administrative units, including numbers of railway repair gangs, who lived in caves in the hills to the west as well as to the east: there were few buildings unbombed in Sinmak. Now, moving into the huge western peninsula, I saw very few soldiers; which accounted for Byron’s information that we had established a bomb-line approximately ten miles west of the main highway, and that our aircraft were forbidden to operate west of this line apart from reconnaissance and special missions. I was fortunate, too, in that the general line of the hills began to favour me, at last, running towards the coast and not parallel to it, except for odd ranges which I often managed to avoid. In spite of the frequent river-crossings, I felt satisfied that my strength was going to last, for I was doing more than ten miles a day. After twelve days, I began to look over each hill for a sign of the sea.
About this time, my shoes began to cause me concern. I had marched part of the way to Munha-ri in them and all the way south to the village of Namchon-jom from which I had escaped. Escaping, I had travelled frequently over rough and precipitous ground. Now, to my dismay, the heel of my right foot split, and I lost two precious hours sewing it back on with wire from some old signal cable I had picked up on a track—a very clumsy piece of cobbling: my needle was a rusty nail! Whether due to slipping on the hillside when my heel went, or from some other cause, I discovered when I finally got up to walk on that the cut made in my foot by the rod of the Chinese jailers had opened. I bound it with a piece of rag and continued the journey, determined not to be set back at this stage.
The fifteenth day came and went; but there was still no sign of the sea. At dusk I made my bed as usual on and under pine branches, very tired, conscious that my legs were weakening, that my heart was now finding every climb a great effort. I had so hoped that I should see the sea that day. I dropped off to sleep, reminding myself that I must redouble my resolve at this stage. I was sure that I must reach the sea within another three days.
On the following morning I slept late. My long rest had refreshed me; my spirits were high. The sun warmed me, as I came through a small clearing in the silent woods. The scent of the pines seemed invigorating. I stopped at a small stream to wash and drink, eating my breakfast by it and hiding the cobs under some stones by a waterfall. The narrow path led straight up a slope to the top of the hill, where it passed out of sight between two huge boulders. I moved slowly towards these, wishing to avoid an unexpected encounter with anyone on the far side. Near the top I had to pause for rest; my heart was beating like a hammer after the short ascent, and I felt very faint. Recovering after some minutes, I reached the boulders, listened, and moved on between them to the edge of a small cliff The path turned sharply left, descending the western slope through more pinewoods—but I did not take it. For there, through the few trees on the cliff edge, my eye was caught by the reflection of sun on water. Beyond the pinewoods, far below me, lay the sea.
I rested in a group of thick bushes a little way down the path. I could not bring myself to leave that view while I was resting. Proud Cortes did not look upon the Pacific Ocean with an eye more appreciative than mine, as I gazed on the Yellow Sea that morning. It was foolish of me, of course; but I had walked such a long, long way to see it.
Eventually I forced myself to get up to continue the rest of the march. I still had a considerable distance to go, and there was much to be done before nightfall—by which time I must reach a covered observation point. Now that I had arrived at the coast, my second problem arose: to find a boat, with a sail which I could manage myself. The tremendous tide along this coast—a rise and fall of thirty odd feet—and the problem of mud flats, thrown up by the estuary of the Taedong River, had to be reckoned with, too. I was thankful that the path now led downhill through the woods, for I realized that my reserves of strength were fast running out.
What happened next, I am unable to say. Some time later in the morning—it may even have been the afternoon by then—I found myself walking through an open field, sown, I think, with beans. Nearer, much nearer, was the sea; on it, two fishing boats with grey sails. I said aloud to myself: “What on earth are you doing here in the open? You’ll be seen.”
I walked across the fields into the trees, but cannot remember which way I went.
I next recall a track with fields of standing maize on either side. Again, I realized that I must seek shelter, and turned towards the stalks on one side of the road. Whether I reached them or not, I cannot say.
The smell of smoke was in my nostrils; beneath me, I felt a soft bed. When I opened my eyes I thought at first that it was night, for it seemed quite dark. Then I discerned some tiny cracks of light high upon my left side and, putting out my hand, I touched a light wall, which gave a little under the weight of my hand. My other hand found a wall to my right. I seemed to be in some sort of passage.
I did not care very much where I was: I just lay there, glad to be still and quiet. Presently, I heard voices beyond the left-hand wall: Korean voices. They continued talking for such a long time that I identified three adult voices and a child’s. Two of the adults were women. I was still listening when the talk stopped. For a few minutes there was silence, except for a whisper. Then, half of the left hand wall slid back and the daylight came streaming in, blinding me momentarily.
There were three adults, as I had thought. The man was old in appearance; yet probably not more than forty. The Koreans age so swiftly from their incessant toil and poor food. The nearest woman looked old, too, though she was probably under fifty. Only the girl and the child—her child it seemed—were young; the mother under twenty, the little girl about four years old. Standing in the room of the mud house, they all stared at me as the light fell on my bearded face. There was no hostility in their eyes; only kindness, shyness, and curiosity. As much as five minutes passed before, finally, the old man spoke. He said something in Korean I did not understand at all, waited for a moment while I shook my head, and then pointed, first to his mouth and then to his stomach, which he rubbed. Thinking he meant food, I shook my head, meaning to say that I had had none for some time. They all moved then, the old man coming over to the sliding door he had opened—which formed part of my left wall—closing it to within a few inches of the end of the frame. He patted my arm through the crack that remained and stood there, smoking a long, thin metal pipe with a tiny bowl, such as all the old Korean men smoke. After another short interval, his wife returned with a heaped-up bowl of rice and some soup. The thought of eating rice made me feel like vomiting, but I managed to eat about half the soup before I lay back, doing my best to keep it inside me—and succeeding. This was the first of many acts of kindness bestowed on me by these good people.
I stayed in that house for another six days, during which they fed and cared for me as if I was one of their own. The old man would come in to see me in the mornings and evenings, often taking my hand to lay it beside his own seamed and calloused one, running his finger tips over the comparative smoothness of my skin. After three days my appetite returned; on the fourth I got up after dark and walked round the courtyard behind locked doors. The old man was very conscious of my security. The cupboard in which I lived was always kept closed, unless one of the family was in the room; never once was the house empty, though I am sure that they needed all hands in the fields just then. After the evening meal, once I had got up, I would play with the child—games of penny-conjuring with an old Japanese coin, or peep-bo. But it was all done in whispers; all speech was in whispers. I had absolute faith in their friendship—the more so when I got from the old man the story of how he had found me beside the track, and brought me into his own house, when, without enmity, he could have left me there rather than take the risk of hiding and succouring me under pain of death. I, too, explained my position with many signs. As we grew to understand one another better, I pin-pointed my position fairly accurately and began to make preparations to move on.
The sea was about two li away—roughly, half a mile. He said that he would find me a boat to take me to Cho-Do, the big island nearby, which I had hoped to reach since the day of my escape with Duncan, almost a month ago. I cut open my clothing and gave him all the money I had so carefully put away months before; water-soaked, sweat-soaked, earth-stained money. I put it all into his hands and promised him the same amount again if we were successful. Reluctant to take it at first, he finally agreed and, with many “Comupsom-nidas”, stowed it away in some hiding place.
I was still extremely weak, yet knew that every day spent there was not only a danger to me but to the old man and his family. The girl’s husband had been killed at the front, I gathered—on which side he fought, I was not quite sure. There would be no one to say a word for them, if it became known that they had sheltered me. Each one of them, possibly even the child, if precedent in Korean punitive measures was applied, would be put to the sword. After two days’ gentle exercise, to show the old man that I could walk to the shore, he agreed to send me off on the evening of the sixth day.
Early in the afternoon I was watching the track that ran past the house, as I had done since breakfast time, my eye peering through a crack in the back of the cupboard. Outside the house, sitting on the path that led down to the track, the child was playing with some little round mudballs which she had made the day before. All was quiet, except when some neighbour passed to exchange a greeting with her. The afternoon shadows were lengthening, when I saw a North Korean soldier coming from the direction of the sea, a burp-gun slung across one shoulder, his jacket open, a pack on his back. He stopped by the well to take a drink of water and called to the little girl to come over, producing from his pocket an apple which he held up to her. She went over with reluctance, the apple helping her to forget how shy she was. Munching a piece of apple each, she and the soldier began to talk. The Korean words were incomprehensible to me, but I could not take my eyes off the soldier. I longed for him to go. Suddenly, I heard the word “Yungook” spoken by the child amongst others. The soldier leant forward and took her by the shoulders questioning her. Then he got up, slung his burp-gun forward, and walked towards the house. Just short of the entrance to the courtyard he seemed to change his mind, for he ran back to the well, pulled on his pack, and went off down the track at a sharp pace. I had an idea that it was time for me to go.
The old man was in the courtyard as I came to the door. When he saw me standing there in daylight, he probably thought I had gone mad. He came hastily into the room, shutting the door. I tried to explain by signs what had happened, but realized that I was going much too fast to convey anything. After one more attempt I knew that it was hopeless trying to convey my many thoughts to him quickly by signs. I must leave, and trust to luck that I could find a boat on my own, if I did not manage to contact him again. Patting him on the shoulder reassuringly, I ran out through the door, through the courtyard, down the path. The area behind the house was open. Only the far side of the track contained good cover, where the maize stalks remained tall, leafy, and green, with some form of bean growing up round their roots. As I crossed the track, four armed Chinese came running round the bend further down, giving a hoarse shout as they saw me. I jumped into the maize, hurried along the narrow passage between the stalks, and had just decided that I would head east—away from the coast—for a short distance, when I saw some Chinese soldiers enter the far end of the maize field from the direction in which I was going. Footsteps approached me from both ends of the field, closing in on me. The last moments of my freedom were, even then, dying, within a quarter of a mile of the coast.
I was taken up to the village of Sosa-ri; a miserable journey on which I collapsed twice. Finally the escort, tired of accompanying me at a snail’s pace, got me a lift on a passing military pony cart whose driver was a good fellow—unlike my scowling guards—and gave me a half of his tin of beef and six biscuits, despite their attempts to dissuade him. At Sosa-ri, the guards changed. A surly-faced non-commissioned officer and two privates took me on to the town of Songhwa, where an attempt was made to interrogate me by the North Korean police, through an interpreter who knew less English than I did Korean—a man who had evidently lived on a reputation as a linguist for a long time, without expecting to be called on to show his skill. The Chinese soon got tired of his efforts to make me understand him, and sent him packing. They put me on a Korean civil truck, with my three guards and a great number of Korean civilians and their luggage, which reached the main western railway two days later and dropped me off. It began to rain as the guards did their best to hurry me along the railway track, away from the main road. We took shelter for an hour in a small village inhabited by railway sappers. They were mostly older men, easily distinguishable by their blue uniforms, which many of the transport personnel wore. One group we joined had been having a party on saki—a rice wine—which they had got from one of the houses in the village. As we arrived a great argument was going on between the Chinese and an irate villager who was refusing them more wine. I stood there for some time, watching them, until, all at once, he noticed me. He was a nasty little man, wanting to jump on me with a knife to demonstrate to the Chinese how tough he was. Two of the soldiers, thinking it all a huge joke, threw him out of the house bodily, returning to give me a packet of cigarettes, some pipe tobacco, and a half box of matches. I refused saki, but had some of their beef. My pockets full of luxuries like tobacco and matches, eating my second meat meal in three days, I felt that things were looking up after my recapture. When, eventually, we continued our journey in light rain, I was in excellent spirits once more. Here I was, back at the railway line and highway. Well, no matter. With a bit of rest and some food, I could do it all over again. I began to watch the country carefully.
We left the railway, entering a long valley, stopping frequently to rest my wretchedly weak body. A path led us up to a pass, beyond which a large headquarters was dug into the hillsides. During the day, after giving my military particulars, and admitting to escaping from a column of prisoners marching northwards, I was asked, with great friendliness, if I wished to write a letter home. I had had this chance only once before—at Munha-ri one wet day in Bob—s “mediaeval pest-house”—and had little hope that this letter had got past T’ang’s inquisitive eyes. I said that I should be delighted to write, and spent half an hour with an unfamiliar pencil in my hand, writing on cheap white paper. That evening, when I came up for further interrogation, my inquisitor drew my letter from his pocket, when I refused to answer his questions, and asked me whether I wished to send my letter or not. I told him that I did want to send my letter home, but was not prepared to pay for the postage with military information. Thereupon he tore the letter up in front of me.
About ten minutes later I was packed off down the path leading east. I was very tired and hoped that we had not far to go. As it transpired, we had less than two miles to walk, but the guards lost their way three times during the journey, so that we actually covered four. Exhausted, I was led away from my escorts to a courtyard. One side of a double wooden door was unlocked, the door opened, and I was put through it. Straw rustled under my feet; the stench of unwashed bodies filled the air. My foot touched someone’s flank.
“Hell! is there any room in here?” I asked.
To my complete surprise, a very young, English voice replied:
“Is that another Englishman?”
A minute later I was shaking hands warmly with Mike.