Charles House Story

We certainly didn’t want to get caught, so we carefully estimated and plotted the Japanese position using a 10-knot speed. At night we slept in our clothes with our guns at the ready.

By June 6, 1942, we figured the Japanese were well past Kiska on their return to Japan and we relaxed and undressed for bed. Just after 0200 hours on 7 June 1942, Winfrey, AERM2c, sleeping in the bunk above me shouted, “ATTACK, ATTACK!” I told him to go back to sleep, it is not time to get up, and that he was having a bad dream. Wimpy then turned on the lights and showed me a bullet hole in his leg.

About this time, I observed window glass in our bunk room being broken by bullets. Our outside lookout had chosen this time to come in and make a cup of coffee. We dressed hurriedly and Turner, AERM2c turned the heating stove up full, and I stuffed all the communication ciphers into the hot stove. During this time, I observed the glass cases covering the selsyn wind recording instruments breaking from Japanese bullets. As I ran from the building, the first light permitted the observation of many Japanese landing craft moving up the inner harbor with machine guns blasting away from their bows.

Turner, who had been outside for a couple of minutes and adjusted to the light suggested that we spread out and move up the hill toward the low clouds for cover. As we spread and moved, the Japanese would shoot at us. We would drop down and they would train on another moving target. In this early morning light. the tracer bullets looked like baseballs curving toward us. Luckily for us, we could dodge the tracers and because of the distance, the tracers had traveled they were lighter and consequently higher than the regular bullets, which I could see hitting the dirt short of their mark.

In about 300 yards we reached the cover of fog and were not visible to the gunners. I scrambled madly up the hill until overcome by exhaustion and lay on the ground for a rest. The sound of footsteps seemed to be closing in. I pressed my ear to the ground and listened to the rhythmic beat and realized it was my heartbeat. Reason took over and I analyzed my situation. I was alone, not warmly dressed but had grabbed a couple of gray blankets as I ran outside.

The Japanese were landing in force and I would assume that they would knock out our facilities and leave, so I must evade them until they left Kiska. For that day, I moved next to some gray rocks and covered with gray blankets and did not make a move until darkness. During the day there was some shooting in different places and a few planes flying around by afternoon. A summer day in Alaska is very long especially when one is alone, in danger and your whole world just pulled out from under you. The goal for the first night was to locate some of the food, a gun, and some ammunition that was stashed in a ravine a couple of miles southeast of my present position.

As soon as darkness arrived, I set off in haste trying to get to the food cache. I became overheated and would gulp water from the small streams and grab up mouthfuls of snow from drifts. This made me nauseated and I threw up what food I had left in my stomach. After crisscrossing the area several times, I was unable to locate the cache and the sky was lighting in the east. I then decided to go to the southeast coast of the island. Just as daylight arrived I was crossing a stream and fell in. I was soaked to my neck. As the sun warmed, I decided to dry my clothes by spreading them on the grass to dry. Just at that time a Japanese patrol boat anchored just offshore and remained there all day. That pinned me down. I rolled up in my blankets and stayed in the creek ravine. That was no place for me, so decided to move inland up the hill.

During the night I passed a creek bank that looked like it would make a good cave. My only tool for digging was a handful of 30.06 shells and it turned out to be slow digging so I gave up that idea. As dawn was breaking, I settled on a small meadow by a stream, that gave me a full view of the harbor but it also put me in plain view. I tried to sleep most of the day curled up in my gray blankets by some gray rocks. It proved to be an interesting place as I watched the ships come and go, and the patrol boat was methodically taking soundings of the outer harbor with a lead line.

A couple of days had passed since I had last eaten, my thought turned to food. The only thing available for food was limited vegetation; tundra grass, wild celery, and lupine bulbs. An old fur trapper that I had met at Dutch Harbor had told me, “There is nothing poisonous growing in the Aleutian Islands”, so I decided to start eating the vegetation. The wild celery was bitter, so I eliminated that and concentrated on filling up with tundra. The tundra didn’t seem to agree with me, as I became very sick and nauseated, then an urge for a bowel movement. The stool was mostly undigested tundra mixed with clotted blood.

All this happened during mid-day and I was in plain view of several ships in the outer harbor. I began thinking that this was a poor place to stay but in a day or so a PBY made a bombing approach over my area toward the main harbor. Flack from the AA guns was falling all around me. That made up my mind and I would move out with the coming night to a cove on the north-central coastline.

It turned out to be a bad night for traveling as a steady rain set in. Upon approaching the north coast I saw a cave in a steep bank just above a small creek. That looked like a good home, so I crawled in to sleep. The rain was dripping from the cave roof and got my blankets wet. The wind shifted to the northwest and there was a colder temperature and a few snow flurries to add to my discomfort.

By experimenting with my environment I was able to subsist at that location for another forty days. There was a plentiful supply of new tundra for food. By this time I discovered that I could eat the inside, tender part of the stem. It was tasty, something like fresh corn. I was able to eat enough tundra for a daily bowel movement. Angle worms from the nearby stream provided some protein even though they were a little bitter. The dry tundra from last year made a very good shelter, by placing a two-foot layer on the ground and folding my blankets over that. The blankets were covered with another eighteen inches of tundra. I simply crawled in between the blankets for a nice, dry, warm, and soft bed. It was easy to change my sleeping routine back to nights by gathering my tundra, and filling a canvas hood, doubling as a water bucket, in the early morning hours. The day was spent eating the tundra.

I was careless in sorting out the coarse parts of the tundra and throwing the new fresh grass over my haystack. The rain followed the green grass right through and I got wet in a rainstorm. After that, I was careful to keep the grass separated and the dry grass would absorb the rain a few inches on top, leaving it dry and warm below. I had a pencil but nothing to write on, so I kept track of time by making a mark on the pencil every day, and every seventh day a larger mark. What does one do with all that time? Think. Think of how I might get out of this situation. There didn’t seem to be any desirable alternatives. The only hope was that there might be an invasion but that seemed improbable at the time. I’d think of my wife and young daughter that I had left behind, wondering if I might ever see them again. thinking with some satisfaction that I had taken out the maximum amount of government life insurance. Thinking and sometimes dreaming of American-style food. If I were looking for seclusion, I had found it.

There were no human beings in sight, however, one day a dog came running up, stopped and stared at me, then ran off. Another time a Jap fighter plane came down the ravine with his machine guns blazing away. For a minute I thought he was after me but he continued seaward, spraying bullets into the water. On another occasion, I was awakened by a very sharp explosion from the other side of the island and could feel the ground tremor. B-17 and B-24 raids were becoming quite frequent.

One day a B-17 put on a good show. The plane was producing a very good condensation trail and with this, he drew a large circle over the island, then double-crossed the circle indicating a target and dropped his bomb load through it.

On the forty-eight day, I was on my way to the creek for some water when I fainted. This called for some soul searching; if I remained there I would surely die. I then carefully wrote my name on an old canvas hunting jacket that I was wearing so that my remains would be identifiable if found. If I surrendered to the Japanese they might kill me but it was my only lease left for life. Surrender with its chance of execution, surrender with its shame and humiliation, and surrender with its uncertainties was the only option. Early the next morning I started the slow climb over the mountains to surrender. By going in a straight line, I thought some time might be saved, however, one incline proved too steep and I slid back down. Then I had to take the long way back.

As I neared the summit by mid-morning, a Japanese AA gun emplacement came into view. There was patchy fog moving past and I would simply drop into the tall tundra when it cleared and walk toward the gun emplacement during the fog. I got right close to the gun and was then faced with the surrender act, as it was humiliating and scary. Traditionally a white flag is used, so I ripped off a piece from my undershorts and waved it as I marched in. Some of the Japanese marines ran toward me and assisted me as I was pretty lean and gaunt at that time. They would indicate which persons I should salute. They poured some tea and gave me some biscuits. A flight of B-17s was approaching the island, so two marines took me a short distance from the sand-bagged gun revetment and stayed with me while their AA guns shot at the planes. The B-17s made their bombing run and left.

The officer in charge of the gun seemed to be in a nasty mood. He barked orders to a couple of soldiers and they jammed their bayonets into place with the cold click of steel. Then he motioned for me to follow him. I was apprehensive and the thought passed through my mind that he might just take me down the path and have the bayonets stuck into me. After a short while, the camp headquarters came into view and I had the feeling of being spared again. The change that the Japanese had made was phenomenal; they had completed over twenty-four buildings in the short space of forty-nine days that I was hiding out.

Arriving back of the headquarters, they had me sit on a grass sack. A large ring of Japanese formed a large circle around me and just stared. I had the feeling of a monkey in a zoo. They served me some tea, and dinner, then later some tea and biscuits. The ring remained constant for several hours with some dropping out and others taking their place. Late in the afternoon, I was put into our old power station, given some grass sacks and blankets for a bed.

The Japanese curiosity did not stop as a long line formed at the window and they would have a minute or so to look at me then move off. Darkness put an end to the staring and for the first night for a long time I had the protection of a building. A rather steady rain beat on the shingle roof. It sure felt cozy to have shelter again. That night a guard checked me about every thirty minutes by shining a bright flashlight into my eyes and woke me to see if I was alright.

The next morning a doctor arrived and checked me over. He told me McCandless, S1c, the cook, and Gaffey, S1c were captured on the first morning. They were running through the fog and ran right into a battalion of Jap soldiers that had landed up the coast and were marching into our camp from the rear. The doctor also informed me that he had taken the bullet out of Winfrey’s leg and that by the end of eleven days nine of the men had been accounted for with one survivor out, and presumed dead. The Japanese laid down some rules of my confinement. I was to stay in the powerhouse and was allowed to go to the toilet, go to the pond between the headquarters and the bay for my morning washup, and for washing my dishes and clothes. They continued to give me all I could eat and my health came back fast. The line dwindled at the windows, only when a ship arrived would there be a new line at the window.

Japanese reporters and photographers came by frequently for pictures and stories. Several of the Japanese would come in for a friendly visit. One I remember well, I called him BF, for Best Friend, for his homely wit reminded me of Benjamin Franklin. He was a reporter for a Tokyo newspaper before the war and was drafted, being used as a servant in the officer’s quarters next door. He was dissatisfied about the war disrupting his life and landing him in a place like Kiska. He also had a liking for alcohol, which he pinched from the officer’s mess and stored in the attic of the powerhouse. He would enter through a window with a bag full of liquor bottles and deposit them in the attic. He would always put his finger on his lip and say, “No speak.”

He usually brought me some goodies. On one occasion he was bringing me some raw eggs, and when he crawled through the window, the eggs broke in his pocket. He stuck his hand in the pocket and withdrew it, dripping with egg and shell, extending the hand toward me he said, “For you!” It took a bit of doing to show appreciation without laughing. On another occasion, he decided that we should get drunk. I participated very sparingly but he managed to hand on quite a load and spent several hours telling me about his life. Shortly after that, he disappeared from the scene.

Another frequent caller was an enlisted pilot who flew one of the Zeros on floats. He was also a very good artist and made portraits of me on several occasions. He was intent on teaching me Japanese and would write the alphabet for me to practice. One evening he came in and sketched some destroyers, and said, "Your country’s warships right out there." He was correct for the next day we had a firing run and their range was just right as the path of shell explosions ran right through the middle of the camp. I was watching out the window and a Jap soldier was jumping into the shell holes for protection but he kept diving from one hole to the next and it looked humorous to me and I laughed.

He saw me, and the next day he made a point of pushing me off the walkway on my way back from the washing pond. The Executive Officer of the station saw him push me, and he really chewed him out!

The Jap officer with a strong German accent decided he must interrogate me. He asked many questions, and finally finished up with, “Who do you think will win the war?”

My reply was, “I hope someone does soon.” For some reason, he did not send the report forward but it was left in his quarters when the Japs departed hurriedly from Kiska the following year. The interrogation was sent to Washington, D.C. It was shown to my brother who was on duty with the Navy Photographic Lab there during the war.

One day when he had command post duty, there were overcast skies but lots of air activity. A bomb made a direct hit on the headquarters building on the kitchen stove. It came right through the side of the building. My meals usually came from that stove. I noticed that lunch had been sent to the Japs but nothing had arrived for me. I asked the OD where my lunch was and he replied, “Keep waiting.” After a short wait, I tried again, and got another, “Keep waiting.” Shortly, I tried again and he sent me up the hill to a mess hall to get my own rice. On the way back, another bomb run was made. I dove for the ground and covered my rice dish with my body. A bomb landed very close and splashed mud all over me. The soil under the tundra was a heavy clay type and bombs would penetrate three or four feet and the clay would hold most of the shrapnel with the force of the explosion mostly upward.

When the Japanese decided my health was good enough, they told me that I must start working. Each morning I would go to the beach at the head of the bay and fill sandbags all day. Most of the Japs working on these details were civilian laborers and we had a good time together as we worked and talked. During air raids, the Executive Officer told me always to return to my bunk at the powerhouse but on one occasion there was a large flight of P-38s and P-39s that came over very quickly and I went into a tunnel near the bay with the Jap workers. It was a good raid, as it knocked out ten buildings and there were a lot of Japs killed by strafing. The ground rocked during the bombing. Just as soon as things settled down, I went back to the powerhouse and the Executive Officer was standing on the walkway in front of a leveled powerhouse. His battle station was a command post dugout just across the walkway from the powerhouse. He looked at me and said, “You are a very lucky man.”

That night things looked critical for me. It was 7:00 p.m. and I had no place to spend the night but the Executive Officer came by and asked me where I was staying. I told him that I didn’t know but in just a few minutes a Japanese sailor took me to the Japanese bathhouse. A quick inspection showed that the bathhouse was riddled with bullet holes. I curled up in a big wooden tub but couldn’t get completely comfortable. The next day they had mass funerals. The Japanese seem to have more respect for the dead than the living. We stood at attention most of the day as the coffins were carried by. There were some killed by the strafing on the ships and they were brought ashore by launch and the processions filed past. Just where the burial grounds were, I am not sure but they went out of sight to the northeast.

I continued working on the sand detail until the 19th of September 1942, when the Executive Officer informed me that I was going to Japan tomorrow. The next morning he told me to shave and I informed him that I did not have a razor. He came back shortly with one. As I left to board the ship my workmates at the beach gave me a rousing send-off. I think I can explain my conduct as a prisoner as I adopted the old saying, “Never bite the hand that feeds you”, and “God helps those who help themselves.”

Sincerely, Charles House

A P.S. attached to this letter from House lists the locations of his confinement and activities in Japan thusly:

• My trip to Japan in the Nagata Maru
• Solitary confinement at O'Funa
• Work camp at Yokohama
• Tokyo Military Hospital
• Camp Hospital: Shinagawa POW Hospital
• Back to work at the Shipyards
• The Steel Mills of Kamaishi
• The Invasion: and The War is over.