The Story of Harry WhittinghillHarry J. Whittinghill
Harry Whittinghill's prison ID number, 232, to be worn at all times.
The following is a synopsis relating my Army life and experiences in prison camp. I know its going to be very difficult to bring out some of the things that I have buried deep and have tried to forget but will try and see how it turns out. My Army life and Army career started at Fort Benjamin Harrison, Indianapolis, Indiana. After the normal physical, clothing issue and papers signed, I was given a three day pass. While on this pass, I visited with my grandfather, who at that time was over 90 years old. Grandfather had spent many months in the Andersonville Prison Camp during the Civil War. He had discussed the Civil War with me many times, but very seldom mentioned the times he spent in prison camp or his prison camp experiences. However, this time, knowing that I was going into the Army Air Force, he talked about his prison camp experiences. The reason I am telling you this is because this time he gave me the following words of wisdom or advise, whichever. "Remember this, my boy, if war does come and you are ever taken prisoner, the friends you can trust with your life, you can count on one hand, minus the fingers you can hold down with your thumb and little one left, is mighty bent." With this, he held up his hand with his three fingers held down with his thumb and his little finger bent in half. Try it! Remembering these words, I feel greatly helped me in surviving the forty-two months spent in Japanese prison camps during World War II. I later learned that Grandfather could also have said that many truly might have wanted to be a friend and truly would have like to have helped, but there always seemed to be a part of nature that would take over ones own survival. Carrying with me Grandfathers words and experiencing ones own survival early in the war, I made few friends and my trust was always guarded during the fighting on Bataan and during my years in Japanese prison camps. After my three day pass, I returned to Fort Benjamin Harrison and was soon sent to March Field, California, where I took my basic training. After basic training, I attended a radio repair course, a link trainer operation course and did guard duty. During this time I was assigned to the 34th Pursuit Interceptor Squadron, but never actually reported to the squadron for duty.
These were set up along the edge of the air strip, under camofladge or the best we could camofladge them. And, what was left of the planes were placed as if they were ready to takeoff, with the wings being propped or blocked in place and tailes wired on with wire, doing anything we could to make them look like planes. This was done in the hopes that the Japanese would come again the next day and we could try out our gun pits. It worked. The next day, the Japanese lost two of their straffing aircraft. I will always believe that one of these was mine, but we will never know, because there were others shooting at them the same as I was. By this time, it is getting to be about mid-December, 1941 and close to Christmas. Food was very short and not very good. It seemed that no matter what it was called, it turned out to be a stew of some kind. Every day we returned to our gun pits, bopping that we would have another chance to shoot at some more Jap planes, but they never came back. On the 23rd of December, I jumped into my gun pit and was met by a Because we were fighting with and along side the Filipinos, and I being from a small country farm town in Indiana, I was never sure who was a Jap and who was a Filipino. They were both very good at saying, "That you, Joe?" If you answered and it was a Jap, Pop! Goes his rifle. I saw it happen to many people. I remember on the arrival at Guam Bay, the woods and underbrush was so thick on the points that you could hardly get through it, even by crawling. When we left, a few months later, you could have driven a truck all over each point. The constant shelling and They were bayoneted, usually through the heart and either pushed or rolled to the side of the road. I am sure this was happening to others in front of us, because dead bodies were in the ditches and along the side of the road, every mile of the way, to Camp O'Donnell. All toll, from start to finish, I spent 14 days on the march. I believe the reasons I made it through were that I found a small piece of canvass about five feet long and three feet wide along the side of the road, just before starting the march and for some reason the Jap that saw me pick it up, let me keep it, instead of killing me. They did kill for less. I tore a hole in this piece of canvass with my teeth and fingers, so that it could be dropped over my head. This helped shade my body with it draped over my shoulders, keeping the sun from baking my body. Another reason, during the early days of the march, I dashed to the side of the road to a sugar can patch and broke off a stalk of sugar cane, this time being shot at and missed. This was when the horsemen were still with us. Maybe his horse moved at the right time. I don't know. I broke this stalk of cane into small pieces, maybe six inches long and stuck them under the band in my shorts where they were hid under the canvass. All through the march, these pieces of sugar cane helped quench my thirst and the sweet sugar tasted gave me strength and energy. However, I believe the most important is, the fact that I drank no water no matter how thirsty, if I thought it would make me sick. Without the can I might have drank from ditches filled with scum and dead bodies, as others did. The first two days at Camp O'Donnell were not too bad, as there seemed to be plenty of rice. Once, there was some kind of meat in it. But, the third day changed all that. A group of us was moved to another area of the camp and here it seemed that about everyone was sick with Diarrhea, Dysentery and Malaria. People were dying like flies. Sometimes there were dead bodies that would not be recovered for two or three days. My Malaria would come and go, sometimes worse than others and I did get the Diarrhea. I think this was caused by the rotten fish mixed with some of our rice rations.
There was a small fenced area outside with large metal pots for cooking rice. When all were assembled, there were 500 of us in my group. Each of us were assigned numbers. My number was 232. We were told by a Jap that spoke very good English that there would be other groups and one reason for the number was that if anyone tried to escape from our group, by that number, they could tell who the other 500 were and that we would all be shot. He also explained at this time, that we were going to be on a bridge detail, building a bridge that we, the |Americans had destroyed. This detail turned out to be something again, that without seeing and experiencing the inhuman cruelties, the normal mind would definitely have trouble comprehending or believing what took place. Having the liquid Quinine that I had been able to hang on to, controlled my Malaria to some degree and just coming from a place that I mentioned before, where a few of us were almost treated like humans, I looked in pretty good condition compared to some of the others. Therefore, I was one of the six that was chosen to work on the pile driver. Out of this original six, I know that I am the only one living. The pile driver was a large hand winch with handles on each side. Each of us on a handle, would wind a heavy weight 18 - 20 feet above the piling, at which time the winch would be released and the weight would fall, driving the piling into the river basin. This was damn hard work and with only six of us to alternate the work, it soon took its toll. The first day, one man was knocked off the platform we were working on with the butt of a Jap gun, because he could not keep up. He fell approximately 30 feet into a bed of large rocks. The Japs later had Filipinos pick him up and one told us the next day that he was dead. There were Filipinos also working, but they were not prisoners, however, not treated any better by the Japs, for good cause. They just could not trust them. Every night it seemed that something would happen that caused a work slowdown on the following day. Usually it was a piece of equipment that would seem to malfunction or completely breakdown. For example, our pile driver winch was damaged one night in such a manner, that once it was wound up, it could not be released from the handle section. The first morning this happened they made us wind the winch and just turn loose of handles, jump back and let the weight fall. This of course, caused a lot of confusion and I thought the off balance of these handles flying around was going to tear the winch and platform loose and dump it and us into the river and rocks below. That afternoon, one of the Japs got a little smarter and came up with an idea that handle could removed after winding the winch up and this really took some doing. A makeshift log brake was added to the winch, which was to hold it until the handles could be removed. It worked, but slowed down the work considerably and the work went on like this for several days, until the day a group of command Japs came for an inspection tour. I could see that they were very unhappy about everything and one of them came up with the idea to simply yank the handles off, once you had the weight to the top. The lug where the handle fit, was well greased and the handles put in place, but not pinned. One the first attempt, one man let his handle slip off about halfway up, the other man unable to hold it or release his handle, ended up with a broken arm, bleeding from the mouth, probably from broken ribs and a punctured lung. I never saw this man again. All this was to the delight of the Jap command and they ordered the log brake removed and work speeded up. It took awhile and a few broken arms and some tumbles into the river, a gun butt poked in the ribs now and then, but we learned to wind the winch and yank the handles free and pile after pile was driven into the river bed. I don't know just how long I was on this detail, because after my quinine ran out, I more or less moved by instinct. Many times, I would know I was passing out, because of fever, but somehow I still stood on my feet, walked and worked. I was finally replaced on the pile driving detail and put on the log unloading detail. The reason I was replaced was because I simply became too weak. I refused to die, fall or be knocked onto the rocks below. The log unloading detail wasn't much better, because the food was the same. A little rice two times a day and sometimes some kind of green leaves or sprouts boiled in plain water.
The work being just as hard, our bodies became weaker and weaker. More and more men were dying, everyday. From the first day that we were at this camp, the Filipinos would say, "be ready we liberate you." The liberation night came, finally, but much, much too late for many who had died and those who were left were too weak in mind and body to care. When all the shooting and yelling started, outside the building, I had to look out a window to see what was going on. I saw a Filipino decapitate a Jap guard with a bolo knife and this of course, reminded me of the Jap horsemen with their sabers, working on the Americans during the death march. About this time, a bullet went whizzing by very close to my head, so needless to say, I hit the floor. I will never understand why the Filipinos even tried this stunt, because the whole area was full of Jap encampments, and in less than 10 minutes, the whole fracas was over. The street held several dead Filipinos and Jap guards with their heads cut off. The way the Filipinos accomplished this, was one Filipino would stand in front of the Jap, talking to him, while the other slipped up behind with his bolo knife and simply let him have it. Somehow, one of the guards got a rifle shot off, which was all it took to have hundreds of jabbering Japs all over the place in less than 5 minutes. There was one American that somehow got out of the building or was already out in the fenced area when it all started. I don't think anyone ever really knew. Anyway, he was charged with attempting to escape, and was taken away. Remembering what was told us, if one of us tried to escape, the rest of the 500 would be shot, didn't make the night anymore pleasant. The next morning, there was no work and no food. About noon, there was several Filipino heads and the American head placed atop poles and wired to the fences, in front of the building. Later in the evening, we were given a little rice and water. The next morning we were all, that is all that could walk, taken out into the street and stood at attention for several hours. The sun was so hot, that I swear that some men actually died on their feet, and just fell over. I can remember myself, many times, so close to passing out that my body would weave and I would have to catch my balance again. Finally, we were marched about a mile to the Jap command post, lined up in front of their building and again made to stand for a long time in the sun. I can remember saying to myself, while standing there and trying to keep my senses, hang on, see the finish. They came out of the building, stood on a platform that looked like it was just built for the occasion and gave us the following message, relayed through an interpretor: "I am sure you remember that the Imperial Japanese Command explained to you on arrival that if one of any group of 500 tried to escape, all the others of that group would be shot. I have good news for you. The reason you have had to stay in ranks so long, is I have been in touch with the top command in Manila and succeeded in getting the sentence reduced. We now only have to shoot ten of you." At this time, several other Japs came out of the building and were all standing around the platform, talking and pointing at us as if trying to decide on the ten they wanted to shoot and how they were going to choose ten. An American officer was called up to the platform and was beaten up pretty badly, then put back into the ranks. Later I heard that they told him to pick the ten to be shot, but he would not do it. I don't know how they ended up actually picking the ten. The were calling out numbers and then would come into the ranks, take men out and make them stand in front and then the next minute, put these same men back in the ranks and pick someone else. Regardless, they did end up with ten men. These ten men were marched about 200 yards to my right and stopped in front of a big hold that had just been dug. A square hole as a matter of fact. The rest of us were then marched in columns of two and stood facing these ten men. The firing squad then marched in between us. There were two brothers, one in the group to be shot and the other still standing the ranks. The one being shot said to his brother, "Tell the folks that I went like a man." He then came to attention and saluted. Several of the others that were being shot, followed suit, and also saluted. One man sang out, God Bless America! By this time, the firing squad was shooting. One man, after being knocked down by a bullet, got to his knees and threw dirt at the firing squad. Another raised up and asked to be shot in the head by simply pointing. I seem to remember the Japanese tossing the bodies after all the shooting, into the hold and threw a little dirt over them. They then gave each of us a little rice and a cigarette. Then, they made us march by the hole and bow and toss the rice and cigarettes into the hole. Please don't ask my why, because I have no idea. I don't remember anything more other than feeling like I was going to pass out from the heat, Malaria and fever. Later, I came to, lieing on the stage, not realizing I was on the stage. I wasn't really sure where I was at first, but when I finally got my eyes in focus, all I could see were ants crawling in and out from around the corner of a mans eyeball. I immediately turned away from this and in turning my head in the other direction, I saw part of a face and ear with maggots crawling about. I guess this was enough to move me. To the surprise of many of the men close to the stage, I sat up and moved to the edge of the stage and after sitting there a little while, moved my body up the theatre tiers to my spot. Someone gave me some water and I remember just lieing there and resting. My senses would slip away and gradually return. It was a feeling and sensation that there is no way for me to explain. I just know that I was very near death and those that had placed me on the stage and saw me get off the stage thought I was dead or so near death that there was no hope and that I would die. I knew this because I helped place many men on that stage. From then on, there was no work for this group and I am not sure how many days we were held there after the shooting of the ten men. I just remember how I would get through the chow line and get my rice and eat it. Then, one day, they were loading men on trucks to move out. I made it to one of those trucks. I don't know if we were trucked all of the way or how long it took. I just remember waking up lieing on bamboo slats. I was in the hospital of the Cabanatuan prison camp. I always figured the reason they called it the hospital area was that as long as you were confined to this area, you did not make work details and for the first time since the surrender, I was in a fashion, under American officers control. There were American doctors in the area. There were some medicines that came into the area, but never enough. Our doctors did the best they could, and with the American officers in charge, there was some semblence of order. For the most part, everyone was treated equal. This all being fact and true, did not stop the ravishing diseases that continued to take the lives of men everyday. I was in this area for several months, I don't remember exactly how long, but daily I became stronger and stronger as there was no work. The food being quite a lot better then what I was used to, was still basically rice, but most of the time, there would be some kind of soup, boiled sweet potato vines, sometimes a boiled bone broth from a Carabao or mule and occasionally a little piece of some kind of vegetable or maybe a little piece of meat off the bone found in your soup cup. If so, this was always a big surprise. Anyway, finally the day came that the Japs and their weekly inspection decided that I looked good enough for labor duty, so I was transferred to another area called the duty area. From this area, men worked the vegetable farm and were sent out daily by trucks to various jobs, cutting wood or whatever the Japs wanted done. They also used men from this area to work in the Japanese command area. After being sent to the duty section, my first work detail was working on a vegetable farm. This was at times pleasant work, but generally hard labor and the treatment rough. For no apparent reason, it was common to have a Tiawan Jap walk up and start beating you with a stick, club or rifle butt. The guards at Cabanatuan were mostly from Tiawan. They were shorter and smaller than the Japs from the mainland and they seemed to enjoy beating on the Americans. There were very strict rules for the farm workers. You could eat nothing. As a matter of fact, one day while planting onion sets, one of the Jap guards walked over to where I was and urinated in the pail of onion sets. I guess he did this to make sure I did not eat any of them. I would not have eaten any of them anyway for two reasons: One, I knew they came from the beds that had been fertilized with human feces and two, when leaving the farm, sometimes your breath was smelled. If there was an odor they suspected to be something from the farm, you were beaten and put into the guard house. While there, you would be given very little to eat. The fact is that most men, after coming out of the guard house, were usually too weak to make it. As the farm work and time wore on, I was just about holding my own as far as my health was concerned, until one day one of the men helping carry a litter of pickles from the farm, tried to steal one by putting it in his G-String. He got caught. There were four men on the litter, I being one of them. The man that stole the pickle was taken away because he couldn't stand up. The other three of us were put in the guard house. This ordeal again, started me downhill as far as my health and general condition. When taken out of the guard house, about ten days later, I was very weak and had a very bad case of the Diarrhea. This was quite evident because I had no control. The Japs seeing this, and being deathly afraid of Dysentery, had my stool tested. I don't think I had it at the time, because as I remember, there wasn't any blood, but I ended up in the isolation area. This again, was a place like the aforementioned stage, a place to go and simply die. Very few ever came out of this area. As weak and as sick as I was at that time, I am sure I must have looked like a giant to most of the men in that area. But, the environment and time took its toll. The Diarrhea couldn't be check and Dysentery followed. Malaria was still with me and I got Diptheria and was further isolated from all others. Wet Beriberi developed and my legs filled up with fluid until they looked like the skin would burst. If I elevated my legs a little, my scrotum would fill up as big as a basketball. I had experienced dry Beriberi before, but never anything like this. I slowly lost my eyesight and was almost totally blind for a long time. I have told this following story to my family several times. While I was in this isolation ward, I firmly believe that I played with death. I would allow this dead feeling to start at my feet and slowly let it move towards my chest. I say played, because I could stop its progression anytime I wanted to until one day, I simply couldn't stop it and this feeling covered my body and I began to feel as if I was beginning to lift or move and at the same time a light blue haze was in my minds eye and this scared the devil out of me. Somehow, I will always believe that I actually screamed and forced myself to almost sit up, something I hadn't done in weeks. After this, I played no more and somehow developed a will to live. I began eating everything that was given me, I worked until I was able to sit up and about this time it seemed that miracles actually happened. The Japs began sending milk into the area, not much, but a little, and also the soup was made a little more nourishing and at the same time, extra and new kinds of medicine came into the area. Also, at this time, a Dr. Wardell saw my will to live and he began to help me. I remember him saying, "Keep trying and you will be out of here before you know it and helping me care for some of these people." There was a drainage ditch started just outside of the door and I could see that it was shallow to start with and got deeper as it went along. I knew that if I could get to that ditch, I could teach myself to walk again, using the sides to hold onto. I finally managed to roll and crawl to the ditch and by doing this over and over each day, I taught myself to walk again. I remember as if it were yesterday, at the far end where it was shallow, I used to prop myself on a knoll and watch sunsets and dream of home. I really believe this helped me to go on. As Dr. Wardell predicted, I did get better and was helping him by carrying water to those that could not make it to the water area and doing general cleaning duties, until one day, another inspection and I was again moved to the general hospital area. But, not for long, before moving again to the general duty area. This time, I was detailed to work in a Japanese bath house where I chopped wood and built fires under large tanks of water to heat it for the Japanese high command community bath. One day while at work at the bath house, some Japs were working on a gasoline engine under a shade tree, close to the bath house. This engine was to drive an air compressor. They worked all day but were not successful in getting the engine to run. The next day they were both back at it again. I was watching them when finally, one of them asked me if I knew anything about the engine. I told them I did and there was a lot of jabbering between them. One of them stepped back and by his motions, he was telling me to try and fix it. From listening to the engine, I knew it was either out of time or that the distributor cap was cracked. The first thing I did was remove the distributor cap and it had sever hairline cracks going in several directions. I told them that that was their problem but they just called me a dummy and had a big laugh about it. The next day, different Japs came over and the first thing they did was look at the distributor cap. One of them asked me if I could fix it and I told them to get a new one and they told me there were none. I said that I would try. All this talking between us was mostly by sign language. I could not make them understand that I needed a drill bit to drill a hole in this cap in the fine lines so that the spark wouldn't jump across. Finally, they left and I went back to put more wood on the fire for the bath house. One of the pieces of wood I picked up had a piece of wire tied to it. I took this wire and with two stones flattened one end. With this, I drilled a small hole in one of the cracks in the distributor cap, replaced the cap and started the engine. It ran like new. The next day, one Jap returned, I guess to work on the engine and when he was just standing there looking at it, I smiled and told him to try and start it. He did and as before, it started and ran very well. The next time I was asked to work on a gasoline engine, I was sorry I let them know that I knew anything about it. One day, I was picked up at the bath house in a Jap command car and then was taken out of the camp. We rode for perhaps two hours, I don't know. I was then blindfolded and we rode for some distance again and made several turns. The car finally stopped and I was led into a building, before the blindfold was removed. I was then taken into another room, which turned out to be an ice block manufacturing plant. The compressors were ammonia and driven by four cylinder gasoline engines. There were four of these engines and all in need of repair. For over 2 months, I was taken to this place in the same manner, and was never let outside the building. The ammonia was so bad in the room in which we worked that we had to be taken out of the area to let us get some fresh air and then taken back to work some more. The Japs were in just as bad a condition as I was. They had to work with me. The leaks in the system were so bad that at times it was almost impossible to see and you could hardly breathe. One of the two Japs I worked with, did die from over-exposure to the ammonia gas, while trying to repair a flange leak. This was after the engines were overhauled and back in operation and I was back full time at my job in the bath house. As for me, I lived through it, I often wonder how, because after about the third week in that ammonia atmosphere, I started coughing up blood and this continued for a long time after the ordeal was over. Everything as far as general health and everything seemed to remain on an even keel for sometime then, but as usual, things had to change. One night, around midnight, everyone in the hut I slept in, was awakened and loaded on trucks and taken to Clark Field. My work at Clark Field was transferring gasoline by hand pump from tank trucks to barrels. The barrels would then be loaded on trucks and taken away. The fumes from the gasoline were so bad that I saw Japs that had to work in the area for only short periods of time, get so dizzy that they would pass out. I don't remember just how long I was on this detail. Perhaps three or four months. Had it been much longer, I'm sure I would not have lived through it. There were 25 or 30 Americans that started on this detail with me and when we were later taken into Manila and put in to Bilibid prison, there were only four of us still living. Two died on the way to Manila, because were we locked into a train boxcar for several days with very little food and water. Sometimes, no food at all. At times it must have been 150( in it. I stayed in the Bilibid prison for maybe five weeks and while there I was given three meals a day of rice and soup. Barley sometimes, was substituted for rice and it was a good thing this happened, because it gave my body a chance to rebuild a little. The next ordeal was as bad as anything I experienced during my imprisonment. Over 1,000 of us were put in a hole of a ship, called the Nato Maru and we were shipped to Japan. I thought nothing could be any hotter than the train box car had been, but it had been cool compared to the hole of this ship. Men were pushed and shoved down into this ships hole until there was simply no room for anymore. A half barrel was place near the ladder for the toilet facilities and being packed in the hole as we were, and many of the men having Diarrhea and Dysentery, it was impossible for most of us to make it to the barrel. After a few days or even a few hours, the smell was so bad that the Japs closed the lid on the hole. This of course, didn't help, it made the heat and the smell even worse. The food we received was only boiled barley lowered into the hole once a day. Naturally, not enough. Fresh water was lowered into the hole, sometimes twice a day. But, you were lucky to get even as much as a tablespoon full. There just wasn't enough to go around. You did not allow yourself to passout, because if you did there was no way anyone could help you, even if they had wanted to. So, if you didn't suffocate, the filth you would be laying in would kill you. We piled up our dead in front of the hole and the Japs would lower a rope, and we would tie the dead onto this rope to be hoisted out. On about the 10th day out, I guess the smell from the hole, even thought they kept the lid closed, was so bad that even the Japs could not stand it. They took us out on deck, with the exception of those that couldn't walk and washed us down with sea water. The also hosed down the hole. All this felt pretty good at the time, but later, the heat in the hole just seemed to bake the salt from the sea water onto your body and it even felt worse if it were possible. Of all the men put in this ships hole, a third or more of them had died. We were finally taken out of the hole 14 or 15 days later when we docked in Tokyo. There we were put on a train and sent to the Hanawa prison camp near Sindia in Northern Japan. When I was being put aboard this ship, I had about 1/2 of an old blanket which I almost threw away, because it was so very hot that day, but for some reason I didn't. I hung onto it. Believe it or not, this is what I am sure saved my life. Because after only a few hours in the hole, I knew I was going to have to do something that would assure that I stayed in an upright position and on my feet. I worked my way through, over and around the men until I was along the outside of the hole where there were some pipes. Here I made a deal with a man. It was all I could do. My deal was that I would share my blanket with him. Tearing it in half, we tied ourselves to the pipes in an upright position and would watch over one another, taking turns sleeping while hanging in the blanket straps. I don't remember much about the train trip from Tokyo to Sindia, except that it seemed to me that the train was at times traveling at very high speed. We were again in a box car. The Hanawa prison camp at first did not look too bad. There were buildings with two tiers which were similar to upper and lower bunks. There was a dirt floor in the center of the building. I believe there was something like 500 Americans and there was some English prisoners brought in a little later. The first day we were there, we were given Japanese clothing. A G-String, a pair of cloth shoes with two webbings between your toes, a pair of very thin cotton type trousers and a jacket. The food here, again, was rice and soup made from sand shark heads. The second day in camp, we were told by the Japanese commander, through an interpreter, that we would be working up on the mountain, which we soon found out to be a copper mine at the summit. Only a few weeks passed before the snow came near the top of the mountain. We were marched up to the mine, before daylight and came back to camp after dark. It must have been two miles, or perhaps more, to the top. The march up was bad enough, let alone the twelve hours or so working in the mine. The work was very hard and back breaking and with winter coming on and not enough food, men soon became sick. When they would reach the point when they could no longer make the march up the mountain, they were taken to a place called the hospital. Again, it was a place to go and die. The winter was terrible. I don't know how any of us made it through. The snow was 8 - 10 feet deep. We actually had tunnels from one building to the other. In many ways this deep snow was a God send, because most of the time there was no heat in the buildings, and when there was, it was for short intervals. The deep snow helped shield the buildings from the cold winds. At this time, health-wise, I was just holding my own. But, as usual, change came as change will come. I was pulled out of the ranks one day and taken with two others to a shack along side of the mountain. This is where they stored dynamite. One Jap who spoke some English told us we were going to work with the dynamite crew. I knew a little about dynamite, because I had helped my brother blow stumps back home on the farm. Therefore, the thought of working with dynamite didn't bother me as much as the other two men, but, they were forced to work with us. The Japanese crew of four men were better to us in general than the guards that were with us on the pick and shovel crew. The work was still very hard. There was never any ventalation at the tunnel where we prepared to blast. Sometimes the dust after the small blast, when we went back to prepare for the main blast, would be so thick you could hardly see to work. At these times, they usually gave us something to tie over our mouth and nose, but many times it would still be impossible to breathe. You would be all choked up and cough to the point of vomiting. The work went on for several months, until one day, one of the Japs saw, while I was coughing, that I was spitting up blood. He made me sit down the rest of the afternoon. The next morning, I was pulled out of the ranks and knocked to the ground. I never knew what this beating was for, but I was then taken to the so called hospital. Being out of the dust, the cough did get better, but I seemed to get weaker and weaker and could barely walk, when the Japanese surrender came. The day of the surrender, the Jap commander gave a speech through his interpreter and turned the command over to the American officers. I don't remember just what took place then, with the exception of a plane flying over. It was an American Navy plane. The Pilot dropped a message asking what we needed most. We were to put on the building tops, one stripe if we needed medicine, two stripes if we needed food, three stripes for clothing.
We needed everything, so one stripe was put on one building, two stripes on another, and three on a third. He dropped another note saying we can't give you everything that you ask for, but the B-29's can. We didn't know what he was talking about, but the next day, we found out. These B-29's flew in over very low for planes of that size. I know I had never seen anything that big in the air before. One after another came over and dropped medicine, food, clothing and in three days they had dropped enough for 20,000 men. It was the craziest thing I ever saw. A drum of sugar came right through the roof, landing within a few feet of me. I managed to get out of the building and walked into a field. Here I could see just what was going on. I don't know whether I walked, rolled or crawled, I just know I got out of the building, because after going this far, I certainly wasn't going to be killed by some fool dropping food from the sky on me. I don't mean to sound unappreciative, but they did manage to kill a few people with cases of peaches, barrels of sugar, etc. After things settled down, it was nice to be clean, have clothing and good food. It was impossible for the American officers to keep everything under control at first. Several people actually died from gorging themselves. I saw troops with huge balls of sugar, eating as if there were no tomorrow. There was no way in hell that your system could handle that kind of abuse. After American officers regained order, a lot of the food, medicine and clothing was given to the Japanese people, which had been so very abusive to us. After two days, those of us that couldn't walk or could barely walk, were put on a train and taken to Tokyo. In Tokyo, I was in a building very close to the waterfront. Here the Americans, I assume some were doctors, took my temperature, asked questions as to how I felt and general health, etc. After a few good meals, being free, and able to again walk, I may have been half dead, but I still would have felt good, under those conditions. I'm sure my answers to everyone were, I feel great. I don't remember just how long I was held in Tokyo, but I'm sure it wasn't long until I was shipped to the Phillipine Islands. While in the Phillipines, I remember getting very sick again, with Malaria and Diarrhea. I don't know how long I was held in the Phillipines, because I was put on a hospital ship and sent to Seattle, Washington. I just remember being deathly sick and I slept most of the way from Manila to Seattle. After docking in Seattle, we were taken directly to a hospital. Here, they took what little clothing we had and gave us pajamas, cotton slip-on slippers and robes. I don't remember how long I was in this hospital, but I do remember from the food and medicine I was receiving, that I was feeling pretty well. Then, one day, when the doctor was examining me, we were talking about my cough, he turned to the nurse and said, "transfer this man to another ward." After the doctor left, it wasn't long until a man came and had me go with him to supply. Here I was issues a whole bag of clothing. He then took me to Finance and they gave me $300.00. I was then taken to the Train Station, given my travel papers and put on the train. My travel papers were to Camp Attebury, Indiana. All through this, I kept trying to tell the Corporal that I thought I was only supposed to be transferred to another ward. He simply said, "I guess they changed their minds, because here's my orders and this is your travel papers that have been cut." So, I went along with it. When I arrived at Camp Attebury no one seemed to know what to do with me. After about two days, I ended up talking to the camp commander, who issued orders to give me a pass so I could go home and see my family. I think I was home for about a week or so, at that time I had problems with Diarrhea. Our family doctor gave me some pills to take care of it. When I reported back to Camp Attebury, they still had nothing but travel papers that I had turned over to them. So, they let me go home again. This time, I was home for two, maybe three weeks. Anyway, when I reported to Camp Attebury, I was told that the hospital made a mistake and that I was to go to an air base in Fresno, California. This time, they cut travel papers, gave me travel pay and left it up to me as to how to get there as long as I reported by a certain day. I reported in on time, but was as unwanted there as I had been at Camp Attebury. I remember saying to the officer, "Sir, I spent 3 1/2 years in Japanese prison camps and based on the confusion and run around I'm getting since being returned to our people, I feel damn fortunate that I didn't have to spend another three years with the Japs." He assured me that he would get everything straightened our and was quite understanding. He said for me to just take it easy and rest, which I did. In a few days he came to me saying, "I'm sorry, but there has been another mistake made. You were supposed to have gone to a hospital in Ohio. You were not supposed to have been sent here at all." So, to make a long story short, travel papers were cut, travel pay issued and I was on my way again. When I reported into the hospital in Ohio, surprisingly, they were expecting me, but the didn't have any medical history, any papers from Seattle or any other place, just a telegram from the base in Fresno, that I would be coming in. He also related some of the problems I had been through. By this time, all I wanted was to get some of the money I had coming, get out of the service and after several trips from the hospital to Camp Attebury, I accepted an incorrect discharge, just to get turned loose. Shortly after that, with the help of Indiana Senator Capehart, my discharge was corrected and I received the additional pay due me. I, of course, never contacted the V.A. Hospital in Ohio, again, mainly because of the treatment I received there during that examination. I did contact the V.A. while living in Cincinnati, Ohio. I believe that was in 1957. I was granted an interview but was told that my record and condition did not warrant hospitalization at that time, so again, all my physical problems were handled through chiropractors and private physicians. While living in Chicago, I again contacted the V.A. and again, I got as far as the interview and was turned down. However, this time I could not win the mental battle against the physical problems I have had and ended up hospitalized and taken care of by a private physician. The hospitalization this time was primarily for pulmonary problems. The hospital was in Dyer, Indiana. Since moving to Oconto, Wisconsin in 1969, I have been hospitalized three times because of pulmonary and pain and cramping in my lower extremities. I have had these conditions since and during the time I spent in Japanese prison camps, along with God only knows what else is causing my weakness and early fatigue. They have gotten progressively worse over the years. This brings me to my hospitalization of May 3, 1976 through May 6, 1976, at Wood Veterans Hospital, Milwaukee, Wisconsin. I knew if I just went to the hospital, I might get as far as an interview and be turned down as in the past, or at least I felt I would, so I wrote to my state representative for help. He informed me to contact my local service officer in this area. I've written to him three times since then, but to date, he has not acknowledged those letters. Finally, his secretary wrote a letter on the proper V.A. form to the V.A. office in Milwaukee. I later received a letter telling me when to report to the V.A. hospital. After reporting to the admittance desk, I was ushered into a small room for the general examination. I assume he was a doctor. The interview started just like all of those in the past i.e. asking questions about my skin conditions, intestinal infestations, Malaria, if and how many days Diarrhea kept me from work, etc. When I tried to explain that I had requested an examination covering pulmonary problems, and pain and cramping in my legs, the interviewer got very irritated and slammed the file before him shut and said, "Do you want the examination or not?" I said of course, I want the examination I requested. He said then just answer my questions. I did just that, but he never asked me questions related to my lungs and legs, which I had requested the examination for. While in the hospital, toward the end of my stay, I asked one of the doctors examining me, just when will they get around to examining my lung and leg problems. The problems I am here for? He said to me, "You are not scheduled for any other tests, Mr. Whittinghill, but I noticed you are short of breath and are having difficulties breathing." He listened to my chest for a few moments and told me, "I'm not supposed to do this, but for a minute I'm just going to forget about the red tape around this place." With this, he gave me a prescription and told me to take it to the pharmacy. I did and the pills did help. A short time later, one of the nurses came in and told me I was all through and to go. My examination was completed. So, I packed up my things and went to the admittance desk and asked to see the hospital administrator. She told me it was impossible for me to speak to him. I told her I wanted to speak to someone, because I did not received, as far as I was concerned, the examination I had requested. This seemed to excite her very much. She came out from behind her desk and asked me to follow her. She led me to a cage like office, where records were kept. I stayed outside at one of the windows. After removing a paper from a file, she said, "Mr. Whittinghill, you received everything on the examination requested by the regional office." I asked to have a copy of that paper, but she refused, saying she couldn't do that. By this time I was getting very irritated. She asked me to follow her back to her desk. Here she made a phone call. Then she hung up. She told me the administrator (Mr. Beckler), wasn't in, but his assistant said if I wasn't satisfied with the exam I had received, I would have to make another request through proper channels. I knew what that meant, going back to my service officer and starting all over again. So disgustedly, I gave up and walked out. As always, I went back to my private physician. I was later hospitalized and treated for the very things I had asked the V.A. to examine me for. These irreversible diseases that have plagued me from the days in prison camp, to this very day have progressively gotten worse and have reached a point of turning me into a near vegetable. It is sometime nearly impossible to keep going on.
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This is the personal account of Harry J. Whittinghill, who endured the Bataan Death March and over three years in Japanese prison camps.
While on guard one day, the First Sergeant came to see me and told me I was being transferred and to be ready to leave early the next morning. This was sometime during mid-October of 1941. We were sent from March Field to an Army base in San Francisco. Here we were assembled with other men who came from all parts of the country. In only a few days we were taken to Angel Island, told there that we should send the following address to our families, giving only our name, rank and serial number. Our address was PLUM, in care of the San Francisco Post Master. On Angel Island, we were issued full winter clothing gear and sailed November 1st on the President Coolidge from Angel Island to Hawaii. We were in Hawaii for two or three days and then sailed under blackout at night. Two other ships joined us about this time, and I was told by someone that they were battle ships, but I didn't know one from the other at that time. We were quickly taken from the President Coolidge after docking and set up in a tent city near Nichols Field. I was assigned to a radio company, but again, was never called for duty. Most of our time was spent cleaning the area and simply laying around. I remember some of us went into Manila a couple of times. Oh! What a headache, but good times were had by all. On December 7th, we were told and heard on the radio about Pearl Harbor being bombed, but no one seemed to get overly excited. There was a lot of talk, pro and con, as to what might take place, but in general, life went about the same for the next two days. Then, on the 10th day of December, all Hell broke loose. As I remember, I was laying on my cot look toward the cook house. I could hear guns and explosions and a lot of noise and I knew that something was going on. I was just about to get up and look, when all at once the cook shack simply disintegrated. This was about 10:00AM. I rolled out of my cot under the tent flap and was laying on the ground along the side of a rice field water dyke. This dyke saved my life, because moments later, I was being hit with dirt and debries that came, or seemed to come, from all directions. A few large bombs dropped in the tent city area and a lot of small planes made several passes into that area, strafing and shooting small rockets and dropping small bombs. There were some killed and several wounded quite near me. One in particular, that always seems to come back to my mind and has bothered me many times in the past, was one of the cooks that was somehow able to run out of the cook shack, still holding some kind of cooking pan and was only a few feet from me, when all of a sudden, he seemed to simply fall apart. Parts of him went one way, while others went another. The pan landed within a few inches from me and it was hardly damaged. After the bombers and small planes left, I got up and looked around. What a Hell of a mess. The tent that I had been in was burning and the bed that minutes before I was lieing in, was in a shambles. It seemed like eternity, but it wasn't long until medical people were in the area, doing what they could. Those of us that were not hurt physically, were put into trucks and moved out. I don't seem to remember anything more until working on a makeshift air field. I don't even know where it was at. I remember that there was an engineering company there also, and that they had a few pieces of heavy equipment and that a hold was dug to put the radio equipment at the air field underground. This was a mistake, because the second, third and fourth time the bombers came, all that were on duty in the radio pit were buried alive. I can remember saying to myself when we started to dig the hole, that there was no way in Hell they are going to get me into that hole. But, I wasn't asked and I was assigned to line duty. There were seven or ten P-40 or P-40E planes and three PT-13's that had made it to this air field from somewhere. But, they did not last long because on the fourth or fifth day, most of the planes were caught on the ground and as I remember, I think one managed to get off the ground, but never returned. The planes were being destroyed on the ground and with nothing better to do, we set out to remove the fifty caliber guns from the planes and managed to get a few of them to work.
snake. Even though it seemed as quickly as a shot, I was out of the gun pit, but it wasn't fast enough. The snake had bitten me on the leg, or so I had thought. But, not true. In my haste to remove myself from the pit, I had scratched my leg on something. Later a Filipino told me that if I had been bitten, I would not have been talking about it, because it was a very poisoness one. On the 24th of December, we destroyed everything we could not carry and moved into a small village. There we were joined by Filipino men that were assigned to the division of the Phillapine Infantry. Food came in by truck and we had a very good Christmas dinner. We were also told at that time that we could send short telegrams to our families, but if thet were ever sent, they were never received. That Christmas dinner I will never forget, because it was the last meal of its kind until September of 1945. On December 26th, we were all given rifles. Some makes of the rifles were Springfields and some Infields. Some worked, some didn't. Some of the men in my group had never shot a rifle. They were from large cities and had joined the Air Force and received some training covering dismanteling and care of pistols, but knew nothing about a rifle. These rifles were Army surplus and packed in Cosmolene. To get some to work, we actually had to interchange parts. We were also issues hand grenades, surplus from World War I. I remember how proud we were to hang them on our belts. About 90% didn't go off and probably hurt us more than they helped us. However these young people soon learned how to operate these arms, because the very next day, the village was bombed and straffed. The pursuit straffing planes at first came in very low and everyone got to experience shooting a rifle, even though the fire power was useless against the planes. It helped to build morale to a bunch of kids, ranging in age from 18 - 25 years. After the bombing and straffing of the village, it was again pretty rough. I myself, beginning to build up a resistance for lack of a better word, to the horrors of war, because already in less than a month, I had experienced several deaths, wounded people and people who were buried alive. However, to several, this was their first experience being brought into the village by truck from somewhere away from the air fields. They had never before seen mothers screaming and running down the streets holding a baby with its intestines hanging out and maybe an arm or leg missing or even such as a whole family buried alive in a trench that they dug too deep. When a bomb dropped close enough, it would cave in the trence on top of them and only an arm or hand would be protruding. As we moved further and further from Manila toward Bataan, the same could be said for each village. Some worse, some not quite so bad. The villages where there was a stream or a bridge was always hit the hardest. Some time late January or early February, several truck loads of us were taken directly to Guam Bay on Bataan. There were Japs on the points on each side of the Bay when we arrived. We retook these points and held them under daily attacks from the gun boats and daily barged landing attempts. Until around the first of April, we were ordered to destroy everything we could not carry and were sent back further inland to set up a new line of defense. But, this never happened, because word came of the surrender before a line could be organized. The life at Guam Bay could never be explained, because it was too deep in Hell to ever be brought to life. During the time my grandfathers words really stood out even though I wasn't yet a prisoner.
bombing cleared the underbrush and good sized trees. There were of course, the wounded and sick that accompanied the whole ordeal and somehow by this time, ones mind and body had turned to stone or at least mine had. Because I can recall thinking about what I was seeing and doing, I truly could not come up with any deep feeling about anything. I was just a part of it. I, of course, will never know why I was not killed or badly wounded through all of this. Once a sniper bullet went through my boot, barely nicking my ankle. Once, in a fox hole, more like a trench with another fellow, while under heavy fire, he turned to me, stood up and said "My God, man, don't you ever pray?" With that, he received a bullet through his head. This brings me to the actual surrender of myself and six or eight others. Surrender was three maybe four days after the major surrender of the men at Guam Bay. Word was passed along to destroy everything and assemble along the road leading from the main road into Guam Bay. At this time, four of us were stationed in a 50 caliber gun pit at the far end of the left point. These points had names, but we just called them left and right points. After receiving this word, we destroyed everything but did not report to the designated location for assembly, but started making our way through the woods toward the main road. Just why we did this, I don't really know now. We had a little food that we had gotten from the Filipinos. Some dryed chicken and dried fish and a little bit of rice. I'm not sure just how many days we stayed in the woods before presenting ourselves at the main road, but it had to be three or four. We, of course, thought of trying to escape, but the question was to where and how? None of us knew anything about the islands, even just where we were at the time, so finally we simply walked out onto the road and waited until some Jap trucks came along. While standing on the road, we were joined by three or four other Americans who had also stayed in the woods for a few days, hoping for some kind of a miracle. It wasn't long after this that I was wishing that I had stayed in the woods. Three Jap trucks came along with six Japs on each truck. They stopped and at first, I actually felt that they were going to shoot us, but finally one of them seemed to be in command and took over. He had the others strip us of our clothing, rings, watches, etc., leaving us clad only in our shorts. Then they split us up, forcing some to jump into each truck. The truck bodies were metal and the temperature must have been about 120( in the shade. The first American to jump into the truck, jumped back off immediately, because the metal base was burning his feet. Because he jumped off, he had his head split open with the butt of a Jap rifle. At bayonet point, they forced the rest of us into the trucks. We of course, had seared feet. It was very painful at the time, but for me, turned out later to be a blessing while making the death march. From where they picked us up, they took us to an area near Marvielles and pushed us off the trucks near several other Americans. Some of the Americans were partially clothed, some only in Japanese G-Strings and others like us. We were soon separated and lost track of each other. What the other did about their feet, I do not know. But for me, I found a sandy spot and dug a hole about a foot deep and buried my feet in the cool sand. This relieved the pain and finally I went to sleep, it being about dusk at this time. The next morning the Japs brought rice and water in barrels and one of them that spoke English, told us that it would be all we would get for the day. An American officer took charge and saw that everyone was given an equal share, which was very little and that the sick was given ample water when maybe some of us did with a little less. The following day, another surprise. They dropped off half as much rice and water. About midafternoon, two trucks pulled up and piled them full of Americans and drove away. No one knew what was going on but the next morning, three more trucks came and were loaded in the same way, I being one of these and only a few sick and wounded were left behind. We were taken to a blacktop road, unloaded and put in ranks of six abreats and started marching. Our guards were, at the time, on horseback, some were in front of us and some were behind us and some were along the sides of the road. My feet being buried in the cool sand for almost three days, or for as much time as I could keep them there, while we were at that one location, almost had head and the sand seemed to mix with the blisters. The soles of my feet were almost as tough as leather. When stepping on the hot asphalt, gave me no pain at all, but many had their shoes taken from them while on the march or just before starting it. Their feet were literally cooked. Others, who managed to keep their shoes developed blisters, sometimes to the point that their feet looked like raw meat. While on Bataan, I had Malaria. There we had liquid Quinine and for the most part, had been able to keep it under control. But now, five or six days had gone by and with little or no water and only small supplies of rice to eat each day, I was beginning to get weak and faint and many times in the evenings and nights, chills and fever would almost shake me apart. Somehow, I would make it through the night and be back on my feet the next morning, ready for marching the next day. After three or four days, the group I was with was taken from the road and put into an old building. Here we were held for another four or five days. I never knew why, because we still could see others passing through the village on the march. Some were Filipinos. Finally, we were taken back to the road and we started on the march again. Our guards at this time, had been changed and were walking along with us and the Japanese on horses were gone. While in the building, we received no food, but we did have plenty of water. The two days without anything to eat were almost too much for some and when we started the march again, those that were just too weak, began to lag back or fall out of ranks and when they did, it was simply their end.
Thank God I did not stay in this particular area too long or I would surely have died. It was one terrible mess. One day, some Japs came into the area and took some of us, perhaps 20 and loaded us into trucks. One Jap that spoke some English told us that we were going to pick up wood to cook rice with. We were taken to the wooded areas in the neighborhood to pick up broken limbs and logs. I was on this detail for several weeks. The work was hard because of our weakened bodies, but we were housed away from the sick. I am sure we were fed a little more. At best, for the work we were doing, it was not half enough. One day, one man tried to run away. He of course was shot and the rest of us severly beaten and taken back to camp. Here we were put into a small hut know as a sweat box, and given very little rice and water for ten days. We were never allowed outside. Four men died in those 10 days and their bodies were never removed from the hut. We just piled them in a corner and tried not to look, but of course, the smell was beyond tolerance. Then, in the middle of the night, a truck backed up to the front of the hut, we were loaded into it and left Camp O'Donnell. We rode the rest of the night and shortly after daybreak, were unloaded and put in a building approximately 20 feet by 50 feet. A few hours later, we were given all we wanted to eat of rice and fish and had plenty of water. We were held here several days and the fact is, we were treated quite well, fed good, allowed to use water to bathe and even take walks outside the building in a fenced area. Sometimes the Filipinos were allowed to give us bananas and other fruits and vegetables. In time, our bodies began to rebuild a little, but it all came to an end again. While at this place, a Filipino gave me a small bottle of liquid Quinine. Again, something I believe saved my life. One day we were loaded on trucks and we met some other trucks loaded with Americans. I don't remember how long or how far we traveled, but we ended up in a village called Del Carmine. We were held in a fenced area for about a day and a half and were then moved into a building that was build something like a theatre, each tier being about 8 - 10 inches above the other and about 2 1/2 - 3 feet deep, with the stage located in the center at the bottom.
