spoke the language. McCoy, I remember, started a class in
 
calculus, having been somethin of a mathematics shark since his
 
days at Annapolis.
 
     On one occasion a young regular Army lieutenant remarked,
 
"Why don't we get up a ball game?"
 
     "We have no gear," one of us in the group pointed out.
 
     A request for baseball gear was put through. Much to
 
our surprise the Japanese supplied us with a small quantity of
 
softball gear almost immediately--apparently they had had it on
 
hand, and just hadn't bothered or cared enough to issue it.
 
There was very little of this equipment, so each man got to play
 
on an average of about once a week. One of the star players on
 
McCoy's team, by the way, was Captain W. E. Dyess, the Batash air
 
ace, one of the ten of us who finally escaped.
 
       About once a week our chaplains arranged amateur
 
theatricals or skits. The Japanese guards were usually the most
 
appreciative spectators at these events, but all of us looked
 
forward to them, despite what must be sadly admitted as a very
 
low entertainment value. On an afternoon in late August, rumor
 
quickly ran through the prison that the entertainment for that
 
night had been cancelled.
 
                     "Why?" I asked.
 
"Our three escapees are back," I was informed. "The
 
Japanese are making them put on a show."
 
         We did not know what turn this "show" would take, and we
 
looked forward to it with foreboding. In this instance, however,
 
         
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