Voices from the Hell Ships: POW Testimonies of Survival and Loss

When we read that nearly 20,000 Allied prisoners of war perished aboard Japanese “hell ships” during World War II, the number is staggering. But numbers alone cannot capture the human cost. Each death was a son, a brother, or a father—someone who had once written home, dreamed of going back, and prayed for survival. To truly understand the horror of the hell ships, we must listen to the men themselves. Their words, preserved in memoirs, affidavits, and postwar testimony, offer haunting windows into a world few could imagine.

Crammed Below Deck

Prisoners were packed into dark, airless holds—spaces built for coal, not human beings. The heat, stench, and lack of oxygen drove many to the edge of madness. Sergeant Frank Evans, who survived the Ōryoku Maru, remembered:

“It was like being buried alive. The air was so foul men clawed their way to the hatch, gasping, fighting for a breath.”

Water was scarce. Sometimes only a cup was shared among dozens. Men licked condensation from steel beams or fought over a trickle that dripped through the planks.

The Terror of Attack

Japan refused to mark these vessels as carrying POWs. To Allied pilots and submarines, they looked like legitimate military targets. Survivors lived with the constant dread of being bombed or torpedoed.

Private John M. Jacobs, later interviewed by the U.S. National Archives, recalled the moment torpedoes struck the Arisan Maru:

“There was no panic—just a silence of men who knew death was coming. Then the ship shuddered, and the hold filled with screams.”

Almost 1,800 POWs perished that night, the deadliest maritime disaster in U.S. history.

Clinging to Life

Even amid despair, men found ways to survive. They whispered prayers, shared morsels of rice, or sang to lift spirits. Lieutenant William Dyess described in his diary how men on the Enoura Maru tried to keep hope alive:

“We made a pact—if any of us got out alive, we would tell the world what happened here. That promise kept me breathing when everything else told me to give up.”

Survival often came with guilt. Many wrote after the war of the anguish of watching friends die while they lived on.

Bearing Witness

These voices were later used as evidence in postwar trials against Japanese commanders. They remain powerful today not only for their historical value but for their human truth. They remind us that the hell ships were not just vessels of war, but floating prisons where men endured suffering beyond imagination.

Why We Remember

The hell ships symbolize both the cruelty of neglect and the resilience of the human spirit. Their legacy endures in memorials across the Philippines, Australia, the United States, and beyond. By preserving the words of those who endured, we ensure that their suffering—and their courage—are never erased by time.

As Sergeant Evans put it:

“We lived through hell, but our voices will outlast the silence of the sea.”