EDITOR’S NOTE: Jim Watson is the author of “Mysterious Island: Catalina,” available at Amazon, Kindle and in stores in Avalon.
Charles E. Pyle was a 1st Engineer in the United States Merchant Marine.
Hailing from Lodi, California, he had received training and had become an instructor in his own right at the U.S. Maritime Service Training Station in Avalon right here on Catalina Island.
EDITOR’S NOTE: Jim Watson is the author of “Mysterious Island: Catalina,” available at Amazon, Kindle and in stores in Avalon.
Charles E. Pyle was a 1st Engineer in the United States Merchant Marine.
Hailing from Lodi, California, he had received training and had become an instructor in his own right at the U.S. Maritime Service Training Station in Avalon right here on Catalina Island.
These were the days when the world was at war and Catalina Island had become an enormous offshore training base for various branches of the military.
At Descanso Beach, where visitors now zip line and drink margaritas, there was a fully-functional steam engine for training engine crew. At Casino Point, where scuba divers nowadays casually dip beneath the sea’s surface, there were 20mm anti-aircraft guns, 50-calibre machine guns and 3-inch and 5-inch artillery. And at the Field of Dreams where Avalon youths now kick soccer balls about, young merchant mariners trained in hand-to-hand combat.
Charlie Pyle would have spent time at each of these locations. He would have eaten at Boos Brothers Cafeteria where Coney Island West now serves up burgers and hot dogs. He would have watched prize fights in the Avalon Theatre where people now watch the latest Hollywood blockbusters.
But on the evening of July 2, 1944, Charlie Pyle was on the deck of the liberty ship S.S. Jean Nicolet somewhere in the Indian Ocean, carrying precious cargo from San Pedro to Calcutta for the Allied war effort.
At 1907 hours, Charlie felt the first of two Japanese torpedoes strike his ship and it all, literally, went to hell from there.
Charlie told his story in the December 22, 1944, issue of “Maritime Murmurs,” the official Maritime Service newspaper issued by the Avalon Training Station:
“All hell and high water broke loose that day,” he wrote. “I was on watch when the first torpedo hit, and what a bouncing!”
In no time at all, seawater was pouring through the gashes in the hulls then over the rails as the wounded vessel listed. From there, the ocean began dashing about the decks and down the ladders like so many mischievous children searching for things to destroy.
“I told my boys never to worry if we got it,” wrote Charlie. “Each of us had certain things to do and we were all acquainted with them.”
Indeed, the men knew their jobs well. All of them got safely off the ship and were being picked up by the lifeboats. But the Japanese submariners weren’t finished with them yet.
“We were picking up a few other fellows when the submarine began firing on the ship. Then it came over to us and an officer ordered us on board.”
The Allied seamen were then looted of all their valuables and even much of their clothing by the Japanese crew. Watches, money, pocket knives, even boots and jackets were taken from them. They then had their hands tied behind their backs and were savagely beaten, the first of many beatings that some of them wouldn’t survive. Just to show the Americans what fate awaited them, a 17-year-old messman from Pennsylvania named William M. Musser was marched to the bow of the submarine where a laughing Japanese crewman bludgeoned him with a steel pipe, shot him in the head and then unceremoniously booted his lifeless body overboard.
After an initial drubbing, the liberty ship crew was all forced to sit bent over forward on the sub’s foredeck. Occasionally, waves broke over the deck washing some of the men into the sea. None of these men were seen again.
In this bent-over position, the men were beaten some more, including Charlie Pyle. “I couldn’t sit like this very long and after a couple of hours I straightened up. I really got bashed on the noggin for this.”
After several hours of these enjoyable activities, Charlie was finally gathered up by the Japanese crew and rough-handled aft toward the sub’s conning tower. It seems the sub’s crew had scared up a game of “running the gauntlet” and Charlie was going to be one of the contestants.
This “gauntlet” consisted of lines of Japanese crewmen on either side of the deck armed with pipes, clubs, rifles and swords with which they stabbed and beat their hapless captives. Those Americans who successfully navigated the gauntlet were rewarded at the end by a sumo-sized seaman who bayonetted them and heaved their lifeless bodies over the side, pitchfork-style.
It didn’t take too many examples of this for the Americans to figure this game out. Halfway through the gauntlet, they began jumping overboard, depriving the madman of his fun. They decided it was better to take their chances in the sea with the gathering sharks and with their own hands tied behind their backs.
Charlie Pyle was one of these guys. “I got bounced on the base of the skull and shoved down what later proved to be lines of Japs with clubs, pipes and swords. The daylight was really blasted out of me.”
After being treated like a “bouncing ball,” Charlie struggled overboard into the sea and briefly passed out. When he came to, the sub was leaving, but Charlie was still tied up and didn’t have a “damn thing” to keep him afloat.
“Sure that I was dead, I tried to sink but couldn’t. Next I tried going down by drinking water. This also failed. After several futile attempts, I decided it wasn’t my time yet.”
When the sun rose the following morning, July 3, the sub was gone and what few survivors remained were grouped together and began untying each other. Most of the men were bleeding to some degree or other and the waters around them were filled with sharks and stinging Portuguese man o’wars.
“All morning and during the early afternoon we swam,” wrote Charlie.
Ironically, it was one of our Island’s namesakes—a PBY Catalina seaplane—that first spotted the survivors. Shortly after the first torpedoes hit the ship, radio operator Augustus “Gus” Tilden had sent sent a distress call and the U.S. Navy had been looking for them ever since.
“We were dropped rubber preservers so (we) floated around for a couple of hours until I was able to climb aboard a rubber donut with six other fellows,” wrote Charlie.
The men stayed aboard the raft all night, although the raft sprung a leak about midnight.
The following day, more PBY Catalinas and a rescue ship showed up and finally picked up the remaining 24 survivors.
“When I finally was rescued,” wrote Charlie, “I found I had my head cut open in three places.
“Being finally picked up by one of our ships made that day truly the happiest July Fourth I ever expect to have.”