One night the missionaries in Korea saw flames bursting out against the hills.
"What is it?" they cried, filled with fear.
"The Japanese are burning the Korean villages!" said one who knew.
All night long the villages burned and all night long the people were murdered. Runners brought news to the hillsides of Seoul where anxious, broken-hearted American missionaries waited.
"One, two, three, four, five; ten, fifteen, twenty; thirty, forty, fifty; a hundred, two hundred, three hundred; villages are burning," so came the messages.
The entire peninsula was lighted as with a great holocaust.
It is said that the light could be seen from Fusan itself, a hundred miles away.
"From our village it looked like a light over a great American steel-mill city," said a missionary to me.
And when the morning came, the flames were still leaping high against the crimson sky of dawn.
For days this burning of villages continued. Belgium never saw more ruthless flame and fire; set by sterner souls; or harder hearts!