Unable to swat away clouds of bugs that soon descended, they were quickly covered with terrible bites from mosquitoes.
Through much of the night, the Japanese interrogated the Tang ’s survivors. 19 “Several times two or three Japanese would come and shine a flashlight in my face and start asking me some questions,” remembered Jesse DaSilva. “When they did not get the answers they would like, they would slap me across the face. When morning came, they lined us all up again.”
The men were given old white Japanese navy uniforms, put on a truck, taken to a station, and then loaded on a train for an all-day journey up the coast. Their blindfolds were removed once they were on the train. They saw that each of them was guarded. It was a regular passenger car. The shades were drawn until they left the station.
Jesse DaSilva stared through the window. He felt as if he were looking back a hundred years. Peasants toiled in the fields with hand plows pulled by oxen. There was no sign of mechanization.
Finally, the men arrived at the other end of Formosa in the port city of Kiirun. 20 It was raining and dark when they were taken off the train and placed on a truck that took them a few miles from the city. “The truck stopped in front of some building and they marched us in there,” recalled Jesse DaSilva. “Blindfolded, we stood before some officials until the blindfolds were removed. There were a few words said, then the blindfolds were put back on and we were taken back to the truck and taken to some old buildings.”
The buildings were an old, stone Portuguese prison, which the men nicknamed “Kiirun Clink.” They were then separated from each other and taken to cells with dirt and gravel floors. “The cells were set above the guards’ catwalk like the cages in a zoo,” recalled Larry Savadkin. “The bars were of wood, but about five inches in diameter stretching from the ceiling to the floor. The [toilet] was a hole in the floor set back in a niche.” 21
To the men’s surprise, they were provided with blankets and then served a meal—balls of rice and fish wrapped in leaves. It was their first real nourishment in almost a week, since the October 25 sinking. “They also brought us some hot tea,” recalled Leibold. “We slept. They didn’t fool with us at all.” 22
The Kiirun Clink guards were not all brutes. In fact one, who had been conscripted, was memorably humane. “He crept into my cell,” recalled Larry Savadkin, “and in broken English told me he was a Christian, and he had a present for the boys.”
The guard gave his “present” to Savadkin and then slipped away.
The other men in their cells were asleep.
Savadkin held the presents behind his back.
“Hey!” he said, waking some of the men. “Guess what I’ve got for you—ice cream on a stick!”
“Take it easy, Mr. Savadkin,” replied one of the men.
The men looked in amazement as Savadkin revealed the guard’s gifts. “They thought I was completely off my rocker,” he recalled. “But sure enough, that was what the guard had produced: one long, cool, drippy, and wonderfully sticky Popsicle on a stick for each of us. It was a great day.” 23
THE Tang survivors were soon on the move again. This time they were loaded onto a bizarre-looking, charcoal-fired bus—evidence of the Japanese’s vastly diminished fuel supplies thanks to the devastating effect of American submarine warfare. “It had a little boiler on the tail end of it,” recalled Bill Leibold. “Each of us was assigned a guard who carried a rifle. After a while, the bus stopped and the guards got out and started pushing the bus. They left their rifles on the bus.” 24
The men knew there was no point trying to escape—they would simply be rounded up and probably killed.
The bus finally stopped in a harbor where the officers were separated from the noncommissioned men. The officers—Savadkin, O’Kane, and Flanagan—were taken to a
Through much of the night, the Japanese interrogated the Tang ’s survivors. 19 “Several times two or three Japanese would come and shine a flashlight in my face and start asking me some questions,” remembered Jesse DaSilva. “When they did not get the answers they would like, they would slap me across the face. When morning came, they lined us all up again.”
The men were given old white Japanese navy uniforms, put on a truck, taken to a station, and then loaded on a train for an all-day journey up the coast. Their blindfolds were removed once they were on the train. They saw that each of them was guarded. It was a regular passenger car. The shades were drawn until they left the station.
Jesse DaSilva stared through the window. He felt as if he were looking back a hundred years. Peasants toiled in the fields with hand plows pulled by oxen. There was no sign of mechanization.
Finally, the men arrived at the other end of Formosa in the port city of Kiirun. 20 It was raining and dark when they were taken off the train and placed on a truck that took them a few miles from the city. “The truck stopped in front of some building and they marched us in there,” recalled Jesse DaSilva. “Blindfolded, we stood before some officials until the blindfolds were removed. There were a few words said, then the blindfolds were put back on and we were taken back to the truck and taken to some old buildings.”
The buildings were an old, stone Portuguese prison, which the men nicknamed “Kiirun Clink.” They were then separated from each other and taken to cells with dirt and gravel floors. “The cells were set above the guards’ catwalk like the cages in a zoo,” recalled Larry Savadkin. “The bars were of wood, but about five inches in diameter stretching from the ceiling to the floor. The [toilet] was a hole in the floor set back in a niche.” 21
To the men’s surprise, they were provided with blankets and then served a meal—balls of rice and fish wrapped in leaves. It was their first real nourishment in almost a week, since the October 25 sinking. “They also brought us some hot tea,” recalled Leibold. “We slept. They didn’t fool with us at all.” 22
The Kiirun Clink guards were not all brutes. In fact one, who had been conscripted, was memorably humane. “He crept into my cell,” recalled Larry Savadkin, “and in broken English told me he was a Christian, and he had a present for the boys.”
The guard gave his “present” to Savadkin and then slipped away.
The other men in their cells were asleep.
Savadkin held the presents behind his back.
“Hey!” he said, waking some of the men. “Guess what I’ve got for you—ice cream on a stick!”
“Take it easy, Mr. Savadkin,” replied one of the men.
The men looked in amazement as Savadkin revealed the guard’s gifts. “They thought I was completely off my rocker,” he recalled. “But sure enough, that was what the guard had produced: one long, cool, drippy, and wonderfully sticky Popsicle on a stick for each of us. It was a great day.” 23
THE Tang survivors were soon on the move again. This time they were loaded onto a bizarre-looking, charcoal-fired bus—evidence of the Japanese’s vastly diminished fuel supplies thanks to the devastating effect of American submarine warfare. “It had a little boiler on the tail end of it,” recalled Bill Leibold. “Each of us was assigned a guard who carried a rifle. After a while, the bus stopped and the guards got out and started pushing the bus. They left their rifles on the bus.” 24
The men knew there was no point trying to escape—they would simply be rounded up and probably killed.
The bus finally stopped in a harbor where the officers were separated from the noncommissioned men. The officers—Savadkin, O’Kane, and Flanagan—were taken to a
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