May 6, 1942: Gen. Lewis C. Beebe, chief of staff of Gen. Wainwright on Corregidor, chronicles the fall of The Rock, and the demands of the Japanese for them to accept the American surrender:

The attack came last night at 11:15. The artillery began to pound us heavily again and the Japs landed at North Point, on the tail of the island. For a time it seemed that we might hold them, but by daylight it was apparent that they had landed in too great force to be ejected by troops available to us. They moved steadily toward the west end, using artillery and tanks, and at 10:30 Gen. Wainwright decided to surrender to avoid a slaughter if they came into the tunnel. An officer went out with a flag of truce to see if the senior Jap officer would come in and talk it over. He sent back word that Gen. Wainwright was to come out to see him. Gen. W. and Gen. Moore with their aides went out about 2:00 p.m. All this time fighting was still in progress. The Jap officer demanded surrender of all the Philippines but Gen. W. stated that Sharp and Mindanao were no longer under his command and requested that arrangements be made for a conference with Gen. Homma who commands Imperial Forces in the Philippines. Arrangements were made for Gen. W. to go to Bataan to meet Gen. Homma. Col. Pugh came back to the tunnel about 2:30 p.m. where I met him. Pugh was to get the General’s baggage and follow on over to Bataan in the crash boat. We packed up and left South dock as soon as possible. In the party were myself, Pugh, Maj. Lawrence, and three orderlies to look after baggage. When we arrived at Cabcaben no one was in sight. Pugh and I, with Sgt. Carroll carrying a white flag, went on up the dock toward the town, not knowing but what we might be fired upon at any moment, as the end of the dock was barricaded. However, the town also was deserted. We went on out to the main highway where we saw a truck. The driver could not speak English. Presently a staff car came by carrying [Japanese] newspaper men. They questioned us and took a few pictures of us. Then a truck arrived carrying several [Japanese] officers. We explained that we wanted to go where the conference was to be held with Gen. Homma. Finally they put us on the truck and took us to Lamao where a higher headquarters was located. After a few minutes they put us on the truck again and started back to Cabcaben. All this time would tell us nothing as to where we were going.

On arriving at Cabcaben we de-trucked at a small house on the northern end of the barrio, and there we found Gen. Wainwright. Gen. Homma had not yet arrived. During this period we had been treated courteously, and we found that the Japanese officers who took us to Lamao were good-natured and full of fun. We exchanged cigarettes with them and talked, as best we could, during the entire trip. We waited a considerable time at Cabcaben before Gen. Homma arrived. Shortly before he came we were lined up on the walk in front of the house and pictures were taken. We remained in front of the house until after Gen. Homma arrived and had taken his seat at a previously prepared long table on the porch. The arrangement of house and porch is as in the sketch below.

After Gen. Homma and his staff were seated we were told to come up and take our places on the opposite side of the table. We were arranged thus:

All discussion which followed was through an interpreter who was an officer in the Japanese army. Gen. Homma asked if Gen. W. was prepared to surrender all the forces in the P.I. Gen. W. replied that he was not in position to surrender all the forces in the P.I. as he was not in command of all of them. Gen. Homma asked if he had not been in command of all the P.I. as it was generally understood that Gen. W. commanded everything in the islands. Gen. W. replied that he had been in command of all the troops here, but that the force under Gen. Sharp in Mindanao and Visayan had been transferred to Gen. MacArthur. Gen. Homma said he did not understand how that could be done and he was not prepared to negotiate for anything except surrender of all troops in the Philippines. Gen. W. asked what will be the alternative if he did not surrender all the troops. At the question Gen. Homma smiled slightly and looked around the table at members of his staff. The officer on his left handed him a paper which he read and in turn handed to the interpreter who translated. In general, the statement was as follows: “The Imperial Japanese forces are prepared to negotiate only for the surrender of all United States forces in the Philippine islands.” Gen. W. replied that he could not surrender all forces even if he so desired as he had no means of communicating with them. He was asked if he would surrender all troops if the means of communication were provided. He replied that he was willing to send an officer to Mindanao by plane—there, through radio at Gen. Sharp’s headquarters to communicate with Gen. MacArthur and strongly recommend that all forces in the Philippines be surrendered.

There followed considerable discussion in Gen. Homma’s staff which I could not understand as it was all in Japanese. Thereafter, Gen. Homma stated that as he had come prepared to accept the surrender of all forces in the Philippines, and as such a surrender had not been tendered he was terminating the conference. He then stood up and left the porch, followed by the members of his staff. In less than a minute Gen. Homma and his staff were in cars en route to Manila. We had immediately left the porch and followed the Japanese officers to the lawn as we were all shocked at the abrupt ending of the conference. We found the interpreter and asked him what we were supposed to do as there had been no decision. He said we could go back to Corregidor and do anything we desired, and we were given to understand that as the negotiations had failed, the Japanese attack would continue. Since all our weapons had already been destroyed we were in no position to continue a defense, and Gen. W. told them that he was prepared to submit at once a written surrender of all forces in the Philippines. However, they would not accept it there, and stated that the surrender must be submitted to the commanding officer of Japanese troops on Corregidor. It was therefore necessary for us to return to Corregidor.

We therefore went back to the dock, and as the crash boat was sinking we took a Japanese boat. By this time it was dark—about 8:30. We had to land on the Japanese end of the island as we might be fired upon if we approached the west end. As we neared the island I became seasick or a combination of seasickness and something else. The boat was beached in about a foot of water and we had to walk ashore. Then we were marched in column of twos toward the tunnel. Before we reached the tunnel we were halted, and Gen. W. was taken to the Japanese headquarters where he wrote out the formal surrender. I did not go with him as I was still too ill. Thereafter we were all taken to the tunnel and restricted to our own sleeping quarters in lateral #10. Gen. W. was confined to his own room with a guard on the door. While we were gone during the afternoon, the Japs had entered the tunnel and taken over everything. It was about midnight when we returned.

Aaron A. Abston (1916-1992) was the Commanding Officer, Battery G, 60th Coast Artillery Regiment (Anti Aircraft), Corregidor. In his diary entry forMay 5, 1942, he describes the final countdown to the invasion of Corregidor:

The intense enemy activity of the week preceding the fateful night of May 5, 1942, presaged a “Big push” at an early date, and the moon was right for a night attempt, being on the wane-and rising about 3:00 pm.

So when the enemy artillery preparations for the attack began about 8300 pm,’ that night, the thought in every mind and the question on every lip was, “Is this it?” !

The personnel of the battery was in high spirits. Jhat afternoon we had engaged a flight of nine enemy heavy bombers with “Boston” and “Hartford”. He fired one string and suspended fire as the flight turned. ‘he bursts of all batteries appeared to be good. We resumed fire aS Soom as the flight straightened out on its course and continued as long as it was in renge. Our bursts obscured the target. ‘hey were the last bursts fired. “Shortly afterwards the 44 Gua Defense Command announced that ome plane had been seen to fall out of formation and disappeared at sea. Naturally we attributed this plane to our battery as we had been the last in action, and we gloried in ow success.

The men were now scattered about the emplacements lounging in the cool comfort of evening and discussing some mysterious lights wiich had been s een flashing at sea about 7:00 pm and listening with pleasure to the freight-train-like roar of 14″ shells from fort Frank passing directly over our heads at 4 low elevation, bidding revenge against the enemy on Bataan’. they were keeping close to their fox holes, as experience had taught them the dire necessity for it, particularly during our artillery action. About 8:00 pm we heard the guns on Bataan open up with the rapidity of machine gune fire. A shout of alarm was sounded, end everyone dived for cover to wait for the bursts to determine where the barrage was laid. Soon we had our answer: Kindley Field and Bottomside. We heaved a sigh of relief, and I sat on the edge of my command post pit listening to the rumble of the artillery. It was thrilling in its ferocity. suddenly without warning there was a blinding flash and a roa as a large caliber shell, presumably a 240 mm, exploded about

100 yards away. At irregular intervals during the bombardment, these large shells landed about the Golf course and our position, mamy being duds which shook nerves with their ground-jarring thumps. About 10:15 pm after two duds had landed in rapid succession om the upper part of the Golf course, shouts, sounds

of running feet, and then curses as men hit barbed wire entanglements in the dart were heard from the machine gunners manning the anti-paratroop machine guns in that area. Soon the two gunners fell gasping into my pit and requested permission to remaine “hen they caught their breath, I got their story. Ond dud had passed through a tree over their heads and landed a few feet just behind their pit. ‘+he other landed just in front of the pit. Brave men can stand only so much. I had seen these Same two Men only a few days-earlier laugh as they picked bomb fragments from their position and repaired their machinegun and a rifle which had been damaged in their small emplacement while they took shelter there. Now their nerves were gone; I gave my permission for them to remsin With me.

Sometime around 10:00 pm (time is so meaningless and interminable when you are pinned to the ground by artillery fire we heard the first staccato rattle of machine gun from Kindley field and the artillery began to slack off. We guessed then that the”big push”was One Soon reports over our “flash” line verified this. About 11:00 pm the AA Gun Defense Commander called me in person and confirmed these reports. He said that the battery should be prepared to move as infantry reserves on call, meanwhile our previous mission would remain unchanged. ‘The necessary orders were issued and the preparations promptly completed. Personnel was enthusiastic over the possibility of a chance to meet the enemy in close combat.

A glimpse of Baguio City at the start of the Japanese Occupation, is provided by Juan Labrador, OP on May 3, 1942:

Father Provincial offered me a seat in the car bound for Baguio to transport supplies. This trip which we used to make in four hours now took us nine, aside from the four days of preparation and securing of permits. What delayed us most were the stops and inspections at the police outposts. They examined—without reading, for evidently they did not understand—our passes and permits to purchase alcohol, use the car and bring supplies.

At the Villasis bridge, the Japanese sentry asked for a “sigarettu”. I offered him one but he snatched the whole pack without even a word of thanks for it.

We counted no more than three cars along the way. Where have the thousands of cars gone—those confiscated by the Japanese? We met a number of trucks loaded with goods and soldiers. Some trucks were driven by American prisoners.

Bulacan is intact, so it seems, and its streets are animated. Pampanga, meanwhile, is severely damaged, with the town of San Fernando and the north of Angeles burned. A great many sugar cane plantations were also burned. Tarlac and Pangasinan are deserted, with very few houses inhabited. Nobody—neither person nor animals—can be found in the streets. These towns which were once teeming with children, carabaos, dogs, chickens, and other animals, are now desolate, and the fields, razed, without a harvest. One would think an evil hand had transformed these green fields once so fertile and so populated into the Sahara Desert.

The bridges which the USAFFE had blown up in its desperate retreat, were replaced with improvised ones. I cannot tell how many of such bridges were built over dry river beds. We still have to see how many of them will be able to withstand the first typhoon.

People are hiding in remote barrios or in the mountains. Some of them return to their homes during the day, but go back to their hiding places at night for fear of the abuses of the army and the nocturnal pillages of armed bandits who burn and kill indiscriminately. Groups of communists, bandits or Sakdalistas who had accumulated arms left behind by the troops retreating to Bataan are increasing in number and ferocity.

George E. Steiger (1905-1960) was a Captain, U.S. Army, stationed in Corregidor with 59th Coast Artillery. He became a P.O.W. in the Philippines and Japan. In his diary entry for May 2, 1942, he records the spectacular destruction of The Rock’s Battery Geary:

Battery Geary sustained a direct hit and was blown up. One of the gun barrels weighing fifty tons was lifted 100 feet and drifted laterally about 200 feet to the middle of the golf course Topside. Of one hundred men only seven survived. The shock could be felt at my battery which is half way around the Rock. Corregidor is now the “most bombed area on earth” according to KGEI!

Arthur L. Shreve (1897-1969) was a Colonel, Field Artillery, US Army. In his diary entry for May 1, 1942 he describes conditions in Capas, Tarlac for POWs:

Conditions have improved & little, Mainly due to our own efforts, the food has been improved by the issue of a little wheat flour. Some native beans and a small issue of cocoanut oil, about once every 10 days, 3 or 4 small calves are brought in. Our strength is about 8000 – 9000 with about 60,000 P.A., On the other side. The death rate goes up, still no medicines, The Philippine Red Gross has been refused permission to come into camp. Why? Our Hosp. is more of a death house than a hospital. Some of our Dr. are like some of our line officers – no good, some are wonderful. Our water problem thanks to our men and. officers is 100% better, After days of trying, we finally have 2 pumps working both day and night. In this way, we can build up a little reserve. Of special commendation are Maj. Wm. A Gay Coee (REG) U.S.A. for his great work in finding and laying pipe under almost impossible conditions and otherwise ably assisting me. When the Japs would turn off the water in our camp so that they could have enough to take bath, either Gay or I would watch for Japs while 7 other turned the water on. To Lieut Fred. S. Whiteneck (Temp) C. of F. USA and Lieut. Loyd H. Nelsey (Temp) C. of E. USA, in charge of pumps who kept them running and in repair with nothing. Both of whom, though seriously ill, refused to quit. To these 3 especially, do many American Officers and soldiers owe their lives. I thought we were going to lose Kelsey. He was too sick to move. I had to take a Dr. out to him on two occasions. We did lost some of our men who with the lack of food, literally worked themselves to death. Sanitary conditions are beyond description. We were issued 10 picks and shovels, then required to turn them in at night 4:30. These were to dig latrines, kitchen sumps and bury our dead. Finally, after much protest we wore allowed to keep them. By digging day and night, we can keep the latrines dug, the graves no, At one time we were 50 bodies behind. The Col. & generals are to be transferred elsewhere, A little extra food comes in vie the American truck drivers. It is sold at terrible prices. So far I have gotten little or none.

Elizabeth Vaughan (1905-1957), journalist and Sociologist who was interned in the Bacolod Internment Camp and Santo Tomas internment camp in Manila, 1942-45, continues her account of life as a refugee in Panay in her entry for Thurs., Apr. 30, 1942:

The things Mr. Woods thinks of First we had a supply of kerosene tins waiting for us for holding water. A few days later larger covered garbage cans (new) were delivered to each house to replace these. And today mud scrapers were attached to both our front and back steps in preparation for the rainy season which is ahead for us. An incinerator has been built for camp garbage.

Venison today. Deer killed by one of the laborers at camp. We had all we could eat which, seasoned with bay leaves and cloves, was cooked in Dutch oven and was delicious.

Clay has had bad cold for several days. At 2:00 A.M. and again at 4:00 had coughing spells and began to strangle on discharge in throat. Carried him to nurse’s house to have throat swabbed. Nurse cleaned throat with swab, but scolded me for bringing him out without covering. Said I should have left him in bed and come over alone. Couldn’t do this with him gasping.

Onions and avocados. There is a bumper crop of these two commodities and each family is sent an allotment from the Central twice a week. As other vegetables and fruits are short, we are glad to have these, but I never want to see another avocado. We get the fruit green, ten large ones today, but all ripen at the same time so we eat them three times a day to keep from having them go to waste. Beth has learned to eat a small amount but Clay will not touch except to play with a whole one as a ball. Had native large leaf spinach today and Sejio added nice variety by putting tiny green tomatoes in with the greens. A nice flavor.

Yesterday Japs dropped leaflets over Bacolod telling civilians not to fear the Japanese army, that when they came they would only fight soldiers. Civilians should go ahead calmly planting and harvesting their crops and go ahead with their fishing as usual. (For whom?) Bombs previously dropped on Bacolod and the machine-gunning of the town by Japs did not make the civilians believe these leaflets.

When at 3:00 a.m. had to go out with Georgia Miss, the full moon caused me to remember reading that the Dutch East Indies could not be defended against night-bombing due to brilliance of the tropical moon. Bright nights mean greater chance of invasion and attack.

Joe W. Keever (1918-1990) was a Staff Sergeant with the 60th Coast Artillery Corps of the U.S. Army stationed on Corregidor. He became a P.O.W. in Corregidor and Cabanatuan. In his entry for April 29, 1942 (which then includes information until the fall of Corregidor) he describes in staccato sentences, the ordeal of Battery Wheeler on The Rock:

—heavy artillery barrage on Rock on April 29th—26,000 rounds—took shelter in OP—over everything blown up—how no one got hurt, thank God, 24 240 mm and dozens of smaller shell holes within 25 feet of pits—Jacks starts to run. “Take another step and I will shoot you, you s.o.b.” (Would I really have shot him, I don’t know, but believe I would have if he hadn’t stopped.) Shrapnel in pants—cigarettes stolen—pin holes—Jacks—he refuses to fight—naval boats—wheeler firing—boats leave—relocated in B battery’s old HFD station—has been hit several times already—set up that night—fired next day—heavy bombing and artillery fire-barrage runs up to about 50 ft. of us, then skipped—started at shore and advanced up toward us—hole in side made by previous hit on shack lets debris drift to floor everytime a shell hits near or Wheeler fires—hope it doesn’t come in on us—Wheeler has had to vacate one ammo room—Japs have fired a live, a dud; a live, a dud; till they finally bored through the concrete—Yaeger wakes me—heard mg. Fire—heard japs are landing—says Wheeler on beach defense—CP says heard nothing—called again and said we know it is so, CP. “Stay where you are—have heard nothing—planes before dawn—(“No”-Cp.) “Yes”-we. CP—“Wait until daylight.” Into action—plenty of it-6000 rounds fired—have to help belting ammo—barrels hot—ordered to break guns and equipment—gun bolts—axe to barrel—dynamite—be at Hearn by 11 a.m—expected beach infantry fighting-

The Spanish Rector of Letran, recounts on April 28, 1942, how the emperor’s birthday was observed in a subdued manner, and why:

Contrary to rumors, there was no military parade to celebrate the Emperor’s birthday. Nor was there any display of military power. In fact, as a matter of Japanese tradition, the Emperor’s name was not officially mentioned.

The rumors, however, were well-founded. As a matter of fact, a member of the Committee on Festivities told me that a parade was considered, but the idea was abandoned, due perhaps to the public attitude.

The day’s solemnities were limited to a couple of banquets at the Manila Hotel and a reception at Malacañan, given by General Homma (they finally disclosed the name of the Commander-in-Chief of the Imperial Forces) in honor of the Japanese-Filipino officialdom.

There was a sufficient display of Japanese flags. There was no official pressure, but somehow, they managed to threaten the Filipinos. Word spread that anyone caught without the Japanese flag would be punished. This was enough to make people display them in their houses, calesas, and bicycles. Most people stayed at home for safety’s sake.

Here is a typical sight: a woman was walking, carrying the flag dangling from her hands. When she saw two Japanese approaching, she raised it, and after passing the soldiers, she put the flag down again.

This is symbolic of the people’s attitude towards the new regime. There is no acclaim. Those who accept it do so out of fear. They never believe the slogans mouthed by the conquerors.

Some people sense a certain changes in the posture of the Japanese army since the fall of Bataan. There is less violence. The military police has disappeared from the city and it seems that the custody of peace and order has been left to the Filipino police. Soldiers move about freely among the people. They do not molest anyone, nor are they molested. It’s either that they cannot understand the people or they are not understood. Certainly it is obvious that the people are avoiding them.

They invade the stores, indulging in a buying spree of all sorts of jewelry and novelties. They are particularly fond of wrist watches, wearing them by the dozens at one time. They enjoy merry-making, and although the soldiers do not commit abuses, they give themselves to immoral excesses.

Juan Labrador, OP was Rector of Letran College and in this April 27, 1942 entry in his diary, recorded the anxious efforts of families to try to find out what was the fate of their missing fathers, husbands, and sons captured in Bataan:

The military authorities refuse to give out any information regarding the names and fate of the prisoners, most of whom are concentrated at Camp O’Donnell in Tarlac. Likewise, there is meager news about the prisoners of Bataan.

Many families are getting desperate about the whereabouts of their relatives, if they are not yet dead, that is. Malaria is rampant, and it is said that on the average, about 15 Americans and 30 Filipinos die of it daily.

Nine medical professors of Santo Tomas, some of whom had sons among the prisoners, and a good number of medical students, offered to attend to the sick prisoners. However, the Japanese did not accept them, saying that this would discredit their medical corps as being incapable of attending to the war victims.

I talked with some of the fighting men. Their accounts do not tally, as they each talked about events according to their respective experiences. Consequently, it is difficult to form an exact picture of the state of the Fil-American forces before the attack, during the surrender and after the fall. It seems that when the forces yielded, many of the soldiers who had been receiving good salaries during the war—something like ₱40.00 a month for soldiers—lost everything they had. Other soldiers had nothing to surrender except their arms.

A pre-war medical professor at the UST informed me that among the Bataan fighters, there are more of them afflicted with malaria and dysentery than those wounded in battle. The latter are relatively small in number, especially when compared to the casualties on the side of the Japanese. In Tarlac where he was imprisoned for two months, the Filipino captives are dying of despair, hunger and sickness. The Japanese lose no opportunity to humiliate and insult the Americans and the Filipinos who demonstrate any sign of loyalty to the Americans.

A dispatch from Domei stated that the number of prisoners has reached 62,600, 10,600 of whom are Americans. It added that 2,600 of these Americans are confined in military hospitals.

There are rumors that tomorrow, Emperor’s Day, there would be a grand military parade which will also be in commemoration of the fall of Bataan. However, no official announcement has yet been made to that effect.

Vargas ordered the hoisting of the Japanese flag in all public buildings and appealed to private individuals to do the same in their respective houses. He also prohibited the use of the Philippine flag, on advice of the High Command.

The people are uncertain and reluctant to carry out these directives. On the one hand, they fear being branded as collaborators. On the other hand, they fear the Japanese. If the administration would put more pressure, there would expectedly be many houses displaying the Japanese flag.

Victor Buencamino, an official in the Philippine government, records his experiences looking for his son in the prisoner of war camp in Capas, Tarlac on April 26, 1942:

The concentration camp in Capaz for Filipino and American war prisoners looks like a graveyard. Only there are no tombs and mausoleums and headstones. Instead, there are thousands of walking corpses, breathing skeletons, lying, sitting, crawling, shuffling aimlessly in a bare, treeless, sun-scorched, desert-like area. Capaz is the bivouac of the living dead.

Everywhere suffering humanity walked, squatted, slept, died. There was a cold chill in my heart as I beheld the gruesome sights wrought by the war: a blind officer begging for water to quench his thirst; a young soldier pale and yellow with malaria, shivering on the sand; an old colonel with a blackened leg begging for medicine; an Igorot private shouting deliriously; hundreds of youths with tattered, blood-splattered rags clamoring for food to appease their hunger; an officer on a crutch wandering pointlessly; thousands of dust-begrimed, mud-stained, bony, skeletal, emaciated, sunken-eyed youths fighting for the slow drops of water trickling from a single faucet; hundreds lying limply on the ground waiting for the eternal sleep; a rigid corpse with a smile on his face.

I arrived in Capaz at one o’clock after taking lunch in a nipa hut in Angeles with Arturo Tanco and Dr. Katigbak. In a small house in Capaz, we met Dr. Agustin Liboro and young Enrique Albert. They were preparing medicines for the sick. They did not know how they could send the medicines, but they were going to try their best. The Japanese prohibit the sending of medicines to war prisoners in the concentration camps. They have not permitted the Red Cross nor any relief organization to give succor to the prisoners.

Oscar Jacinto accompanied me to the town convent. There I met Victor Tizon, mayor of Capaz, and Fr. Marcos Punzal. We were told that the only persons authorized to enter the prison camp were: the governor, mayor and teniente del barrio. I persuaded Mayor Tizon to please accompany me inside the camp. I told him I wanted to look for my son. There were rumors that he is sick.

We passed through a narrow, dusty road crossing the camp. On either side of the road were the temporary shelters for the prisoners: on our left were the Filipinos and on the right, Americans. Many prisoners were carrying tins varying in size to fetch water. The main problem in the camp was water. I was told afterwards that the lives of many young boys could have been saved if water could have only been given them.

I saw the camp hospital. It was no hospital at all. It was a morgue. The men were piled on the floor without pillows nor covering. There were no medicines and very limited food and water. It was a transitional station between life and death. A doctor said mortality in the camp was as high as a thousand a day. Some claim it was more.

For a while we had to stop our car. There was an endless line of stretchers. The American soldiers stood at attention. We took off our hats. I counted 60. They were to be buried in a plot reserved for the dead. One soldier carrying a stretcher suddenly knelt and collapsed. He too was dying.

Outside the camp were thousands of mothers, fathers, sweethearts, relatives, friends, trying to see their loved ones. But the sentries were adamant, stern, strict. Their bayonets were fixed, their fingers ready on their triggers. Around the camp, there were makeshift look-out towers with guards armed with machine-guns. Any prisoners approaching the barbed fence by one meter would be shot.

I saw Mrs. Ciocon. She was there all day waiting for an opportunity to see her son. Mrs. Zobel was there too. Jake, she said was an orderly in the Commandant’s office. Mrs. Gruet was also there. She was able to reach the Commandant’s office. “What do you want?” said the commander curtly. “Please,” she said in tears, “is my son alive? Is he in camp?“ The Japanese looked at the records, read the names, then he stood at attention, bowed low, paid homage to the mother of a war hero. “Madam,” he said, “your son is now in a better place.”

As it was getting dark, we decided to return home. Before leaving, I gave a bundle containing a can of coffee, some sugar and quinine capsules and sulphathiasol to Mayor Tizon. “Please,” I said, “try to give this personally to my son.”

On the way home, we met more people in cars and trucks and jitneys and carromatas going to Capaz. I saw Dr. Escoto and he told me that he was able to go inside the camp. “Philip is sick,” he said.

When I arrived home, I told my wife and kids about the sad conditions of the prisoners in Capaz. To break the loneliness, I told my daughter Neneng, to switch on the radio.

A Filipino official was giving a speech praising the magnanimity of the Imperial Japanese Army.

Leon Ma. Guerrero, for his entry on 25th April 1945 records a grim ritual. The shrine to Japan’s war dead would become mired in controversy when the names of Japan’s convicted War Criminals were enrolled there from 1958 to 1970, after which the emperors of Japan ceased visiting.

The spirits of 41,318 army and navy dead, including the late Fleet Admiral Isoroku Yamamoto, were solemnly enshrined in Yasakuni last night. Describing the “spirit convocation ceremony” which started at 6 p.m., the Mainichi writes: “Despite repeated enemy air-raids the atmosphere of the Kudan precincts inspired men with awe and veneration unutterable. First the guard of honor, led by the Commander Akiyoshi, took their appointed places, following which admiral Zengo Yoshida, chairman of the enshrinement committee, and other representatives of the army, navy, government, and the public institutions arrived. Then the members of the committee from the army and the navy, as well as Chief Priest Suzuki assumed their respective seats. Priest Takahara made an offering to the spirits and Chief Priest Suzuki recited prayers while all are ___ bowed in perseverance. Chief Priest Suzuki again recited prayers and without the offerings. The military band resounded throughout the precincts and all torch-lights were put out, turning the ceremonial place into holy darkness. During this time the spirits of the 41,318 heroes were deified and enshrined in the secret precincts of the Yasukuni eternally. After that the torches were lit again and the offering of branches of the sacred tree was solemnly made by Admiral Yoshida, chairman of the committee, and others, bringing the spirit-convocation ceremony to a close shortly after 8 p.m.” This morning in the presence of an imperial messenger (Prince Hiroyoshi Ito), the spring special grand festival of Yasukuni shrine will be opened.

The civilians killed in the air-raids have had their enshrinement in a row of figures. Today the government made public its first announcement on the damage suffered from the 1st March to the 16th April. In Tokyo some 510,000 houses hove been burnt; in Osaka, some 130,000; in Nagoya, some 60,000; in Kobe, some 70,000 Air-raid sufferers numbered in Tokyo some 2,100,000; in Osaka, some 510,000; in Nagoya, some 270,000; in Kobe, some 260,000. Figures for Yokohama and Kawasaki are “under investigation”. No figures on casualties were given. Still the Suzuki cabinet seems to be trying to fulfill its pledge for greater frankness on the course of the war.

Denny Williams writes of medical treatment under bombardment on The Rock, April 24, 1942:

I’m on duty in the operating room and we are kept busy with the casualties from the bombing and shelling. We do not use linen but rubber sheets on the table. Since there is not adequate equipment or space here in the tunnel it is extremely difficult to have the essential linens laundered for operating; much less the linens for the whole hospital. Space is at a premium. With the enemy bombing and shelling continually, to go outside to hang out the laundry is a needless risk of life. According to my informant, we are about five hundred feet underneath the surface in some places, but when we get a direct hit with a heavy bomb, even at this depth we feel the concussion. At these times bottles and small articles fall from the shelves. My hands tremble when I’m giving anesthetics; evidently I’m fore frightened than I realize. I am not alone in this for even the hands of the calmest doctors tremble; they treat this lightly and if wisecracks were guns and ammunition, we would lick the Japs in
nothing flat. Ann Mealer’s face is a beautiful pink in a bombing; yet she is apparently calm and certainly proficient.

The large blowers in the ventilators have to be shut off when we get direct hits because the blowers circulate the dust caused from the bombs. We use fans continually, for the air is offensive at best; it is hot as the proverbial hinges of hell, when the fans are shut off.

With an acute shortage of medicine and supplies, trying to care for the sick and wounded is most disheartening. When will help arrive?

Natalie Crouter (1898-1985) was a Baguio resident who would end up in Bilibid in 1945. But for most of the Japanese Occupation she and her family were interned first in Camp John Hay and then in Camp Holmes. In her entry for April 23, 1942, she recounts the quick move from one camp to another, glimpses of occupied Baguio City, and sympathetic gestures from Filipinos:

The trucks came soand fast that it took only five hours to move the 800. The Japanese wanted to move their soldiers right in as we left.

At Camp John Hay the barbed wire was cut and we walked right out the front. When | stepped through to attend to my group, I did not even havetime to realize I was out in the world! We drove out through the back of the Post and all along the way it seemed a ghost city. We passed no cars. only Igorots carrying or pushing loads. We waved to each other, they breaking into delighted grins or looking utterly astounded. Session Road was boarded
up but many Filipinos were out to see us, waving, holding up two fingers into a V. No sound, only waving. Any other time we would have all shouted, cheered. The market was crowded, the street lined to see us go by. It was
good to see many familiar Filipino faces after nothing but Nipponese eyes. Their pressure was there but the Filipinos showed they were glad to see us. Many were crying. All the Igorots looked triendly. We were much moved to be out riding in a bus. Is it a forerunner to Mañana at last?

Lt. Mukibo, who is always in evidence in a crisis, says that mothers and babies cannot have the cottage, after they moved into it, so they all piled out again, worn and threadbare, babies crying. The gardens are dry, full of weeds, covered with filing papers, brown dry piles of pine, file cabinets and drawers strewn about and several iron safes blown open. It is so desolate, this destruction. Pictures in frames, letters, possessions all over the yard, showing quick departure of soldiers and looting afterward by Japanese and Filipinos. There is plenty of space outdoors for us to wander about, down by the hospital building and in several groves overlooking the road. It is a welcome change outdoors, with space for the children to run and play, swings and courts. June with others found precious typing paper on the field. Even I “looted’” a good typewriter ribbon on the dry hot parade ground. It was unwound so I rolled it up to stow away.

A resumé of news somehow came in, about Australian and U.S. planes pounding Timor, New Guinea, New Britain. Destruction of docks and shipping, with several Japanese cruisers sunk. U.S. bombers from Australia using advance base in Mindanao bombed Davao, Cebu, Manila and Batangas. Bataan has fallen but Corregidor still fighting off heavy bombing attacks and shelling from big Japanese guns. Successful raids by our guerrillas in Mindanao and Northern Luzon. Planes from U.S. carrier raided Japanese cities. We continue building up strong force in Australia. Russia still holds initiative. Lubeck in Germany bombed more heavily than Coventry. Future prospects good but it will take time. Burn this when it has been digested! All this seems to have been tossed into someone’s lap in the truck en route to Camp Holmes.

April 21, 1942: a young Filipino officer in Capas, Tarlac, Felipe Buencamino III, records death duties. “F.C. Camp” stands for “Filipino Concentration Camp”:

Capas, Tarlac

F.C. Camp

Joined the grave-detail. We buried those that died this morning. Some of the graves yesterday were not dug deep enough. The bodies buried yesterday have been unearthed. The sand here is clayish because the cemetery is too near the river.

One of the boys we buried had a little piece of paper in his pocket. We opened it. It was the copy of a citation awarding him for exceptional bravery in an attack in Bataan.

(later)

Most of the boys in the camp are very depressed. They feel that “it will be a long time before we are released.”

Many are disappointed with our leaders in Manila. “All they know is to give speeches and make promises!” “Why don’t they resign from their posts if the Japs do not want to release us?”

Personally, I don’t think we will be released until all resistance in the islands has ceased. The Japs are afraid that when we are strong enough, we might start trouble again. Besides, they want to make up for the thousands of Japs who died in Bataan. The more among us that die here, the better for them.

(later)

Collecting impressions of everyone here about Bataan. It will make a book someday. Am also listening to everybody’s experience during the long walk from Bataan to this prison camp.

Apparently, the Japs gave every barch more or less the same kind of treatment, although some groups got very much worse treatment.

Consensus is that at least 15,000 died during that bloody march. Japs bayoneted men who could not keep up with the pace. Very little rest was given. Some were shot for trying to escape.

For example, there was an old soldier who took off his shoes because of blisters. Suddenly, one of the Japs clubbed him on the head. A relative of the clubbed man charged at the Jap. Both fellows were tied to a tree and slowly tortured. Their shouts could be heard by all those around, but no one was allowed to look.

Someone said that in Orani, everybody was searched. One fellow was found with Jap money in his pocket. The Jap soldier said in broken English: “Why you have Jap money? So maybe you take that from dead Jap soldier! O.K… Now you die!” And he was bayoneted in the lungs. According to the one telling the story, the Jap money was given by a Japanese officer who bought the boy’s watch.

After such exchange of stories, everybody ends the conversation with the remark: “Someday we will get even, someday.”

Very few boys in camp think that Corregidor will be able to stand. Quite a number are disappointed at America. They ask: “Where is the convoy she promised?” The great majority believe, however, “in due time, when American factories get going, Japan will be beaten.”

Must stop writing. It’s getting dark. We have no lights here.

Two boys are humming a duet. Kundiman again. I like kundimans. They are soft, plaintive, full of feeling, lonely, very lonely.

They have stopped singing. Somebody in the group is weeping. I wonder why.

(later)

Just ate another camote. Superb.

Denny Williams (1907-1997),was an American nurse-anesthetist. She served in Bataan and Corregidor; she became a P.O.W. in Santo Tomas. In her diary for April 20, 1942, she recounts the escape of Bataan nurses to Corregidor on April 9, 1942:

I was told a few days ago that some magazine in the States wanted an article of the nurses escape from Bataan; and that it would be sent out on a submarine. I have written my story. Now Miss Davison says that we should not sent out any information. I shall abide by her wishes and desires. Diary, I shall give you my account of the escape.

Our Escape from Bataan

On the night of April 8, 1942, most of the officers and nurses of Bataan Hospital No 2 were sitting around in total blackout. Some were discussing the day’s activities and the possibilities of the next few days; some were in the
operating room to help take care of part of the casualties of the day.

In hushed tones a major said, “Hell, it will have to be a surrender, or the worst massacre in history. Do you know we have over 7000 patients now? There are no front lines; we haven’t anything to fight with”.

“You’re right, Major, our one P4O has gone to Cebu for quinine and we’re fresh out of ammmnition”.

Just then we were given the most startling orders: we were told to get ready immediately for a quick departure. ‘Where are we going?” I asked.

A Colonel’s voice cut in, “Your destination is unknown. Don’t waste time asking Questions; the Japanese are within three miles of this hospital. Stick your head out the door and you can hear war whoops.”

We could hear the detonation and concussion from artillery fire, a terrorizing sound, and the Colonel’s words were not morale boosters. Already I had the feeling of butterflies in combat action in my stomach; now they developed a major warfare. My throat was dry, and my heart beats were doing double time by the minute.

One of the chief nurses said, “Take only what you can carry in your hands. There will not be room for more, and hurry, we are to leave within thirty minutes.”

I was torn between two desires: Bill, my husband had been admitted to the hospital that morning with malaria and a temperature of 105 degrees; I had it decide whether I should try to stay here with Bill or go quietly as I was told. Having been in civilian life and accustomed to making my own decisions I found it hard always to obey army orders. This was the irony of fate, and fate was intent on collecting her dues with compound interest. This was the first time that Bill had ever needed me and I was ordered to leave. Should I or should I not ask permission to stay, for I was not an army but a civilian nurse! The army would have to be responsible for my welfare even though I was a nurse I was a civilian. With my rationalization somewhat restored, I realized that I could not humiliate Bill by staying; besides at a time like this, I must not be difficult, but must obey army orders. I did not want to be a prisoner of the Japanese.

Quickly I grabbed a small bag and hoped this came in the category of “what you can carry in your hands”. I whisked down the short cut path to the Officers’ ward and awakened Bill with a whispered, “We are leaving tonight; it is supposed to be kept a secret from the patients. Please take your quinine and take care of yourself for my sake”. I tried to tell his many things that I’d put off saying the past few months, but somehow I just couldn’t say what i felt. ‘He said, “I suppose surrender is inevitable; I’m glad you’re getting out. Do you know where you are going?” His reasoning was much clearer than mine.

In a few minutes, I stood in front of the headquarters tent where we were instructed to assemble. There was a tremendous amount of baggage–for more then what could be carried in our hands. Some of the nurses certainly believed that a fool and her luggage are soon parted and were determined not to be in that class. The chief nurse called the roll. All were present, including some civilians who had been caught behind the lines, the Filipino nurses, and the American nurses–a total of ninety women. As a problem of transportation, these women loomed up like a whole regiment.

Because of the approaching enemy, a complete blackout, hurried packing, good-byes, and best-of-luck wishes, everything was in a turmoil.

Captain Ayres gave me his ring to keep for him. He promised to see after Bill.

“Yes, Captain, I’ll send your wife a message that you’re well,” I promised Doctor Bruce. We all jotted down names and addresses for we could send mail to the States from Australia. Some of the officers were of the opinion that we would be sent to Australia, for Corregidor didn’t need so many nurses.

Because of a shortage of gasoline as well as vehicles, the men in charge of transportation drained gasoline from one convey ance to another. At 10 p.m. five ambulances, a bus, a car, and several trucks were loaded with ninety
women and their baggage. An officer and his car brought up the rear. Fortunately my good friend, Ruby and I were together in this car. Ruby ‘s a dietitian, a civilian employee, sent out by the Army from Washington. She is tops in her profession and has a charming personality. In the evenings during the lulls in activity on Bataan, we had some good games of bridge in the linen room adjoining the operating room.

As we were ready to depart, the Captain said, “The dock near here, Cabcaben, cannot be used because of the enemy’s troop concentration. We are driving to Mariveles several kilometers away; there you will get a boat.”

On the main highway from the hospital in the woods, we were one of the many convoys. It was a seething bedlam in this total blackout, for the Army had tanks, trucks and hundreds of soldiers on foot. We could only advance a few meters at a time; then wait from five to fifteen minutes while some of the officers tried to direct the convoy. Because of the dust and the blackness we could not see more than a few feet ahead of us; the blackout lights on the cars were of little aid. The drive over the narrow zig-zag mountain was hazardous. It seemed as if the steep shoulder of the twisting road were bound to thrust one or more of the vehicles into the black depths–a slip over the edge was very easy. Nature has a way of taking care of us when we lose sleep; for
those of us that had worked in the operating room forty-eight hours with very little time off duty, this was a blessing in disguise. I dozed when a lull came in the activites; a steep embankment was not one of my worries. To add to all the trials, one of the cars regardless of any amount of tinkering and persuasion, decided not to run; so it was pushed over the embankment. Nurses and baggage were to catch as catch can another car. Some of the nurses hiked a kilometer or so before they found transportation. Three rode on our fenders until they could do better–this later proved to be our hospital garbage truck loaded with barracks bags.

Three months before, I had driven over this same road. The drive was a gorgeous one; the mountains lifted solemn domes to the sky; their slopes were covered with green pastures and forest. The air was fresh and stirring, and this, under the bright sunbeams was truly refreshing. How utterly different was this night! There was no beautiful scenery visible and even the air was foul. Such time was spent in deliberation–so confused were everyone’s ideas. The traffic continued to handicap our progress, but the convoy’s speed increased gradually. In our five passenger car there were six of us, besides what we could carry of our worldly possessions in a barracks bag, together with gas masks and helmets. Our discomfort was mild compared to that endured by
those packed in the ambulances and trucks. We were a decidedly unattractive group. Most of us wore G.I. Coveralls and soldiers field shoes. We were covered with dust.

Before we reached kilometer 169 on the Mariveles road we heard explosions. The detonations sounded as if all fury had broken loose. The sky was filled with smoke smelling like gun-powder; and leaping, cracking, red flames covered the horizon.

Half seriously I asked, “Ruby, do you think the Japs are going to burn us alive?” The Captain answered for her, “Well, probably not tonight. I was ordered to phone a certain high ranking officer when we pass kilometer 169. After we pass this point, the ammunition dumps and warehouses in the vicinity are to be destroyed”.

“What are we going to do?” asked someone.

“Just sit here and wait,” he answered. “Evidently our convoy was behind schedule. The ammunition must be destroyed without further delay to prevent the Japs from getting our supplies.”

Ruby put in, “This looks and sounds as if it were the true scorched-earth policy.”

“Where are you going?” inquired soldiers on foot. “Haven’t you room for one more passenger? My feet are sore. Couldn’t I stand on the running board?”

Some of the men, stragglers from what had been the front lines, were lost from their company. Innumerable times when our car had to wait for the traffic to be ironed out, conversations could be heard to the left and to the right of us. “Say, fellow, can you give me a cigarette? I haven’t had a dobie in a week–I’m hungry as a cub bear just out of hibernation.”

“Do you think those damn Japs will catch up with us before noon tomorrow? What company are you from?”

“Thirty first; that is, what is left of it.”

“Man, you fellows caught hell, didn’t you?”

While a soldier on my right was asking us for water, his two comrades were engrossed in conversation. “What do you think the “Nips” will do with us?” asked one.

“Work hell out of us; that is; if they catch us” was the answer. “I’m going over the hill; maybe a Filipino can get me a banca, and I’ll get to China”.

We sat impatiently by the side of the road until the horizon began to be colored with chrome, saffron, gold and multiple shades of cerise. We commiserated with each other and changed positions frequently.

At six-forty five we arrived at the Mariveles dock. I was air-raid panicky and to add to my nervousness and anxiety, I found that the last convoy to Corregidor had left about fifteen minutes before. The Corregidor boat had waited several hours for us but it could not wait until daylight, because of possible raiding from the enemy’s bombers. The nurses from Bataan Hospital No. 1 had been waiting impatiently for transportation to the Rock, and the ship had left with them. As time elapsed, my fear and anxiety grew, for the day before Mariveles had been hit; people were lying around—many dead and others badly wounded. One poor Filipino had a blood saturated bandage around his head; his leg was in a makeshift splint. He raised his dirty, ant and fly infected body slightly and begged for a drink of water. Most of the wounded were begging for water and food; even in our haste some of us sent our canteens of water by soldiers to the victims.

Ruby and I went on a tour of inspection of the Mariveles docks. The country side had been wantonly destroyed. The cars and trucks were bent and twisted as if a terrific cyclone had swept the hillside, which looked like a city dump that had been neglected for a long time. “Ruby, shall we swim to Corregidor? Its only three miles. anything is better than this”, l ejaculated.

Ruby ignored me; she was looking at two row boats tied to an inconspicuous post of the pier. I started running for I wanted to get into one of those boats. By a narrow margin I made it; the boat was filled almost to capacity. These rowboats were being occupied by soldiers who were escaping from Bataan and were intent on getting to Corregidor. We were united in purpose and enthusiasm. Ruby had reached the other boat. What a relief to be able to get away from the dock! There were only three oarlocks to the boat and for an amateur I did well.

When we had rowed steadily for a few minutes hugging the shore on the Bataan side, a miracle happened! On my word of honor, a small yacht loomed directly ahead. It was hidden in a small cove surrounded by a thick, dark, tangled forest. We abandoned the rowboat quickly in favor of this beautiful yacht. Alas, the gasoline tanks were empty! We searched frantically for gasoline, and our luck was still with us for a-bright and shiny tinful was found. One of the soldiers said that he was a master mechanic and he proved to be more than that–in fact he was nothing less than a genius. The motor of the yacht began to hum, and in a few minutes the boat had left the shore of Mariveles and was headed across the channel for the Rock. ‘We were on the alert for ships and
was headed across the channel for the Rock. We were on the alert for ships and dive bombers of the enemy; this was the perilous stage of the sea trip. What a contrast in this trip and others I had made through these waters. Three years before I had been through this channel on a return trip from the States. Although the sea was rough, the crowd was gay, and life was perfect for me on the President liner, for Bill and I were on a glorious honeymoon. Little did I realize that I’d retrace this course by fleeing for my life!

From the yacht we could see Corregidor; it is about three miles long, a mile wide and six hundred feet above sea level. She stood out like a strong sentinel in a lone citadel. Her steep cliffs were covered with tropical forest and were in a lone citadel. Her steep cliffs were covered with tropical forest, and were manned with our twelve and fourteen inch guns. she represented a safe sanctuary for us. Although I had lived on Corregidor in the latter part of 1935 and the first six months of 1936, I never appreciated its strength and protection until now. As our eyes swept the horizon, we sighted a Corregidor harbor boat, apparently enroute to Mariveles for the nurses. When the ship approached the yacht, Signals were given then I felt sure that I was to go aboard. I reluctantly
boarded the boat for I knew that it would go back for the rest of the nurses on the pier at Mariveles, and I might never get to Corregidor. I preferred to take my chances in a mined bay with enemy planes overhead than to go back among the shambles we had left in Bataan. But I had no choice, really. I was fooling myself again–Army Orders! Enemy raiders flew over while the nurses and their baggage were put on board at Mariveles. The harbor ship had to pull away from the pier several times. My stomach was doing flip-flops and I felt ill. After the fourth attempt the nurses and their baggage were aboard at 9 A.M.and we were again en route to Corregidor.

When we were half way over the motor of the boat was turned off.

“Is there engine trouble?” someone asked.

“No the bombers are over us.”

While I tried to keep my heart in my chest cavity, I questioned, “Why turn off the motor?”. A patient Filipino engineer explained that turning the motor off and drifting with the tide made our cruising range difficult for the enemy to obtain, and their bombing would be inaccurate.

The planes flew over and we resumed our course. Again the motor died, and the Captain ordered us below.

“Well, I’d just as soon be hit with shrapnel as pinned in here,” said Lucy Wilson, an adorable girl who worked in the operating room with us.

“Take off your shoes,” suggested someone, “if you have to swim, you won’t be weighted down”. I complied.

The dive bombers which had been over head were now flying toward Mariveles. Because of further air activity near Corregidor we drifted in the Strait for a while. Then between raids we sneaked in at the dock at the noon hour. Besides being very dirty and exhausted, we were famished. Fortunately we were given soup immediately.

I do not know what happened to all the soldiers who were on the dock at Mariveles. It is said that they took to the hills when the raid was on, but several of them with civilian employees kept drifting over to Corregidor in
bancas during that night and day. Some tried to swim but were picked up by our harbor boats. Our friends, including Ruby, who left in the better row boat, were picked up about half way across by a harbor boat. The men on the yacht traversed the mined bay without disaster.

We are concerned about our friends on Bataan for there were extremely scant rations at the time of surrender. It is not believed that the Japanese will remedy the situation.

We are waiting for help here on Corregidor and hope soon to be reunited with the friends we left. Although we were ordered to leave, most of us feel that we deserted the sick and wounded men on Bataan.

Elizabeth Vaughan (1905-1957) was a journalist and Sociologist. She was interned in the Bacolod Internment Camp and Santo Tomas internment camp in Manila, 1942-45. In this entry on Sunday, April 19, 1942, having gone into hiding, she confesses thinking the unthinkable:

I am drunk today, as drunk as one can be and still be aware of the world about me. Beth and Clay need their faces washed and I don’t care. Sejio is already complaining at having to bring water so far for drinking and bathing, and anyway why do children’s dirty faces matter now?

Two men came from Central this morning and Nora asked the five other white women in for pre-lunch drinks to hear the news of the outside world. The news is that the Japs are ten minutes away, by plane, having occupied Iloilo airport, or one and a half hours away by boat. Our American friends in Cebu and in Iloilo have suffered the cruelest torture at hands of Japanese soldiers who are turned loose on small islands with no one to check their sadistic pleasures. White women are a prize. The army advises us that if a message comes to our camp from Japanese to come to headquarters to register to pay no attention to the summons—though there is threat of death if we do not come. A handful of women who answered the summons in Hong Kong and in our neighbor city, Cebu, were put in a brothel for use of Japanese soldiers. The U.S. Army advises white women not to be captured alive. There are two or three guns in camp for hunting. How we are to end our lives was not explained. We giddily took a second and a third drink.

I would kill Beth and Clay before destroying myself: These tiny bits of blond humanity who crave and expect constant sympathy and affection, whose every scratch and “tumble down” calls for immediate attention, they could not be left to cry to unresponsive ears nor to hold out their tiny arms to a scornful rebuff. So, because it’s our first Sunday in camp and the war has closed in around us, we drank too much in our tiny mountain hideout. We are aware that a white woman cannot hide in a brown population, that any one of hundreds of Filipinos would bring Japanese soldiers here for as little as 10 cents.

Some unpacked toys came today by cargodore. Eugene Field’s touching poem “Little Boy Blue” ran through my head as I put Clay’s toy dog and soldier side by side on the newly constructed shelf: More suitcases of clothes arrived also.

Took children to river for all to have baths since writing first part of today’s notes. Stream clear and swift, had difficulty holding Clay and the soap. Sejio helped, gave Clay a good scrubbing and brought him back to the house over stony pathway.

Saw three monkeys, one very large, two smaller ones, playing in the trees near the houses. So now we are afraid monkeys will come in our windowless, doorless houses tonight. This fear of monkeys at least diverted our minds from fear of torture by the Japs and so ended a most unhappy day.

Louise Fillmore Blancaflor was an American married to a Filipino; on Saturday, April 18, 1942 she records their family fleeing from invading Japanese troops in Panay:

Saturday, April 18, 1942

At 5:00 p.m. while we were eating we heard two shots and we all ran out to see where they came from. We always thought we were far enough from the main road, but as we looked across the hills in the direction of the road, we clearly saw a line of trucks, tanks, cavalry and bicycle units! You can imagine our excitement – we quickly packed a bag in case we may have to run out of the house, not knowing what the Japanese would do. We were afraid they might stop and go cross-country into the hills. We watched them at a distance for a while, and realized they were continuing their march toward Capiz. We stayed in the house for the remainder of the night, but we did not have much sleep. At about 2:00 a.m. we woke up and could still see them – trucks, tanks, cavalry and bicycles, a steady stream with no end in sight.

Early next morning Coné set out to look for another place farther away from the main road. He found a place about 7 km (5 miles) further in the mountains and away from the road. The owners of the house were willing to vacate their house for us. There are 11 of us in this 2-room nipa house. At night we roll the mattresses on the floor – in the kitchen John, Calao and Adelino (the cook, laundrywoman, and Dorothy’s houseboy) sleep, and the rest sleep in the other room. We are all fairly comfortable.

The day before the invasion, Dr. Bernas sent his cow, calf and horse out of the city to Bingawan by train, but the poor horse met with a terrible accident. A carabao broke loose in the box car and gored him several times. After leaving the train station the horse had a 20 km walk to reach us, and he could hardly go another step when he arrived. Dr. Bernas and Coné treated him the best they could, but for all of their care he succumbed. Dorothy felt terrible and could not help but cry. All her pleasant memories of the horse returned. He really gave them a start in life.

The hospital in Dumalag, where Coné is stationed, was burned down by the U.S. and Philippine Army so it could not provide protection and be used by the enemy. Orders have been given to apply the scorched earth policy. Buildings and houses in Iloilo have also been burned. The main street in Iloilo (Calle Real) and Ledesma St. have been wiped out, but from what we have heard our house on Gen. Luna is still standing.

The Mission Hospital at Calinog had a different plan. They did not burn the hospital, and when the Japanese arrived the staff met them at the door. The Japanese left their arms at the gate and entered bowing.

Dr. Waters and Miss Ernst remained at their posts, but being Americans they were taken to Iloilo City along with Miss Harris, Buckner, Dr. and Mrs. Chambers, and also one Britisher, Mr. Kerr of Warner Barnes. They are now concentrated in the Iloilo provincial jail until they can be transferred to a better place.

In spite of the lack of radios and phones, we always manage to hear all the news that is going on through word of mouth. We have heard that Mrs. Waters’ 3-month old baby became sick and the Japanese allowed her to take the baby and the other two children to the hospital.

USFIP’s Chief of Staff, Gen. Lewis Beebe, writing in Corregidor on April 17, 1942 describes the last lifeline of the island:

April 17, 1942

It was a little more quiet today. There were fewer air attacks and also a relatively small amount of artillery fire. Yesterday we caught a lot of high explosives, so the change today was all the more marked. However, the rest is a good thing for it gives time to get some of the batteries back in action which have been put out. All in all, it has been relatively peaceful today, as we have had very little office work. We sent a radio to Gen. MacArthur the other day asking for a naval sea plane to come up here to ferry personnel and supplies between here and Mindanao—personnel from here who are surplus from Bataan and supplies from Mindanao. We sent a follow-up on it today, as we need such a ship badly. The situation in Cebu is bad, and it looks like that island is just about gone. Iloilo is in Jap hands, and I fear it is just a matter of time before Panay will be in Jap hands also. Sharp was placed back in command of the Visayan Force yesterday in addition to the Mindanao Force, as he is so much closer.

A young Filipino intelligence officer, Felipe Buencamino III, on their first two days in Concentration Camp, April 16, 1942:

Capas, Tarlac

Filipino Concentration Camp

Am still alive. Have been here for two days. How long I will stay only God knows. Many are dying here. Right now, somebody just died. He is Teofilo Yldefonso, champion-swimmer, thrice captain of the Philippine swimming team to the world’s Olympics. The wound he sustained in Bataan developed gangrene. few pills of sulfa-thiasol might have saved his life, according to a medical officer. But the Japs do not permit medicine for prisoners. The doctors are now covering Yldefonso’s corpse with newspaper. Later, he will be buried with the other corpses piled high in the adjoining camp.

Right now I can hear someone shouting deliriously: “Water, please, water!” He has stopped shouting. They clubbed him. Now he is unconscious. If the guards had heard him, he would have been bayoneted.

This is not a prison camp. This is a graveyard of living corpses, breathing skeletons…

(later)

Had to stop writing because I was ordered to submit to the Group-head, Gen. Fidel Segundo, the total number of the “living” and “dead” prisoners in our group as of 7:30 this morning. That is my job: to count the living and the dead every morning.

Gen. Segundo gave us a short talk this morning. The General looked thin and haggard, so different from the days in the Tamarao’s polo club when he used to gallop across the field to make a goal. Now he looks aged and infirm, a ghost of his past self. He said: “Boys, our food –you and I– is only one handful of mashed rice and camotes everyday. One canteen-cup of water twice a day. Do not complain. We are prisoners. Such is the fate of the vanquished. Just strengthen your hearts and will to live.”

Mortality today: 300.

(later)

The Japs have made clear that any prisoner who approaches the fence to within a distance of two meters will be shot. The prisoners have been organized into regiments, battalions, companies, and platoons. For every prisoner who escapes, one man in the division will be killed, usually his immediate officer, according to the Japs Camp Commander. Our division head is Gen. Fidel Segundo. Col. Alba is regimental commander. I have been made regimental adjutant.

I understand that there are thousands of people outside the camp, mostly relatives and friends of the prisoners. They are begging the Japs to allow them to send food to the war-prisoners or at least medicine. The Red Cross has made representations to the Japanese High Command to give aid to the war-prisoners in the name of humanity and justice. The Japs have remained firm in their original decision not to permit any help to the war-prisoners. If this state of affairs continues, thousands will die here. This concentration camp will be bleached white with the bones of officers and soldiers whose only “crime” has been to uphold their country’s dignity.

Japs have permitted entrance of the Tribune. I read this editorial which states that Japan is fighting this war “to liberate Filipinos from anglo-saxon oppression.”

In his diary on April 15, 1942, David Nash, manning one of the besieged American installations in Manila Bay, is embittered by the realization they are doomed:

Wednesday Ft. Hughes

Rumors today that Tojo had said an American convoy was bound for here to arrive today but that it would find no one here. Now he says he will have these forts by the end of this month. I hope he’s wrong but I have a feeling that he may not be. Obviously the U.S. has left us to our fate; from the very start, for that matter. The colonel had a lot more timber shoring placed in the “Wardroom” today. Commencing at 0700 and continuing until 2030 we intermittently fired the mortars today, expending a grand total of 88 rounds on various targets. tie would fire and then the Jeeps would put a couple right outside our gun pit. One of their shots gave one of our men a nasty gash on the jaw. Due to the firing, we ate dust all day long and in the evening I just had to jump off the pier and rinse some of the dirt and sweat off. My prickly heat, which has developed since arriving here, is giving me hell. The Japs tried to bomb the ships in the harbor today but missed. All my love, darlings.