Death on the Hellships. Gregory F. Michno
Borneo, and a thousand prisoners were offloaded by diesel-engined lighters. The food became so poor that they had to dip into their precious Red Cross packages to supplement it.
Loading of supplies continued the next day, the men hungrily watching the passing of hundreds of bags of sugar and tapioca, depressed by the backdrop of “the steamy swamps of Kuching.” The picture brightened for a few, however, when some of the bags dropped and burst. Airmen and soldiers scrambled for the spilled treasure. Major Suga, commandant of all the prisoners in Borneo, came aboard to give them a speech on how they were to conduct themselves in his domain. The POWs were not impressed.
The next day the ship continued up the coast. The water shortage became so serious that men’s tongues were badly swollen. Some crept up to the steam winches and opened the taps to release a few drops of water. A few careless ones were caught and bashed for their efforts. The ship stayed in sight of the coast, reaching Miri on the sixteenth, what Lee called “the last place God made.” They unloaded crates, batteries, paints, engineering equipment, and about five hundred tires. Sailing north the next day under a gray sky with alternating drizzles and downpours, the men were forced to spend much of the time in the holds. Those who braved the elements were caught in the gusty wind and rain and coated with black soot from the smoke stack. Dysentery was rife again, and the stench of vomit and excrement was shocking. Nine men died. One fellow who had spent much time hanging on the rail and staring out to sea, could take no more of the strain and terror and jumped overboard. The officers told others he had fallen. Said Johnstone, “We did not want our men to learn of this suicide as it would have further depressed them.”
Deep in the holds, some men pried up a plank on the floor and got into a room of bagged sugar, tinned fish, and meat. Much of it was quickly consumed, and the rest went into kit bags and pockets. They put the room back in order and no one was any the wiser. On 19 October, they anchored at Jesselton, lying on the coast with the forested 13,455-foot Mount Kinabalu looming on the horizon. The eight hundred British POWs were taken to a camp and lodged in atap huts; the officers were put in a native jail, two to each six-by-eight cell. They would remain in Jesselton for six months.49
The October transports also moved men from Java to Burma. Construction of the main line of the Burma Railway was about to begin, and manpower levels were upped accordingly. A Force had been preparing the ground along the Burma coast for the past several months. Ken Williams worked at the Mergui docks, unloading petrol drums. He felt humiliated. A few months ago, he and his mates had tossed pennies to the natives, and now “the natives were tossing us cigars.” They received many “bashings,” from both the Japanese and the natives. Beriberi struck. Wooden coffins were supplied by the Burmese. Solemn rites were read, “Last Post” was played, and at least, said Williams, the dead “would know no more barbarous treatment from the Japanese.” There was no escape. Three Australians tried, but they were caught by the Burmese and returned, then tied to trees and shot. The Burmese were paid two hundred rupees a head.
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