Below are the documents discussed in the post “For We Were There, Off the Shores of Kwajulane” [sic]
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A Story from Marshall Islands ((“A Story from Marshall Islands,” Cumorah’s Southern Messenger. September 1944. 134, 138.))
Contributed by Ray L. Jones
Principal, Midway L.D.S. Seminary
Editor’s Note – In forwarding this copy Elder Jones writes:
“I have attempted to check on the source and authenticity of this story, but so far have been unable to do so. The story came to me indirectly from Mrs. F.W. Olyma, and L.D.S. civilian employee at the Ft. Douglas, Utah, Station Hospital.
“I am confident that this story will make every L.D.S. boy who may be in the service now or who may expect to go in the future, think more seriously about his religion and the power he can hold through the Priesthood.”
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Some folks say that the day of miracles has passed. Some people say that things such as this just don’t happen, yet here’s a story which will leave you breathless and wondering … for it concerns two inconspicuous boys of the United States Marine Corps and the battle for the Marshall Islands.
The time was just before dawn when the great gray hulks, which were battleships, lay against the cool horizon of the blue Pacific. Aboard those ships the boys were anxiously awaiting the first signal which would announce the start of the drive to take one of the greatest of Japanese bases, Kwajulane atoll. Nearer inshore yet other boats lay in the silence of the dawn … smaller boats containing the United States Marines. Where the duties of the man aboard the big ships would require the rather remote but strenuous work of bombardment, it was the men on the smaller boats inshore who must wade through the final stretch of water and brave the withering fire of murderous Japanese machine guns. Slowly the minutes ticked by into what seemed hours. Actually the time was twenty minutes to six, when the final word came. From over the horizon tons of shells began pouring into the Jap positions from the big ships off shore. It seemed that all hell broke loose, for Kwajulane began to heave and surge with a convulsive shock of death. A star-flare lit the sky and the smaller boats began pouring out the men who were destined to take the island. From far above, barely audible at first, then building into a roaring crescendo, Allied dive bombers dove toward that small patch of earth, its bombs tearing great holes in the ground and blowing adjacent buildings to bits. And slowly toward shore, the men of the United States Marines edged closer and closer. In a moment they would be sighted by the Japanese. In a moment bullets would begin splattering around them, from pill-boxes skillfully hidden on the beach! But on they came … and soon the battle was joined by the men whose glory is destined to be written in the annals of history. The splatter of machine guns soon lay a death pattern on the men wading toward shore. Here and there, they went down, some wounded, some dead … and it’s about two of those wounded that we speak at the moment.
The battle went on and the men of the Marine Corps – despite the wounds and death of their comrades – went in. Being a war correspondent, my boat was going in behind the first line of men, and we came upon these two wounded Marines in the water. One, from the stain of red around him we could tell, was wounded badly. The other, wounded too, was holding the other’s head above water. We picked them up, midst a hail of shots from shore, then pulled back toward safer retreat to render first aid. The one seemed too far gone to need much help, but the other refused aid until his wounded buddy was attended. But our help seemed insufficient, as we soon realized, and we announced our decision to his comrade. Then it happened. This young man, the better of the two, bronzed by the tropical sun, clean as a shark’s tooth in the South Seas, slowly got to his knees. His one arm was nearly gone, but with the other he lifted the head of his unconscious pal into his lap, placed his good hand on the other’s pale brow and uttered what seemed to us to be incredible words … words which to this moment are emblazoned in unforgettable letters across the doorway of my memory: “In the name of Jesus Christ, and by the virtue of the Holy Priesthood which I hold, I command you to remain alive until the necessary help can be obtained to secure the preservation of your life.”
To-day, the three of us are here in Honolulu and he is still alive. In fact, we walked down the beach together to-day as we convalesce. He is the wonder of the medical unit, for they say he should be dead. Why he isn’t they don’t know … but we do, for we were there, off the shores of Kwajulane.
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Collected from Sister [B], Church History Library, 4 December 2014; found as a mimeographed document folded and left between the pages of a book [title not collected] recently purchased by Sister [B] at Deseret Industries
Honolulu, February 8, 1944 (by United Press)
Some folks say that the day of miracles has passed. Some people say that things such as this just don’t happen, yet here’s a story which will leave you breathless and wondering – for it concerns two inconspicuous boys of the United States Marine Corps and the battle for the Marshall Islands.
The time was just before dawn when the great gray hulks which were battleships lay against the cool horizon of the blue Pacific. Aboard those ships the boys were anxiously awaiting the first signal which would announce the start of the drive to take one of the greatest of Japanese bases, Kwajulane atol. Nearer inshore, yet other boats lay in the silence of the dawn — smaller boats containing the United States Marines. Where the duties of the man aboard the big ships would require the rather remote but strenuous work of bombardment, it was the men on the smaller boats inshore who must wade through the final stretch of water and brave the withering fire of murderous Japanese machine guns. Slowly the minutes ticked by into what seemed hours. Actually the time was twenty minutes to six, when the final word came. From over the horizon tons of shells began pouring into the Jap positions from the big ships off shore. It seemed that all hell broke loose, for the Kwajulane began to heave and surge with a convulsive shock of death. A star-flare lit the sky and the smaller boats began pouring out the men who were destined to take the island. From far above, barely audible at first, then building into a roaring crescendo, allied dive bombers dove toward that small patch of earth, its bombs tearing great holes in the ground and blowing adjacent buildings to bits. And slowly toward shore, then men of the United States Marines edged closer and closer. In a moment, they would be sighted by the Japanese. In a moment bullets would begin splattering around them, from pill-boxes skillfully hidden on the beach but on they came — and soon the battle was joined by the men whose glory is destined to be written in the annals of history. The splatter of machine guns soon lay a death pattern on the men wading toward shore. Here and there they went down, some wounded, some dead – and it is about two of those wounded that we speak at the moment. The battle went on, and the men of the Marine Corps, despite the wounds and death of their comrades, went in.
Being a war correspondent, my boat was going in behind the first line of men, and we came upon these two wounded Marines in the water. One, from the stain of red around him we could tell, was wounded badly; the other, wounded too, was holding the other’s head above water. We picked them up, midst a hail of shots from shore, then pulled back toward safer retreat to render first aid. The one seemed too far gone to need much help, but the other refused aid until his wounded buddy was attended. But our help seemed insufficient, as we soon realized, and we announced our decision to his comrade. Then it happened.
This young man, the better of the two, bronzed by the tropical sun, clean as a shark’s tooth in the South Seas, slowly got to his knees. His one arm was nearly gone, but with the other he lifted the head of his unconscious pal into his lap, placed his good hand on the other’s pale brow and uttered what to us seemed to be incredible words – words which to this moment are emblazoned in unforgettable letters across the doorway of my memory: “In the Name of Jesus Christ, and by virtue of the Holy Priesthood which I hold, I command you to remain alive until the necessary help can be obtained to secure the preservation of your life.”
Today, the three of us are here in Honolulu and he is still alive. In fact we walked down the beach together, as we convalesce. He is the wonder of the medical unit, for – they say – he should be dead. Why he isn’t, they don’t know – but we do, for we were there, off the shores of Kwajulane.
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Courage to Live ((Courage to Live, comp. by Robert B. Fox. Salt Lake City: Deseret Book Company, 1962, 78-80))
Some folk say that the day of miracles has passed. Some people say that things such as this just don’t happen, yet here’s a story which will leave you breathless and wondering, for it concerns two inconspicuous boys of the United States Marine Corps and the battle for the Marshall Islands.
The time was just before dawn when the great gray hulks which were battleships lay against the cool horizon of the blue Pacific. Aboard those ships the boys were anxiously awaiting the first signal which would announce the start of the drive to take one of the greatest Japanese bases, Kwajulane atoll. Nearer inshore, yet other boats lay in the silence of the dawn — smaller boats containing the United States Marines. Where the duties of the man aboard the big ships would require the rather remote but strenuous work of bombardment, it was the men on the smaller boats in shore who must wade through the final stretch of water and brave the withering fire of murderous Japanese machine guns. Slowly the minutes ticked by into what seemed hours. Actually the time was twenty minutes to six, when the final word came. From over the horizon tons of shells began pouring into the Jap positions from the big ships off shore. It seemed that all hell broke loose, for the Kwajulane began to heave and surge with a convulsive shock of death. A star-flare lit the sky and the smaller boats began pouring out the men who were destined to take the island. From far above, barely audible at first, then building into a roaring crescendo, allied dive bombers dived toward that small patch of earth, its bombs tearing great holes in the ground and blowing adjacent buildings to bits. And slowly toward shore, the men of the United States Marines edged closer and closer. In a moment they would be sighted by the Japanese. In a moment bullets would begin splattering around them from pillboxes skilfully hidden on the beach. But on they came, and soon the battle was joined by the men whose glory is destined to be written in the annals of history. The splatter of machine guns soon lay a death pattern on the men wading toward shore. Here and there they went down, some wounded, some dead – and it is about two of those wounded that we speak at the moment. The battle went on, and the men of the Marine Corps – despite the wounds, and death of their comrades – went in.
Being a war correspondent, my boat was going in behind the first line of men, and we came upon these two wounded Marines in the water. One, from the stain of red around him we could tell, was wounded badly and the other, wounded too, was holding the other’s head above water. We picked them up, midst a hail of shots from shore, then pulled back toward safer retreat to render first aid. The one seemed too far gone to need much help, but the other refused aid until his wounded buddy was attended. But our help seemed insufficient, as we soon realized, and we announced our decision to his comrade.
Then it happened. This young man, the better of the two, bronzed by the tropical sun, clean as a shark’s tooth in the South Seas, slowly got to his knees. His one arm was nearly gone, but with the other, he lifted the head of his unconscious pal into his lap, placed his good hand on the other’s pale brow and uttered what to us seemed to be incredible words – words which to this moment are emblazoned in unforgettable letters across the doorway of my memory: “In the name of Jesus Christ, and by virtue of the Holy Priesthood which I hold, I command you to remain alive until the necessary help can be obtained to secure the preservation of your life.”
Today, the three of us are here in Honolulu and he is still alive. In fact we walked down the beach together today. As we convalesce, he is the wonder of the medical unit, for they say he should be dead. Why he isn’t they don’t know – but we do, for we were there, off the shores of Kwajulane. – Honolulu, Feb. 8, 1944 by United Press
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Are Souls Perishable? ((Paul B. Tanner, “Are Souls Perishable?” Instructor, July 1962, 240-41))
… Witness this account that came out of the attack upon Kwajalein (United Press, Honolulu, Feb. 8, 1944). The men of the United States Marines were moving in to the beach. As they edged closer, the splatter of machine guns lay a death pattern on the men wading toward shore. Part of the account follows:
Being a war correspondent, my boat was going in behind the first line of men, and we came upon these two wounded Marines in the water. One, from the stain of red around him, we could tell was wounded badly; the other, wounded too, was holding the other’s head above water. We picked them up, amidst a hail of shots from shore, then pulled back toward safer retreat to render first aid. The one seemed too far gone to need much help, but the other refused aid until his wounded buddy was attended. But our help seemed insufficient, as we soon realized, and we announced our decision to his comrade. Then it happened.
This young man, the better of the two, bronzed by the tropical sun, clean as a shark’s tooth in the south Seas, slowly got to his knees. His one arm was nearly gone, but with the other, he lifted the head of his unconscious pal into his lap, placed his good hand on the other’s pale brow and uttered what to us seemed to be incredible words – words which to this moment are emblazoned in unforgettable letters across the doorway of my memory: “In the name of Jesus Christ, and by virtue of the Holy Priesthood which I hold, I command you to remain alive until the necessary help can be obtained to secure the preservation of your life.”
Today, the three of us are here in Honolulu, and he is still alive. In fact, we walked down the beach together today, as we convalesce. He is the wonder of the medical unit, for – they say – he should be dead.
How concerned are each of us about the lives and souls of others? …
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Lesson 14: Spiritual Gifts ((Lesson 14: Spiritual Gifts. The Priesthood and You: Melchizedek Priesthood Course of Study. [need full citation] 1966))
Let us begin with a thrilling story of the power of god’s Priesthood at work among men today. This account came out of the attack upon Kwajalein during World War II.
The men of the United States Marines were moving in to the beach. As they edged closer, the splatter of machine guns laid a death pattern on the men wading toward shore. part of the account follows:
As I was a war correspondent, my boat was going in behind the first line of men, and we came upon these two wounded marines in the water. One from the stain of red around him, we could tell was wounded badly; the other, wounded too, was holding the other’s head above water. We picked them up, amidst a hail of shots from shore, then pulled back toward safer retreat to render first aid. the one seemed too far gone to need much help, but the other refused aid until his wounded buddy was attended. But our help seemed insufficient, as we soon realized, and we announced our decision to his comrade. then it happened.
This young man, the better of the two, bronzed by the tropical sun, … slowly got to his knees. His one arm was nearly gone, but with the other, he lifted the head of his unconscious pal into his lap, placed his good hand on the other’s pale brow and uttered what to us seemed to be incredible words – words which to this moment are emblazoned in unforgettable letters across the doorway of my memory: “In the name of Jesus Christ, and by virtue of the Holy Priesthood which I hold, I command you to remain alive until the necessary help can be obtained to secure the preservation of your life.”
Today, the three of us are here in Honolulu, and he is still alive. In fact, we walked down the beach together today, as we convalesce. He is the wonder of the medical unit, for – they say – he should be dead. (See Tanner, Paul B., “Are Souls Perishable?” The Instructor, July, 1962, pp. 240-241.)
How did this bearer of the Holy Priesthood know that he could be instrumental in saving his companion? By faith. In his heart burned the testimony of truth – “that which the Spirit testifies unto you even so I would that ye should do in all holiness of heart. …” (Doctrine & Covenants 46:7.) There are many spiritual gifts, and each Priesthood bearer is capable of exercising those gifts with which he is endowed. This lesson is given to inspire us to exercise this power.
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Giving Our Young Men the Proper Priesthood Perspective ((Ernest Eberhard, Jr., “Giving Our Young Men the Proper Priesthood Perspective.” Typescript, dated 19 July 1971, 4-5. LDS Church History Library. [apparently a talk given on that date; place not stated]))
… You may have read the story of the marine landing on the island of Kwajalein, as told by a non-Mormon correspondent in a newspaper in Hawaii. As he tells it, he and the other correspondents were in the second wave behind the marines, and they noticed a young marine floating in the water, badly wounded, with blood all around him. And they saw a second marine, his left arm hanging helplessly by his side, lift up the head of the one who was floating, to keep him from drowning. In a somewhat panicky voice, he called for help. the correspondents looked at the boy he was supporting and said, “Son, there is nothing we can do for this boy.”
“Then,” the correspondent went on with his story, “I saw something that I had never seen before. This boy, badly wounded himself, put the head of his companion on his knee after he had reached the shore with him. What a picture that was – these two mortally wounded boys – both hard, clean, wonderful-looking young men, even in their distressing situation. And the one boy bowed his head over the other and said, ‘I command you, in the name of Jesus Christ and by the power of the priesthood, to remain alive until I can get medical help.’” The correspondent concluded, “The three of us are here in the hospital. The doctors don’t know why we are here, but I know.”
Brethren, until a boy evaluates the priesthood while in a kayak on Green River like these two marines saw it on the shores of Kwajalein, we haven’t done what is necessary to show a boy what the priesthood is. …
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Faith: We Were There ((“Faith: We Were There” The Friend, August 1974, 33))
It was just before dawn. Slowly the anxious moments ticked by for the American soldiers who waited in boats for the signal that would start their battle. They were trying to take one of the Japanese island bases in the Pacific during World War II. In one of the boats were two young Latter-day Saint marines.
At twenty minutes to six, the signal came to start firing. Suddenly it was as though the island base and all the boats waiting to attack exploded into flame and fire. Dive bombers dropped their loads, machine guns cut down the men who started wading toward shore, and the island base of Kwajalein seemed to heave and roll with the fury of the battle.
The two marines were hit in the first wave of gunfire and one was very badly wounded. The other, who was less seriously hurt, held the head of his comrade above water until help came. Finally a United press newspaperman and some medics found them both in the water. They tried to give first aid to the least injured boy, but he refused help until his buddy was checked. The rescuers thought the boy was too badly hurt to ever recover. A war correspondent wrote the rest of the story on February 8, 1944.
“Then it happened. This young man, the stronger of the two, bronzed by the tropical sun, clean as a shark’s tooth in the South Seas, slowly got to his knees. His own arm was nearly gone, but with the other, he lifted the head of his unconscious pal into his lap, placed his good hand on the other’s pale brow and uttered what to us seemed to be incredible words – words that to this moment are emblazoned in unforgettable letters across the doorway of my memory:
‘In the name of Jesus Christ, and by virtue of the holy priesthood which I hold, I command you to remain alive until the necessary help can be obtained to secure the preservation of your life.’”
the two young marines were later taken to a hospital with the newspaper reporter who concluded his story in this way:
“The three of us are here in Honolulu and today we walked down the beach together … he is the wonder of the medical unit for – they say – he should be dead. Why he isn’t they don’t know – but we do – for we were there, off the shores of Kwajalein.”
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Willing and Worthy to Serve (( “Willing and Worthy to Serve,” Thomas S. Monson, General Conference, April 2012))
… During World War II, in the early part of 1944, an experience involving the priesthood took place as United States marines were taking Kwajalein Atoll, part of the Marshall Islands and located in the Pacific Ocean about midway between Australia and Hawaii. What took place in this regard was related by a correspondent—not a member of the Church—who worked for a newspaper in Hawaii. In the 1944 newspaper article he wrote following the experience, he explained that he and other correspondents were in the second wave behind the marines at Kwajalein Atoll. As they advanced, they noticed a young marine floating facedown in the water, obviously badly wounded. The shallow water around him was red with his blood. And then they noticed another marine moving toward his wounded comrade. The second marine was also wounded, with his left arm hanging helplessly by his side. He lifted up the head of the one who was floating in the water in order to keep him from drowning. In a panicky voice he called for help. The correspondents looked again at the boy he was supporting and called back, “Son, there is nothing we can do for this boy.”
“Then,” wrote the correspondent, “I saw something that I had never seen before.” This boy, badly wounded himself, made his way to the shore with the seemingly lifeless body of his fellow marine. He “put the head of his companion on his knee. … What a picture that was—these two mortally wounded boys—both … clean, wonderful-looking young men, even in their distressing situation. And the one boy bowed his head over the other and said, ‘I command you, in the name of Jesus Christ and by the power of the priesthood, to remain alive until I can get medical help.’” The correspondent concluded his article: “The three of us [the two marines and I] are here in the hospital. The doctors don’t know [how they made it alive], but I know.” [footnote 11: In Ernest Eberhard Jr., “Giving Our Young Men the Proper Priesthood Perspective,” typescript, July 19, 1971, 4–5, Church History Library.]
Miracles are everywhere to be found when the priesthood is understood, its power is honored and used properly, and faith is exerted. When faith replaces doubt, when selfless service eliminates selfish striving, the power of God brings to pass His purposes. …
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The Young Marine Against All Odds ((Marlene Bateman Sullivan, “The Young Marine Against All Odds,” Heroes of Faith: True Stories of Courage & Strength, Springville, Utah: CFI; Cedar Fort, 2013. 147-48))
Just before dawn, American battleships lined up against the horizon of the blue Pacific. They waited for the signal that would begin the battle to take the Marshall Islands. However, the battleships weren’t the only ones poised for action on that vast ocean. Further toward shore, other smaller boats lay waiting, filled with marines. The plan was to have the battleships start by bombarding the land with shells. soldiers in boats would then row to the island and wade through the final stretch of water while facing enemy machine gunfire.
Dawn approached, and the sky was a murky gray when the final word came at 5:40 AM to attack. Immediately, the Marine Corps launched the drive to take Kwajulane, one of the largest Japanese bases on the nearby island. Shells began raining onto the shore from the gray battleships.
There was a faint noise in the distance, which grew louder and became a vast roar as Allied bombers headed for the island. Bombs blew huge holes in the ground and reduced buildings to rubble. As star flares lit the still-dark sky, men poured out of the smaller boats and began splashing through the water to the beach. Enemy soldiers showered them with bullets – killing and injuring many. Still, the Marines pressed on.
A war correspondent was in a raft behind the first line of men. As he approached the island, he came upon two marines who had been shot while they were in the water. They had both been shot, but one marine was holding the other’s head above the water, which was tinted red.
There was a hail of bullets from the island, but the correspondent managed to help the soldiers into his boat. he moved back and found a medic, even though the more critically injured man was unconscious and seemed too far gone to need help.
medics administered first aid to the unconscious marine first, mainly because his friend refused to be attended to until he was looked at. After a quick examination, the medics told the marine that his buddy was too far gone and would be dead in a few minutes.
the young man, his face bronzed by the tropical sun, stared at his critically injured friend. Then, he got to his knees. One of his arms was useless, but he used the other to put the unconscious man’s head in his lap. Placing his good hand on his friend’s pale forehead, he offered a blessing. The words he uttered were so powerful that the correspondent later said they were emblazoned in unforgettable letters across the doorway of his memory.
“In the name of Jesus Christ, and by the virtue of the Holy Priesthood which I hold, I command you to remain alive until the necessary help can be obtained to secure the preservation of your life.” [footnote 1: Robert B. Fox, compiler, Courage To Live (Salt Lake City: Deseret Book, 1967 [sic]), 80.]
Heavenly Father honored the blessing the young marine gave to his friend. The medics kept the critically injured man alive until they could return to the ship. There, doctors worked frantically to save him. Against all odds, the critically wounded marine continued to hold onto life until the ship – laden with other injured soldiers – arrived at a hospital in Honolulu.
it took some time, but finally, the doctors at the hospital were able to confirm that the marine would live. During his convalescence, he was the wonder of the medical unit. The entire medical staff knew it was extremely rare, even unheard of, for a man with such severe injuries to survive. How and why the young marine had managed to live was a great mystery to the doctors and nurses. But it wasn’t a mystery to the faithful young marine who had been heroic enough to put aside the pain of his own wounds in order to administer and give a blessing to his friend.
Weeks later, the war correspondent went back to the hospital in Honolulu to visit the two young men he had pulled into his boat. it was nothing less than a miracle, he thought, that the three of them could walk down to the beach. As they strolled along, watching the waves roll in, they talked together and marveled at the power of God.
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