Through Fire and Through Water.

CHAPTER VII
DAYS OF HUNGER

One day our wood cutting crew was waiting at the gate for our guards to arrive and escort us outside the camp to work, when a lone American plane came slipping over the shoulder of the mountain to the northwest, its engine intermittently coughing and banging while it trailed a stream of black smoke behind it. As it passed over our heads we could tell that the pilot was keeping it airborne only with great difficulty, for we could see that part of the wings was shot away. It barely cleared a ridge about half a mile to the south of us, then turned on its side to plunge earthward as a parachute billowed out from it. The day was wet and rainy but the soldiers immediately went out from the garrison at our camp to find the plane and pilot. They all returned later without him, for though they had found the plane and parachute, the Pilate had already made good his escape. We learned afterwards that he was taken care of by guerrillos until the U. S. forces arrived.

As time passed we longed so for our boys to come. There were always two main topics of conversation in camp. One was food, and the other was any news or rumors as to where our forces might be. Among the many Catholic priests in camp, one became famous for a time because he had predicted when American planes would come, and three times he struck it right. When he predicted the Marines would arrive before the end of October a lot of folk were excited, and several stayed up all the night of October 31st, and even the next morning they were still expecting to see our boys come marching in. But they did not come, and we had many more long days of hunger ahead of us.

During all this time I continued to work in the wood cutting crew. In this work I was often able to pick up a few wild greens or something eatable to add to our meager rations. I could also bring in a few tree branches for fuel for ourselves in our little clay stove. It became my habit to always keep my eyes open, moving to and fro as I was going or coming from work out in the jungle, ever searching the ground for any plants that could be used for greens. These I would pluck as quickly as possible, whenever there was an opportunity, because our Japanese guards gave us little time to loiter on the way. From others in our crew I had learned to always carry a burlap sack hanging from my belt, into which I could quickly cram anything I might see, and then fill the rest of the sack with wood.

I soon learned to recognize many things that could be used for food. The heart of the papaya tree is eatable when the outside skin is pealed away. These trees grew wild In the jungle, though we seldom found any with fruit. I was able to recognize the casava plant from which tapioca is made, and a few times I was lucky enough to find a little of the root. Often we were able to pick some of the delicious leaves of the native "camote" or sweet potato. Once I found a large "ubi," a tuberous root, dark purple in color, which was delicious, and gave us some extra food for about three days. The slender heart of a banana tree I found to be tender and good to eat. I was able to get this a few times. I was told that the root of the banana tree was eatable, and one day while working near what had once been a garden now gone back to the jungle I was able to get two large banana roots while the guards were not watching. Eating them, however, was a disappointment. Cooking them did not make them tender, only turned them black, and after chewing a bite one had a mouthful of something like sewing thread and had to spit it out. There was no doubt a little starch between the threads.

We learned to eat many other things. I did not waste any banana peels that others threw sway but cooked them with our food. Others in the camp were searching the gardens in the early mornings for large slugs, which they were somehow able to prepare and eat. One of the camp doctors led out in butchering the first cat. Others followed suit whenever they were able to get one. Then they began on the dogs that some had before been keeping as pets. Such pets were outlawed now by the camp government, but owners were loath to part with them or get rid of them until they began to mysteriously disappear, likely into some other persons cooking pot.

The winter of 1944 drew on, and we grew more and more hungry. Everyone was constantly talking and thinking about food. The work that I had to do kept me from lots of this, but at nights we were confined early to our barracks, and since the American planes had bombed and destroyed the power lines, we no longer had electric lights. There was nothing to do but sit around and talk about food. I usually went to bed, partly because I was so tired, and partly because this subject of conversation did not make me feel any better. However there in bed I, too, would lie and think of all the many good things I had once eaten in America and in China. I would be carried away by memories of big basket dinners at the churches at home and of threshing time out on the farm when the table was heaped with the finest of good things to eat. In my sleep I would dream about such things, only to awake all disappointed, with a hunger more gnawing and intense. After many days of this I learned to turn more and more to Gods Word, and I found to my pleasure in the Bread of Life a satisfactory antidote for the hunger of my body. Every evening I would take some precious promise to bed with me on which to meditate, that I might no longer think of food, and in Gods Word and in communion with Him I found a joy in those dark hours. While the mosquitoes hummed about the outside of the mosquito net surrounding my bed I found experiences with the Lord like those that inspired David in his flight from Saul to sing: "My soul shall be satisfied as with marrow and fatness and my mouth shall praise thee with joyful lips, when I remember thee upon my bed, and meditate on thee in the night watches; Because thou hast been my help, there fore in the shadow of thy wings will I rejoice."