Chapter 3

Chapter 4

FORT MILLS HOSPITAL

 

The sun was setting by then and the Rock was getting ready to call it a day. So far nothing had been organized. I noticed segregated groups seeking out an open space or a cosy spot in the midst of the debris, searching for a place to make their camp.

The atmosphere was that of a stricken city after some terrible earthquake. Not a house, not even a concrete wall, had survived the furious bombardment to which the island had been subjected. Fortunately most of the men still had a few tins of canned goods. I warned several of them to eat sparingly of their scanty supply, for eventually there would be a scarcity of provisions.

In one of the tunnels into which I looked, food was piled up to the ceiling in large cardboard and wooden boxes. A Japanese sentry was on guard, permitting a few of the men who had absolutely nothing to organize themselves into groups, each with an appointed leader, to whom two cases were handed. It was the job of each of these leaders to divide the contents of the cases in equal proportions.

The troops seemed satisfied. At one place I noticed several of them digging into the debris, holding sacks or hats in their hands. "It's flour, sir," a little lone Filipino sobbed. "They won't let me have any." Going to his rescue I barked out, "Say, there, there is to be no discrimination here. Let this Filipino have some."

"He's just afraid to come here and help himself," came the reply.

I gave the Filipino a hefty push and he disappeared into the debris. A few minutes later he emerged with a sack partially full. "It's buckwheat. It makes good pancakes, Thank you, sir." He seemed very happy and disappeared into the rapidly falling shadows.

Continuing my wanderings, I passed a group of American soldiers carrying three men on something that looked like a home-made stretcher.

"'What's the matter?" I asked.

"We found 'em on the North End, wounded, not too serious. Taking them to the hospital in Tunnel Nine." I walked with them for a while and discovered that the wounded men were suffering from back, leg and shoulder wounds. The poor fellows must have been neglected for at least a whole day; they were writhing in pain and agony. These were definitely wounds from shrapnel.

By now night had set in. I realized that I had a problem of my own. Where had Lieut. Mochizuki and the newsmen gone? They must be camping somewhere nearby, I thought. I walked on under a railway trestle and a battered bungalow came into view, and behind it a metal storehouse of some kind. I entered the bungalow first and asked if the Propaganda Corps were around. The men inside indicated the metal structure, where, they declared, they had seen some newsmen.

I walked into the metal storehouse which was bright with candlelight and someone shouted, "There's Uno! Say where have you been?" It was the Domei correspondent. They had all eaten. I could tell that by the empty tins and mess cans. Lieut. Mochizuki asked if I had had anything to eat yet. I said No, whereupon he ordered a soldier to open me canned fish and passed me the mess can with some left over rice. That was probably the most untidy meal I had ever had, but it was also one of the most delicious. I plunged in and ate like a horse. By the time I had finished, not a grain of rice was left.

The little structure housed about seventy soldiers. Some of them had rummaged about and had found iron beds and some mattresses among the ruins. The majority, however, had nothing to sleep on except the concrete floor—except those of the newsmen who had brought along blankets and rubber collapsible pillows. Everyone just lay around, tired and foot-sore. Only in our group was there any talking; the newsmen were discussing their observations.

Somewhere in the distance I noticed a large fire tended by three soldiers. My curiosity was aroused. Slipping on my boots, I walked toward the blaze which was burning rapidly with flames mounting ever higher. I asked one of the men what was going on, and to my surprise, found that this was a funeral pyre. The soldiers were burning the remains of their dead comrades. Silently I left that little scene and my thoughts strayed to the bravery of the Japanese soldiers. I recalled the words of Capt. Hoeffel ... "they are truly 'human bullets'."

Through the darkness I returned to our shanty. Most of the men had already gone to sleep but there was a space reserved for me. I undressed, stripping off everything except my shorts, and sprawled out on the paper over the concrete floor. For a pillow, I had rolled up my uniform. Staring absent-mindedly into the air, my attention was drawn to the sky—or what I had thought to be the heavens studded with countless stars. Actually, I was staring at the metal roofing and what I had imagined to be stars were in reality the holes made by machine-gun bullets and shrapnel. Comforted by the thought that this was all over as far as Corregidor was concerned, I soon fell into a deep dreamless sleep.

The next thing I knew there was a great deal of commotion going on around me. It was already daylight.

Everyone was up and preparing for breakfast. In three minutes I was dressed myself and looking for water in which to wash. Twenty feet away I noticed a soldier standing on guard over half a dozen boxes wrapped in white cloth ….the urns in which the ashes of Japanese soldiers were encased, waiting to be sent home to their final resting place in the Yasukuni Shrine in Tokyo.

A hurried handful of rice and some tea—and the breakfast was finished. The correspondents were slowly breaking .up into twos and threes. Once more I was a lone wolf. To begin with, I went round taking photographs of the early morning scene in that devastated fort. The prisoners were very quiet and orderly, but somehow, under their restraint, I sensed a feeling of freedom now that they had no officer to order them around on routine duties and there was no further need of dodging shells or being on the alert for enemy planes. .They probably realized, however, that this freedom would: be short-lived and that soon they would be confined in prison camps and put to work.

At several places prisoners came up to me and inquired what was to become of them. I answered that I had nothing to do with regard to prisoners, but that my guess was that they would soon be divided into groups, placed in various camps, and put to work reconstructing the destruction they had carried out during their retreat—I meant, of course, their scorched earth policy. Some of them asked me if they would he taken across to Bataan or Manila. When I said there was a possibility of it, one soldier exclaimed: "Bataan.! I thought I had got out of that God-forsaken hell!" I asked him what he meant, but he only mumbled something that sounded like "Jungle, malaria, flies, Goddamn!" I let it go at that.

On learning that the hospital was in Tunnel Nine, I darted up the hill in that direction. Somehow I didn't like these huge tunnels, though I could not help but appreciate the engineering  achievement involved in their construction.

To me they seemed like mines—dark, stuffy and damp. I must have walked for about ten minutes before I came across the corridor marked Hospital Station.

I had already passed numerous other corridors lined with beds. Now, for the first time since my arrival at Corregidor, I saw women—hospital nurses. Most of them continued with their duties but a few stood at attention as did the male prisoners. In the Hospital Station I sought the M.D. in charge and was introduced to Col. W. E. Cooper, chief surgeon and officer-in-charge of the hospital.

He was an elderly man with glasses and a slightly reddish face. He looked more like a missionary than an army officer. He said he was from Texas and wanted to know how- I spoke so much English, as if 1 had been in America. I told him I had been brought up in Utah.

"You are not a Mormon by any chance?" he asked jokingly.

"Not yet. I've only got one wife," I replied. We all had a hearty laugh.

Several nurses stood nearby pretending to be occupied in some work. I knew they were just curious and were listening to every word I spoke. At my remark, frightened expressions suddenly changed to suppressed smiles. I imagined —after inhaling that particular smell which is so typical of any hospital in the world, and seeing row after row of beds occupied by miserable burdens of wrecked humanity—that the cruel realities of war were pressing heavily on their minds.

We sat down and I asked Col. Cooper for a drink of water. One of the assistant doctors immediately brought me a cup which he filled from a bottle. The water was cold enough but some stuff which had been put into is as a disinfectant tasted terrible and the smell almost choked me.

"What vile stuff," I grimaced.

"Best insurance against sickness here." Col. Cooper looked annoyed. In all probability I had betrayed my ignorance. Quickly changing the subject, I asked him if he had records as to how many men were being treated in the hospital and a possible casualty list.

He called another doctor who was introduced to me as Dr. Lieut.-Col. Joseph S. Craig, from Indianapolis, Indiana. He was a fellow of about forty, reddish face, blond hair, very cultured—not at all the military type. He saluted me and said "If you are interested, 1 will bring you a copy of our records on file." I told him I would appreciate it.

In the meantime, Col. Cooper disclosed to me that since yesterday, the time of the surrender, only one group of soldiers .accompanied by an officer had come in to view the hospital, that that numerous Japanese troops had come to ask for bandages, adhesive tape and iodine. He then asked me if I would introduce him to an officer of the Japanese Army Medical Corps as he wanted to offer his cooperation. I answered that I did not know anyone in the Medical Corps but told him not to worry as they would probably be coming soon.

Lieut.-Col. Craig returned with a thin typewritten sheet.

"This is only up to May 2," he stated, "but it is the only complete and authentic record we have of the dead and wounded handled by our hospital. It just gives figures, no names—it would be too long a list and incomplete at that." His manner was most courteous and kind. I took the list and studied it carefully. The figures amazed me. Col. Cooper, who was standing beside me, probably read my thoughts for he spoke suddenly in an authoritative way. "We I've been exceedingly busy," he declared, "always working ,under extreme pressure.

I scrutinized the report which read:

 

Station Hospital
Ft Mills, P.I.
 
Total casualties reported to May 2, 1942.
               

Killed in action: —

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

died:

American officers

..

..

..

..

..

..

44

 

19

Enlisted men

..

..

..

..

..

..

235

 

67

Philippine scouts

..

..

..

..

..

..

199

 

68

Philippine officers

..

..

..

..

..

..

67

 

22

Enlisted men

..

..

..

..

..

..

1146

 

436

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Total to May 2

..

..

..

..

..

..

1691

 

612

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

               
Wounded in action (severe):              
                  slight:
American officers

..

..

..

..

..

..

57

 

92

Enlisted men 

..

..

..

..

..

..

329

 

633

Philippine scouts

..

..

..

..

..

..

347

 

611

Philippine officers

..

..

..

..

..

..

93

 

152

Enlisted men 

..

..

..

..

..

..

1481   2396

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Total to May 2

..

..

..

..

..

..

2307   3884
                   
Chief Surgeon—Colonel W. E. Cooper        
Chief Nurse—(captain) Miss Maude C. Davidson    
                   
                   
Number of Medical Officers:            

Medical

            38  

Dental 

            7  

Administrative

            4  

Warrant Officers

            2  
                   
Number of nurses:            

American

            55  

Filipino

            31  
                   

 

Col. Cooper then told me that from May 1, the casualties might have been doubled.

"How many men are there in hospital now?" I inquired.

"I have no idea. They have been bringing them in every minute."

"Are they all wounded men or have you cases of sickness such as typhoid, cholera, malaria."

"Yes. At least 40 per cent of the men here are down with malaria. A number also have diarrheoa and dysentry." I. then, counting on his fingers, he continued: "I would say the actual distribution is about 50 per cent wounded, 40 per cent malaria and 10 per cent psycho-neurosis."

"What's this—cycle new roses?" I was very inquisitive, I guess. Col. Cooper proceeded to give me a detailed and (unreadable) explanation. It was more commonly know as shellshock. The more violent cases were known as hysterical mutism, in which case the patient is so mentally unbalanced that he is often dangerous, he pointed out. Whereas less serious cases of shellshock are known as psycho-neurosis, when the victim imagines that everything has gone wrong and is quite unable to control his nerves. In either case, complete cure is almost impossible. "These cases are more tragic than those suffering from wounds," he concluded.

Whilst talking to Col. Cooper, I could not help but notice that many of the nurses were hustling around the hospital corridors. A question sprang to my mind. "How did these nurses take the bombing?" I asked the doctor. He answered quite simply that they had taken it much better than the men. "There was not a single case of shellshock amongst the women," he declared with an air of pride. Then I.asked him if it would be possible to get a few of the nurses to pose for a photograph.

It was arranged immediately, though the girls asked to be dismissed for a few minutes in order CO be able to "powder their noses." The doctor shrugged his shoulders and winked, as if to say: "Women will be women, war or no war."

Personally, I thought there were several nurses present who did not need the aid of any artificial makeup. Some of them were beauties, just like the Hollywood nurses one sees in the movies. They wore half-sleeved khaki shirts with red cross arm bands and open necks, with khaki skirts to match. On their heads they wore field caps, slightly tipped to one side in typical American fashion. Despite the terrible strain of their work and the morbid atmosphere of the hospital in which they worked, taxed to the utmost by the gruesome conditions of war, these girls had managed to keep their lovely appearance—as only American girls know how.

At first, however, I was conscious of a barrier between us ... a sort of fear complex. This was probably the first occasion on which some of these nurses had come into contact with a Japanese soldier. Possibly they had heard the most awful things about us. But as soon as I had told them that I was from Shanghai and was particularly interested in collecting letters from American military officials for transmission to the United States via the radio, the atmosphere became more cordial and they appeared to be more at case with me. By the time the group had gathered inside the tunnel, we had become quite friendly. Spontaneous remarks were passed by the girls as they regained their natural composure ... "I'd give anything to be back in Nebraska" . . "What wouldn't I give for plain lettuce salad! California produces some of the finest lettuce in America" ... "When will I ever be able to go home" . . "I'm glad that it's all over for us" ... "Wonder what the folks back in Lynne (Massachusetts) are doing?"

It is difficult to describe exactly what conditions are like inside these famous Corregidor tunnels. Even admitting that they are an engineering feat, they still have their drawbacks. For instance, despite the elaborate air-conditioning system, the air is bad and hot. One perspires persistently and the noise and vibration from the machines is enough to drive one mad.

Then, too, the entire lighting system is artificial and this places a heavy handicap on the eyes. It tires one out and wears down on the nerves. Consequently, when our little group stepped out of the tunnel for the photograph, the girls plairily showed their enjoyment and relief as they breathed the fresh air for the first time in many days and stood there basking in the scorching sun. They were enjoying every second of this heaven-sent respite. They even enjoyed having their photo taken—and they pleaded with the colonel to allow them to sit out there for a while.

Col. Cooper readily granted their request. I sat with _them for a while, thrilled both by their beauty and by their frank, typically American way of saying things. I listened to the description of their home towns, which ranged from Eureka, California, to Concord, Massachusetts. The way they spoke was more interesting than the subject itself—I could have listened to them for hours. But, listening to their anmated conversation, enjoying their vitality, I was cynically conscious of their real motive. It was just their little ruse. I knew that they were keeping up this bright, endless chatter not for my sake, but just so that they might be able to stay out here in the bright sunshine for a little while longer.

Two girls in particular, First Lieutenant Gladys A.Mealer and Second Lieutenant Frances M. Nash, were very friendly. All these nurses had commissioned ranks, with the Chief Nurse holding the rank of Captain in the U.S. Army. Miss Mealer was from Gorgas, Alabama, and Miss Nash came from Washington, Georgia—in other words, both came from the South. How they had ever survived the ordeal in the tunnels of Corregidor, particularly through those last dreadful days before the surrender, puzzled me.

Even strong, husky men had gone crazy under the consistent barrage of our big guns. These beautiful girls, slim and dainty, certainly deceived the eye, I thought to myself. Inside, they are as strong as steel.

They spoke chiefly about "home", these girls, and should I start a conversation regarding Corregidor or the war, they would immediately turn from the subject in complete indifference. I gathered that the experience had been ghastly enough without having to talk about it.

An officer of the Medical Corps came up to me. "I understand that you will accept messages for those who want to send word home," he said. "Will you please send word to my wife?" I acquiesced and he squatted down on his knees, pulled out a fountain pen and began to write on a small piece of paper. Then he turned to me with a broad smile, saying: "You don't know how much I appreciate the kindness of the Japanese Army. Your soldiers have treated us very decently."

"That depends entirely on the conduct of prisoners," I remarked without realizing that I may have sounded sarcastic. I went on: "After all, we are human beings and have some sympathy. Furthermore, wars are not permanent; we will be friendly neighbors again—soon, I hope."

The officer smiled his appreciation and the unspoken message in his eyes seemed to say, "This letter means so much to me ... thank you."

I took the note and read it:

Mrs. Walter Manning
1926 Penn Avenue South,
Minneapolis, Minn., U.S.A.

"Safe and well treated by Japanese Army—dearest love, don't worry about me—pray that this will end soon. Walter."

In the left hand corner was added: "Lieut.-Col. W. P. Manning, Medical Corps, U.S. Army, Fort Scott, Manila."

The nurses had formed a group and they seemed to be discussing something. Very soon one of them approached me and asked if it would be possible for them to write a joint letter which could be signed by all of the nurses. I told them that it would be alright and they disappeared into the tunnel. About fifteen minutes later, a delegation returned with a neatly typewritten letter. It read: "To our friends and relatives at home—we are all safe and sound, treated well, and we send our love." It was signed by 67nurses, and below that was given the names and addresses  of those for whom the message was intended.

Then Col. Cooper returned and asked me to take care of a note which he had written to his wife in Baltimore, Maryland, reading, "Safe and sound—don't worry—being decently treated—love to all—wire mamma—Wibb."

By this time I had become quite popular with the nurses. They talked quite freely to me: now, asking me questions regarding conditions in Manila. We were getting along famously and when Col. Cooper asked me to return to his desk inside, I followed him most reluctantly. Several nurses who had brought out books and were reading, looked up with a friendly smile to bid me…"Bye".

At my request, Col. Cooper took me through the hospital galleries. That is to say, we started to go through them. There were, I was told, no less than sixteen rows of corridors and galleries. We went into one which had rows of beds lined up against the wall. The new daylight system of lighting was operating.

Every bed held an injured soldier. Those who were able to, were sitting up with arms in slings or with heavily bandaged necks or legs. In this particular corridor, the nurses were all Filipinos; they weren't as pretty as the American girls, but they, were hustling around listening to the calls of the men. There was undoubtedly a dire shortage of nurses. I asked Col. Cooper whether it was true or not that there had been a number of civilians on Corregidor—wives of the men in the service who were evacuated from Manila.

He admitted that at one time there had been several on the island, but added that they had recently been moved out to Australia and other safe places. I inquired how they had been able to get them away and he told me that they had been taken in submarines. It must have been a horrible trip for the women and children, I thought, for life in a submarine is neither comfortable nor pleasant even for the sailors themselves. And suppose the submarine encountered enemy ships ....I let my imagination wander, but Col. Cooper brought me back to grim reality once again.

"Here's a typical case of psycho-neurosis," he stated, as we halted before a bed. On it was lying a huge negro, his black curly head resting on a stack of pillows. "This man has already been under observation for several weeks. He is alright this time of the day. The shelling from Bataan by your big guns ruined him."

"Can't he be cured," I asked.

The huge negro stared blankly: I could not tell what he was looking at. It sent chills up and down my spine just looking at him. His heavy, fuzzy head was shaking perpetually as if he was muttering to himself "No, no, no, no, no, no. . . " From the corner of his mouth saliva was oozing, just like babies during their first few months. The big black hands resting on his lap were perpetually trembling.

"It is not so easy and it might take years," the doctor explained.

"But he is very quiet and calm. Doesn't he ever speak?"

"He tries to say something, but it is no use, it doesn't come out distinctly and it does not make sense. When the shelling was still intense, he used to shake violently and utter miserable groans...sometimes it was necessary to strap him down…but, as you can see for yourself, he is perfectly harmless now."

I started to move on. I had seen enough of him. A few beds further away was a fellow whose face and arms were as black as coal, while the rest of his body was reddish.

"This is a case of burns. He was on a truck which was laden with gasoline and a shell burst nearby. The concussion caused the truckload of gasoline to burst into flame and he was thrown some sixty feet by the explosion, while his body caught fire at the same time. He was rescued after sustaining severe burns on the arms and face ....but he will be alright."

I stared at the poor chap. There were no bandages on. He was bare, his burns exposed except for the greasy stuff that had been poured on them. I could not detect any expression on his face because it was a solid mass of burnt human flesh, just like an over-cooked hamburger. He must be in terrible pain, I thought. Again I moved on quickly. The smell of the hospital began to affect me—it was like a seasickness in the stomach.

As long as I live I will never forget the next patient that we came to. He was very young, not more than twenty-two or three at the most. A good looking fellow—blue eyes, light creamy hair, well-shaped ears and nose. His mouth was tightened to a thin slit and his body was as rigid as iron, but his head was rolling from one side to the other on the bed. It was obvious that he was in agony, suffering untold pain. Beads of perspiration trickled down his ashy forehead, literally soaking his pillow. Occasionally those clamped lips of his would move, but only a harsh whisper came out. It sounded like "Mother oh, Mother!" I stood there rooted to the spot, silently watching that figure of torment. The fellow on the next bed was turned in the opposite direction and he seemed to be covering his ears with a bandaged hand. "He will be alright in the next few days" Col. Cooper murmured. He was brought in a few days ago. His legs have been badly shot up by shrapnel. He had been lying for several days out there in the hills. Gangrene had set in. Before operating we had to feed him to the maggots....it was the only way we could save the upper portion of his legs. The pain must be unbearable, but he is taking it quite well.."

The next thing I remember, I was telling Col. Cooper that I had seen enough of the hospital. I was busy, I said. Anything to get out of that dreadful place.

Ten minutes later, I was out of the tunnel sitting in the sunlight on some cases of machine-gun bullets. It took me several minutes before I felt well enough to continue. 1 realized then how strong those nurses were—how strong they had to be.

 

 

Chapter 5

READ ON
 

Introduction | Author's Note | On to the Front | Gen. Wainwright Surrenders | Prisoners of War | Fort Mills Hospital | Racial Discrimination | Goodbye Corregidor | Lieut.-Comm. F. H. Callahan | Gen. Wainwright's Appeal | Official Communiqués | Santo Tomas Internment Camp |

 
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