On a wager with Kim I lifted one, despite his squeals and struggles, squarely across my shoulders, so that Kim's men, who had already heard my new name, called me Yi Yong-ik, the Mighty One.

Kim was a large man as Koreans go, and Koreans are a tall muscular race, and Kim fancied himself a bit.

But, elbow to elbow and palm to palm, I put his arm down at will.

And his soldiers and the gaping villagers would look on and murmur "Yi Yong-ik." In a way we were a travelling menagerie.

The word went on ahead, so that all the country folk flocked to the roadside to see us pass.