Diary of Ellsberg's 1942 voyage to Africa on the S. S. Fairfax
This is the diary of Edward Ellsberg during his voyage from New York to Lagos, Nigeria on the S. S. Fairfax and his plane travel to Cairo, Egypt, thence on to Massawa, Eritrea during the winter of 1942. This diary and the letters he wrote to his wife, Lucy (see the Massawa Letters) formed the basis for his book, Under the Red Sea Sun.
Log of the S. S. Fairfax
Background information:
S.S. Fairfax, Merchants and Miners Line (chartered to Agwi for operation)
Capt. A. Brooks
Tonnage 5600 gross
Length, about 360 feet
Armed guard officer: Ensign McCausland, U.S.N.R.
Armament
1 4” gun on stern (ex-destroyer)
1 3” high angle all-purpose gun on forecastle
2 .50 cal. A.A. machine guns
2 .30 cal. Lewis guns. (A.A.)
Speed, 12.5 knots
Monday, Feb. 16, 1942
New York
Embarked about 3 PM on S.S. Fairfax. Ship still in hands of shipyard workmen. Rain. Yard force working all night to complete installation of lifeboats. All boats in miserable order. Rain.
Tuesday, Feb. 17, 1942
Heavy fog. Still alongside pier. Workmen finishing up. Ship’s force (merchant crew) engaged in cleaning up ship. 2 PM. Fog cleared. 4:30 PM. Ship underway for lower harbor. Passed U.S.S. Texas anchored off St. George. 27 years ago when I was just out of the Naval Academy and Texas was a new battleship, I joined her for my first cruise as an Ensign. Fairfax anchored in Gravesend Bay. Took aboard ammunition for our guns. Strong wind, very cold.
Wednesday, Feb. 18, 1942
9 AM. Underway alone for Ambrose Channel. Cleared channel 10 AM. Swinging ship off Ambrose Lightship to calibrate radio compass.> Weather cold, clear, moderate breeze, slight sea. 1 PM. Finished swinging ship. Headed south, outward bound. During afternoon fired all guns (one 4”, one 3”, two .50 cal. machine guns and 2 .30 cal. Lewis guns) for test. Running alone, no convoy. Escorted however by Navy blimp K-6, flying slowly ahead. Ensign McCausland, U.S.N.R., in charge of armed guard party. Total passenger list, about 380, crew about 105. Entered Delaware Bay about 10 PM, and anchored for night. Very cold.
Thursday, Feb. 19, 1942
Underway at daylight. Entered Delaware-Chesapeake Canal and emerged into Chesapeake Bay about 11 AM. Ran down the bay. Anchored about 10 PM off Hampton Rhoads to await degaussing calibration.
Friday, Feb. 20, 1942
At anchor till late afternoon while other merchantmen were being calibrated. Held boat drill, ship’s crew lowering all boats to rail. Except for 3 boats (out of 14) lowering accomplished within 5 minutes. Rearranging boat gear, and working on boats, all of which were poorly stowed. About 4:30 PM, underway on range for degaussing calibration. One seaman of armed guard sent ashore ill, probably pneumonia. Finished degaussing calibration. Anchored. Wind and sea increasing. Very cold.
Saturday, Feb. 21, 1942
At anchor until about 11 AM. Fresh gale. Received report of degaussing. Station recommended deperming, for which a trip to Newport News was required. Got underway for Newport News. Urged captain to contact Naval Operating Base to see what delay deperming involved. Discovered it would require waiting till Feb. 27, since only 1 ship a day could be handled. On inquiry, discovered deperming was for us only a desirable refinement. Nav. Op. Base agreed with us it could be omitted. 4 PM. Picked up 4 army officers who had gone ashore for stores the day before. They had a terrible time in small boats getting back. 5 PM. Still blowing fairly hard. Anchored inside Cape Henry.
Sunday, Feb. 22, 1942
Underway at last! About 7:30 AM, cleared Cape Henry, dropped pilot, and stood down the coast for Cape Hatteras. Our original destination was Trinidad for refueling. Because of U-boat attacks on Aruba and Trinidad, and one sinking reported off Jupiter Inlet late Saturday, our routing was changed by radio to proceed direct to San Juan, Puerto Rico. Held a discussion with Captain Brooks and recommended he steer directly for San Juan from Cape Hatteras, going thus far out to sea and avoiding the Florida Straits. I think he had intended to hug the Florida and Cuban shores, but after the discussion, he decided it was best to take the deep-sea route as best avoiding known areas of submarine activity.
Moderate westerly breeze, weather warming somewhat.
Held Devine Service at 11 AM, Major Goff conducting. Moderate attendance, with those attending reverently following the service.
Cleared Cape Hatteras (Diamond Shoals) at 5 PM and stood southeast for Puerto Rico, leaving traffic stream which was headed for the Florida Straits. More reports of ships torpedoed off Jupiter Inlet, Florida. Fairfaxstood on alone. When some hours off the coast, we were inspected by a Navy flying patrol boat and an army bomber, both of which flew overhead, circled our bow, and returned to the cape. No convoy now or before.
Noted after dark that while ship was completely blacked out, her side lights (red & green) were still on. Went to see Capt. Brooks about this. He was very belligerent immediately the subject was raised. Found he was gravely concerned over collision risk, deeming it more serious than torpedo hazard. After a long discussion on this matter, he agreed to extinguish the side lights when a few miles further from Cape Hatteras. About ten minutes later, he turned off the lights and we steamed on completely blacked out.
A light flowing breeze and warmer weather made it a beautiful evening. Orion and Sirius glowed brilliantly dead ahead, with a gorgeous half moon on the starboard side. Overcoats were no longer required.
About 11 PM, a ship with all lights burning, including many cabin lights, passed us headed north. What she may have been (a Portuguese or Spanish neutral?) we could not tell. We kept well clear. Moderate roll with some passengers sick.
Monday, Feb. 23, 1942
Beautiful day, with a very definite deep blue to the water, a moderate breeze, and a following sea. Position at noon, Lat. 31°37′N, Long. 72°40′W.
About 6 AM received a radio signal that a vessel was being chased by a submarine about 50 miles southwest of us. Heard nothing further from her. More radio messages of another ship being followed by a U-boat off Jupiter Inlet, and a sinking off Bethel Shoals, with a warning to keep clear of the Florida coast. Wreck of ship reported drifting on her side off Jupiter Inlet.
A tanker bound north passed us about 10:30 AM. Saw no other vessels at all, in marked contrast with yesterday, when six to eleven were in sight at all times. I think we have selected the safest track.
Held fire and boat drills as per daily routine.
Tuesday, Feb. 24, 1942
Storm. Heavy sea from ahead, wind about 50 miles per hour. Ship pitching, increasing to heavy pitch in the afternoon. Large number of passengers sick. Temperature moderate. Saw no ships at all today. Toward night, wind started to haul to starboard and increased in strength. Ship pitching and pounding heavily. Sea very steep, with remarkable breaking effect of crests. No rain, but overcast.
Wednesday, Feb. 25, 1942
Still blowing hard, with wind now about abeam. Clear overhead, with sun all day. Large seasick list. I missed no meals myself, however. No ships in sight, and no reports of submarine activities. U-boats apparently having their own difficulties, for which we on the Fairfax had little sympathy. It was obvious that submarine attacks, either surface or submerged, would have been hazardous to the submarine in the heavy, steep seas running. Reports of several collisions of ships along the coast, which Capt. Brooks relayed to me with some relish. Our lights still stay out at night, however. Toward night, wind and sea died down.
Thursday, Feb. 26, 1942
Approaching Puerto Rico. Weather fine, moderate sea, slight wind. Took morning and noon sights myself for position, showing ourselves about 12 miles too far west for a good landfall on our course. Captain failed to alter course sufficiently, relying on the fourth mate’s sights, which showed up further east. Picked up land ahead about 2 PM. Unable to locate any recognizable land marks. Turned eastward. I located two charted chimneys and got a good bearing from them. Ran 10 miles east to San Juan. Found my noon position was three miles out, but closest to our actual point; one mate was 7 miles off and the other 12 miles off.
Puerto Rico looked unusually beautiful as seen from the sea, with exceptionally rugged mountains and uneven hills; the water was deep close inshore. Everything green of course. We entered San Juan, with the old Morro Castle dark brown and somewhat mossy rising steeply from the sea on the peninsula point. A submarine net was stretched across a narrow harbor entrance, with heavy surf breaking each side.
The town as seen from the harbor is lovely, rising on the side of a hill. The architecture is decidedly Spanish, with even the modern buildings harmonizing in the same general style.
We moored alongside the dock, with the Orizaba (a converted ex-Ward liner) manned by a Navy crew, across from us. All hands ashore about 5 PM. San Juan on closer view was less inviting, but not bad. The entire layout is ancient – narrow streets, narrower sidewalks, and plenty of dirt – typically a Spanish town. Bought a few books on navigation and returned to the ship. Ashore again for an evening walk. Hot and sticky in the town. My shirt was soon soaked.
With most of the shops closed, the major attractions seemed to be “night clubs” – scarcely camouflaged dance halls with apparently plenty of Puerto Rican rum, most unattractive “hostesses” and an infernal racket echoing over the streets from inside. Patrons mostly soldiers, sailors, and our civilian passengers.
The usual evidence of cripples and beggars all around. Made the mistake of asking a boy a question about the location of the cable office. The result was two Puerto Ricans started to guide me without themselves having the slightest knowledge of its direction. Had a hard time getting rid of them.
Mailed a few letters and sent a cable. After reading the cable censor’s rules, I decided I could safely send only “Well and busy.” Nearly everything else seemed barred that might ordinarily go in a personal cable.
Returned to the ship around 10 PM, having seen plenty of San Juan. About 11 PM (the deadline for shore leave) our passenger list started to return – some fighting drunk, some roaring drunk, some singing drunk, and some just drunk. A more hideous and disgraceful night from then on I never heard on any ship. Sleep was impossible. I judge our group of civilians (and a few soldiers) acted worse than any lot of drunken bums I have ever seen.
Friday, Feb. 27, 1942
Ashore a few hours in the morning to buy a pillow (the one I had on the ship positively stank). Returned about 10 AM. The Puerto Rican shops gloried mostly in New York merchandise, nothing native visible. Made ready to sail at noon. Held up till 1 PM by the absence of one of our civilians who should have been back by 11 PM the night before. He finally sauntered down the dock with the news that he had been asleep ashore till he heard the ship’s preparatory warning whistles. He should have been left.
Underway about 1 PM. Two huge Pan-American flying boats came in for a landing while we were clearing the harbor; also a destroyer tender, the Somers. Stood out to the northward, then headed ENE to get well off the coast as a U-boat had been reported that morning in the Anageda Passage east of St. Thomas. Gorgeous night, with calm sea, mild air, and fine display of stars. Stayed up till midnight admiring it.
Saturday, Feb. 28, 1942
Headed southeast this morning on a long leg for the South American coast off Natal. Saw nothing of U-boats. Heard the air patrol had sunk one inside the Caribbean. About 12:30 AM our forward lookouts saw something that scared them stiff. They reported a couple of torpedo tracks! On close investigation this morning, I decided they had seen a whale spouting twice – no one had seen any tracks at all, simply two spouts above the surface. Fine weather. Nothing sighted. Caught cold in the head from getting in a draft while perspiring.
Sunday, March 1, 1942
General alarm around 12:30 AM. On turning out, found bright moonlight illuminating sea. All passengers standing by boats. Ran aft, to find ship had reversed course and there was a moderate smoke visible several miles dead astern. Gun crew aft at stations, trained on object. Shortly reported by 1st mate he had decided object was a tanker headed north (before we sheared off). Came back on course and secured. Only ship sighted this day.
Sunday dawned as an exceptionally beautiful day – moderate sea, an invigorating breeze, low humidity, and very pleasant temperature. Visibility to horizon most remarkable – a fine clear cut line. Saw nothing during the daylight hours.
Sunday night was as lovely as the day – a clear full moon, brilliant stars, and a few clouds to decorate the sky. Weather like this (if guaranteed) would make a trip through here the world’s finest honeymoon setting. Flying fish starting to appear in moderate shoals. The water was a heavenly blue in the daylight.
Took my first star sights – Canopus bearing south and Pollux bearing east. Got a fine position from the two crossed lines of position.
The ships’ officers are beginning to improve in navigation. I am teaching several of them. Still bothered by cold in head.
Monday, March 2, 1942
Another fine day. Wind somewhat stronger with whitecaps all around. Moderate pitch to ship. Some of our passengers still rather indisposed.
Tuesday, March 3, 1942
Running southeast for the Equator. Now about 300 miles east of French Guiana. No ships sighted. Observed that for about three days we had had a steady breeze, force 4 (about 24 miles) from about east-southeast. Little variation either in strength or direction of wind. A fine breeze here for a sailing ship. (The trade winds?)
Complained (unofficially) to the Purser about the meals, which run strongly to beef stew, corned beef and cabbage, frankfurters and sauerkraut, pig’s knuckles, and baked ham with boiled potatoes, all served in huge quantities. Suggested this was an exceedingly inappropriate diet in the tropics for passengers doing little (or nothing) of physical work, being more suitable for a section gang working on the railroad in Minnesota in midwinter. Got exactly nowhere in the discussion. Whoever provisioned this ship should be jailed. The Purser pleaded inexperience of the shipping line (Agwi) with a tropical voyage. Rotten excuse.
Nose running freely from cold in the head. How I ever got the idea that the tropics might be a good place to lose the cold I had in New York is beyond me. This cold makes me more miserable than when in cold weather.
Wednesday, March 4, 1942
Still heading southeast. Wind blowing as usual. Fine weather with moderate motion. Cold somewhat better. Position about 4° N. Lat; 46° W. Long.
Both of our .50 caliber machine guns found to jam after a few rounds. After much investigation and experiment cured one by removing air which was found in oil chamber of recoil cylinder. Will check the other gun tomorrow.
Thursday, March 5, 1942
About 3 PM today, we sighted when somewhat north of the Equator, two warships on the westerly horizon, about abeam. Both started for us. As per our was instructions, we turned to get both of them astern and made full speed ahead (13 knots). The ships, evidently a destroyer and a cruiser, hauled up rapidly, and the destroyer soon started flashing signals to us to show our call letters. We broke out our war code call on a flag hoist.
The destroyer then came about on our starboard quarter, crossed under our stern, hauled up to port and ordered us to stop. She turned out to be a destroyer leader of the Somers class, (the Davis) numbered 395. Her skipper bawled us out through the megaphone for showing our war call before we had identified him as a friendly warship and he had asked for it. He stated we should have flown only our commercial call letters as a flag hoist.
At any rate, #395 foamed up under our port quarter with all her turrets and eight 5-inch guns trained on us till they were assured by a close aboard inspection we were who we claimed to be. I judge with all the troops lining our rails and waving at them, it could hardly have been very dubious.
Meanwhile the cruiser, #6, one of the Omaha class of four-stackers, lay off our port quarter and perhaps a mile away, to cover us should we try anything rash on the destroyer.
However, when #395 had scanned us from close aboard through their glasses, they signaled us
“Good luck!” and sheered away to rejoin #6, when both steamed off to the northwest to resume the patrol of the route to North America.
The vessels were, I think, the Cincinnati cruiser and the Davis destroyer.
Friday, March 6, 1942
At 4 AM this morning we crossed the Equator. The traditional ceremony of holding Neptune’s Court and initiating the neophytes was carried through at 10 AM.
Father Neptune, Queen Amphitrite, Davy Jones, and assorted mermaids were excellently done under Major Goff’s direction. Amphitrite in particular with two sizeable glass balls for breasts, one a vivid green, the other a startling red, made a sea queen that might well have stood out in any company.
Some ten of the passengers (I was one) were selected for actual initiation and appeared before Neptune to answer charges. (Mine were that I persisted in refusing to help the ship’s officers navigate, though repeatedly begged to!). So we were lathered with strong soap, shaved with a wooden razor, cured of our infirmities with some huge pills, and finally cleansed of all earthy taints with a salt water hose. After which we were admitted as shellbacks to Neptune’s Kingdom. Cold about gone.
Saturday, March 7, 1942
A beautiful day. Busy with sights, checking the ship’s position. My navigation has caused some hard feeling with the Captain, who now takes it amiss, though originally he invited me to use his sextant whenever I pleased. So far as I can judge, the skipper may think I am trying to show up the incompetence of his mates. He asked the 3rd mate, Mr. Beck, to tell me to quit, but Beck refused on the ground I was doing all the mates a good turn (and the ship besides). It seems the skipper got quite irritated then and Beck seems anxious to quit the ship, feeling the skipper now has a knife out for him. I intend to keep on with at least an occasional sight, since the ship cannot afford the repetition of her San Juan landfall.
Sunday, March 8, 1942
Fine day. Star sights in morning and good noon latitude. Picked up South American coast some 60 miles north of Pernambuco on bearing and on time my sights indicated, being myself the first to sight land. Made Pernambuco harbor about 3:30 PM. Entered and cast anchor. Being Sunday, we were unable to get practique officials aboard or port authorities, so all hands stayed on ship till Monday.
Peruvian light cruiser Baia tied up alongside quay together with some eight freighters. City looked very inviting with a green background, Point Olinda rising over it to the north, and a pleasantly cool breeze blowing in from the sea.
Monday, March 9, 1942
We finally got clearance to go alongside the dock about 8 AM, and by 10 AM were ashore. Pernambuco was an agreeable surprise as compared to San Juan, being much cleaner and, of course, a more modernly laid out city. Found nothing of any particular historical interest, nor any striking cathedrals. Did a little shopping, had a very good dinner ashore (cost .50); returned to the Fairfax.
Meanwhile the U.S. destroyer Greene, converted to a seaplane tender and now serving on the Brazilian coast, came in. Went aboard her and met her skipper, commander Briggs, a torpedo specialist. Stayed for supper, witnessed the ship’s movies (Johnny Apollo with Tyrone Power and Dorothy Lamour), and spent a very pleasant evening with Briggs discussing torpedoes and depth charges and the need for improving the latter.
Tuesday, March 10, 1942
Vessel began fueling about 9:30 AM, this being the object of our entering Pernambuco. It appears no definite arrangements for oil had previously been made, so much cabling and the loss of a day and a half ensued before we finally were able to start fueling. Went ashore for a walk about 9 AM. While we had the sun practically overhead (88° at noon) the temperature did not seem excessive and I have been much hotter on summer days in Boston and New York (let alone a few hot days in Maine). No appreciable humidity.
The Brazilians here are about as expected – all shades from white to black, but with no Indian types here at least. Had a fine dinner at the Hotel Grande total cost .75 cents; worth at least $2.50 in a similar hotel in New York.
Because of rigorous warnings against a repetition of any such outrageous display as marked our drunken passengers in San Juan, there was relative peace in Pernambuco, alongside the Fairfax, and aboard her during our visit. Some disgracefully drunk cases staggered or were taxied back alongside, but we were spared a night of hideous screeches and shouts.
We came away from San Juan with six cases of venereal disease soon developing, several of them combination cases of gonorrhea and syphilis. The score for Pernambuco remains to be seen.
A sharp disagreement developed between General Scott and the Captain over our sailing hour – the Captain announcing at noon after most all hands were ashore and could not have been reached, that the ship would sail at 2:30 PM, regardless of who was aboard. General Scott sent him word he would sail at 6 PM instead.
We did not sail at 2:30 PM, but neither did we sail at 6 PM. In a childish huff, Captain Brooks decided if he couldn’t sail at 2:30 PM, he wouldn’t sail till next morning, meanwhile insultingly informing the General that he was costing the government a $1,000 for holding the Fairfax another day. Rot. The ship could easily have sailed at 6 PM. Our captain revealed himself as a peevish old woman. Sailing set for 6 AM.
Wednesday, March 11, 1942
Ship unready to sail at 6 AM due to several of her crew still missing. Finally got away about 9 AM, leaving a quartermaster and an oiler.
The hard feeling aboard the ship between Captain Brooks and his passengers is quite evident.
Cleared Pernambuco harbor at 9:30 AM, and then started steaming on course 49°. The course to Lagos directly is 70°. I cannot understand this except on the assumption that the captain tried to lay out a great circle course and miscalculated it, or that he is trying to get north of the direct route to a less frequented one to avoid danger. On the latter assumption, Commander Briggs of the destroyer Greene assured me there had been no reports of submarine activity south of latitude 9° N.; therefore Captain Brooks could hardly have been advised to take this course for that reason. Our present course will lengthen our voyage perhaps a day.
3rd mate Beck took several sights with the Captain’s sextant, which gave curious results.
Thursday, March 12, 1942
Checked the Captain’s sextant, which had been taken back into his custody during our stay in port. Found it grossly in error, with the mirrors badly out of adjustment, giving an error of 22’. (twenty-two miles). Corrected the errors and turned the sextant over to Beck.
Another beautiful day – cool, a little humid, with the usual flying fish and gorgeous blue water.
Sun today at noon practically vertically overhead - 89° in altitude.
Passed two ships – one close aboard, a Spanish freighter bound west and the other an unidentified steamer off on the horizon.
Menu changed starting yesterday, to serve only cold cuts and salad for lunch at noon. This is a great improvement.
Friday, March 13, 1942
Good weather, fairly cool, with occasional rain squalls. Changed course to due east (90°) at midnight, sailing now in latitude 2°30’ south, keeping the Equator on the port hand.
The cold cuts lasted just one day. I don’t know why. Back to a menu of stew again. No vessels sighted.
Saturday, March 14, 1942
Occasional equatorial showers with good weather between. Steady southeast trade winds. I finally determined the temperature about which I have been curious for some time as the ship’s bridge thermometer was broken (so reported) in the shipyard and never replaced since. Got Sergeant Anderson to find a thermometer. He first asked the Captain who inquired:
“Who wants to know?”
“Oh, Commander Ellsberg, Major Goff, and some others.”
“Well, I won’t tell you, for if they learned that, who knows what they’d want to know next.”
So!
At any rate, Sergeant Anderson finally dug up a thermometer from the sickbay, and we read it in the open air. The temperature is 84° F.
It is most astonishing that practically on the Equator, the temperature is no hotter. In fact it is much cooler here (and has been at sea throughout the tropics) than in New York in summer. The sea breeze is responsible, I suppose. While the humidity is not in any way oppressive, still it must be humid, for the decks stay damp for long periods and drying the laundry takes a considerable time.
No vessels sighted today.
Sunday, March 15, 1942
A beautiful day. Major Goff held religious services on the forecastle at 10:30 AM. Attendance fair.
Got some good sights. In particular, got a noon sight of the sun, 89° 40’ high – practically at the zenith, and so high that on passing the meridian, it changed azimuth from due east (dead ahead) to due west (dead astern) in a minute or two. Ordinarily this takes over eight hours. Navigation near the Equator has its advantages, for at noon the sun bore south, giving a perfect latitude sight, and a minute later it bore practically due west, giving an exact sight for longitude and thus providing an accurate “fix” from two sights of the same body almost as quickly as the sights could be taken. Unusual.
I noticed today that several sealed up ports in the side of the ship in the dining room and some cargo (or entrance doors) ports on both sides only eight feet above the water line, were opened up for ventilation purposes. As these would all admit water to the hull should the ship be torpedoed and take a moderate list, thus ensuring her prompt capsizing or hastening her foundering, I felt the opening of those ports in wartime in a danger zone to be both hazardous and foolhardy, regardless of the desirability of cooling off below.
I reported the hazard to Major Curtin (safety officer). After a discussion with General Scott, Colonel Gruver, Major Curtin, and I, were detailed to request Captain Brooks to close the ports at sea.
As usual, the Captain was instantly belligerent on hearing the reason of our call.
“Am I to understand that you are demanding I close these ports?” he asked.
“No, Captain, “ answered Major Curtin. “We are reporting the danger and requesting you close them.”
“Well, I’ll close them when I get good and ready!” the Captain informed us.
“And when will that be, Captain?” I asked.
“Maybe in two days, maybe in two weeks,” Brooks replied. And then he went on to tell us that in ordinary times, he would be warranted in locking up some twenty of his passengers for their interferences with his ship, and particularly excoriated General Scott. I wasn’t mentioned individually.
There was some general discussion, in which Colonel Gruver endeavored to point out the passengers were merely trying to improve unsafe conditions – not to antagonize the Captain. My impression – discussion was useless. The Captain seems to have a persecution complex – no suggestion can be made to him without his immediately taking offense and becoming belligerent. Inasmuch as much is required for safety, his temperament is unfortunate, and as he is evidently densely ignorant of what torpedoes can do and has the unfounded faith of a complete fool on the ability of his ship to remain afloat if torpedoed, the situation is dangerous.
The result – the dining room ports were closed, but the side cargo doors remain open during the day. God help the Fairfax if she is torpedoed, with her own master obstinately doing his best to insure her loss!
Monday, March 16, 1942
Another beautiful day. We are still steaming due east, in latitude 2° 30’ south. Longitude at noon, 12° 30’ west, which puts us due south of the hump of Africa and some 500 miles from the nearest land. At midnight, the clocks were advanced an hour Saturday night, being our first change at sea since leaving Washington. They were previously changed in Pernambuco, the Captain refusing previously to change them at sea. This queer quirk, the third mate assured me, was due to his lack of knowledge as to which way to change them. Maybe so.
Held boat drill.
No ships have been sighted for three days.
The meals remain as before – stew, etc., poorly cooked. Today the butter gave out and they started to serve oleo-margarine. This seems queer, as oleo takes up as much room as butter, and the latter could just as well have been carried instead from New York. Inasmuch as the Government is paying $650 each for our passage, I judge more than sufficient was paid for food of first-class quality.
Some notes on the personnel, to be run in now and then:
Captain Archibald (?) Brooks, master of the Fairfax.
Captain Brooks is roughly 55 years of age, large, round-faced, quite reddish in complexion, with stooped shoulders, and a generally soured expression. He has been master of the Fairfax since her completion 16 years ago. During all this time, the ship’s run has been between Boston and Miami, with stops at intermediate ports – coasting only. She has never before been on the deep sea, and I judge neither has her Captain, who has evidently spent his seagoing life with the Merchants and Miners Line in coasting voyages.
Captain Brooks gives no evidence of knowing deep-sea navigation. I have never seen him with a sextant, nor taking a sight. The second mate assures me that in his seven years on the ship before this voyage, no one ever took a sight, all navigation being solely by shore bearings.
Captain Brooks is having continual difficulty with his new mates (the third and the junior third) and his crew. The crew, I believe, have him sized up for an incompetent (which he is) and are taking advantage of it. The Captain confuses peevishness with authority, and gets nowhere in his attempts to control anything.
The first mate is Chief Officer Murphy, a mild-mannered, inoffensive person of slight build and general futility in exercising authority and acting as executive officer on this ship. He takes sights religiously, but I have never seen any of his results plotted on the chart. Whether he can work a sight properly I do no know.
The second mate is Marshall, who is a well meaning, hard working officer, but so slow-witted that in navigation at least he has great difficulty always in getting his data set up correctly and in getting his arithmetic done without gross errors. In time, I think he can learn by rote, but it will be slow.
Beck is third mate. He was very poor at navigation, but is picking it up rapidly and should soon make a fair navigator. He is passable now and diligently working to improve himself. Unquestionably the Captain has a knife out for him however, and Beck is anxious to leave as soon as possible. He would have left at Pernambuco if not dissuaded there by the American consul to whom he told his troubles.
Muhlenbeck, a heavy-set, heavy-jowled seaman, is the junior third mate. He is at present the best navigator among the ship’s officers, but the Captain discourages his efforts and Muhlenbeck is afraid to take many sights lest he get in trouble. He also is disgusted with the ship and desires to leave as soon as possible.
Massawa
August 15, 1942
At the above point my diary was suspended, due to too much happening in the succeeding months to do anything on it. I shall now endeavor briefly to bring it up to date.
On the early afternoon of March 20 we made Lagos, coming in on a course from sea based on some early morning star sights I got (and the third mate plotted as our position) which put us squarely into the entrance of the harbor. A beautiful landfall.
Our introduction to the African scene was prophetic of what we had come to remedy. Sunk just at the harbor entrance, with only her masts above water, was a freighter that had hit a mine.
Lagos was hot and humid, and like most of the West African coast, malarial. We got ashore for dinner at the Grand (of course) Hotel. It was not so grand. Returned aboard early and slept under a mosquito net for the first time. Damned sticky inside.
March 21, 1942
Embarked about 10 AM in a Pan-American Airways plane and departed from the Fairfax without regret and without a farewell to Archibald Brooks. I think all other army officers acted similarly. Very hot in the plane at the takeoff, so we were all soon wringing wet. Once we were away at some 9000 feet it cooled off and we dried off. We flew NE for Kano, a very ancient city on the southern edge of the Sahara, built of mud pueblos very much resembling those of our Pueblo Indians in Colorado.
We landed at Kano for lunch only. Hot, as usual. Our passengers consisted of General Scott, Major Bibo, his aide, Col. Gruver, Major Goff, and some fifteen other army officers and myself, plus one half portion Hindoo taken aboard in Lagos. The Hindoo much resembled Mahatma Gandhi. He was returning eastward to India, having been interrupted in his passage westward at Pearl Harbor by the bombs on Dec. 7.
We landed at Maidugurry for the night. Typical mid-African scenery – thick mud walled buildings with high-pitched thatched roofs open at the wall tops to give ventilation. I slept in the open (under a net) under the stars. Very fine dinner served – fried chicken, apple pie, American coffee. Pan Am runs an American menu.
During the evening, we had an excellent opportunity to buy leopard skins, python skins, and other native souvenirs from dozens of native merchants who came to exhibit their wares in the dust. No place to carry anything within my plane allowance, so refrained, though there were some magnificent boa constrictor skins offered.
March 22, 1942
Took off from Maidugurry at dawn. Our Hindoo friend was missing. Heard he had been taken into custody during the night on radio orders to detain him as a German agent; so he was then in the local calaboose.
Continued in flight across Africa. Saw some lions, a few giraffes and some other animals. Country on the whole pretty well baked along our route following the southern edge of the Sahara. I was quite glad to be passing over it by plane, and not by caravan, of which we saw many. We traveled usually at about 5000 feet, where it was cool.
We landed at El Fasher for lunch, and then hopped some very forbidding mountain ranges to get to Khartoum for the night. It was quite a depressing region to fly over, for a forced landing (if successful) meant a trek for perhaps hundreds of miles at any real chance for aid.
We landed at Khartoum in the late afternoon, to step from the plane into what seemed the entrance to a blast furnace, the air seemed so hot. Went to town with Major Goff, saw the statue of Chinese Gordon astride a camel, found Khartoum (in the far southern Sudan) a town built for Europeans only with somewhat of a tropical architecture, but clean enough and generally about as exciting as Worcester or Peoria. Went to a cabaret with the major to view a tenth rate vaudeville put on by a troupe of Austrians interned for the duration in Khartoum. Got back to the airfield rater late. Too hot to sleep comfortably, though the quarters (in an ex-college dormitory for girls) were fair.
Among other things (but not liquid) had what purported to be a chocolate malted milk with ice cream at a canteen run by the Church of England next to the Episcopal church.
March 23, 1942
Underway early for Cairo, by air and glad to get off. We followed the Nile, to get a startling impression of how that river is Egypt. Only a narrow strip, often less than a mile wide, along its banks is green. Outside that strip, the hot sands came in on both sides to a sharp line of demarcation between desert sand and cultivated (and irrigated) fields. Almost for a thousand miles we saw that – the thin strip of green intensely cultivated running through the desert on each side. And away from where the Nile waters the land, is the most terrible desert on Earth from Khartoum north to Cairo – sand, sand dunes, barren rocks bordered with sand, mountains rising from seas of sand with never a bit of green on them, and everywhere, desolation, aridity, and sand.
We made a stop at Wady Hulfa for lunch. Just as blazing hot as at Khartoum. Continued on then over more sand, to arrive finally in mid-afternoon at the Heliopolis commercial airport where we landed.
General Maxwell (Chief of the North African Mission) was there to greet General Scott, so I also met him for the first time. General Maxwell appeared to be a rather reserved person.
I went to the Hotel Continental, where six years ago I stayed with Lucy and Mary. Now it was so crowded, I shared a room with three other army officers.
Cairo felt moderately comfortable, not hot.
March 24, 1942
I had a brief discussion with General Maxwell about the work to be done in Massawa. I suggested going to Alexandria for a few days to meet the British officers there, get acquainted with the fleet and repair situation there, and then proceed to Massawa, but the General preferred I proceed immediately, returning to visit Alex. In a few weeks after I had things going on my station. I was invited to have dinner with him that evening.
Went to the General’s residence (an Egyptian mansion somewhere in the outskirts). Had a very good dinner and a pleasant evening. Was driven back about midnight, to find the air uncomfortably cold. Wished for an overcoat.
March 25, 1942
Tried to make arrangements with British Overseas Airways Company (BOAC) for a passage to Eritrea thru the Army transportation officer. Got a fine run-around. Developed also a case of “Gyppy tummy.” Whether this was due to the chill of the evening before or the ice cream of two evenings before in Khartoum, I didn’t know yet. At any rate, for some days, my average interval off the toilet seat was about fifteen minutes.
After no satisfaction from BOAC, Pan Am offered to take me to Asmara, via Khartoum. I accepted. Once more south across that infernal desert to Khartoum, only to find on landing there that the last connecting plane flying to Asmara had gone out that morning and there would be no more. Spent another hot night at Khartoum, aggravated by the fact that the airfield toilets were all of the outhouse type and the frequent treks there that night were about the last straw.
March 26, 1942
Back again to Cairo by air, over the desert for the third time. I began to get well acquainted with both the sand and the desolate rocks which make it up. In Cairo, I started once more on BOAC, got a passage, had it cancelled on me in a message in what I still think is tops in British obtuseness:
“We regret to inform you that you are not traveling with us tomorrow.”
No more, no less. Got the Army working on them, so I was later informed I was traveling with them tomorrow.
March 29, 1942
Got aboard the BOAC plane early, so they couldn’t pull my plane seat from under me once more. Flew via Luxor and Port Sudan to Asmara. Port Sudan proved terribly hot – as bad as Khartoum. About half a dozen British flight officers came down with me from Cairo to Port Sudan to fly away American fighters debarked at Port Sudan and assembled there. Within ten minutes of our landing they were in the air again in American Tomahawks (I think) roaring westward over the field toward the Libyan Desert at well over 300 miles an hour, it seemed. So amazingly fast, anyway, they shot by in the air I could hardly turn my head fast enough to follow as they swooped over.
A few minutes later we were off again ourselves for Asmara, flying shortly over high mountains, to land finally at about 7000 feet elevation near that city. It was quite cool there.
The End
(Ed: Since diaries were not allowed, Ellsberg had to cease writing this journal.)
Additional material
On January 21, 2005, Parker C. Wiseman sent me the following letter pertaining to the Fairfax’s voyage and his observations of Ellsberg:
“My personal connection with your grandfather began as a fellow passenger on the former Merchant and Miners Line coastal steamer Fairfax which left pier 50 on New York’s North River, February 16, 1942 bound for Lagos, Nigeria. Your grandfather, back in the Navy, was enroute to Massawa in East Africa to salvage the Axis ships and floating dry-docks they had sunk in that port to delay the advance of the Allied Forces. The early chapters of Under the Red Sea Sun tell of the travails of that voyage.
“I was just 21 and on my way as an air operations employee of Pan American Airways in British West Africa. When we boarded the ship in a freezing rain, we were shocked to see the hulk of the former French superliner, Normandie, lying in the mud next door sunk by New York firemen in an effort to extinguish a fire caused by a careless workman’s torch. The same kind of hectic work was still continuing on the Fairfax as it was converted from civilian service to wartime use – and the work continued three more days until we left Norfolk, Virginia. When my father delivered me to the ship and saw the frenzied commotion, he thought to himself, ‘I may never see my son again.’ I can only imagine what your grandfather thought when he first came aboard and saw the chaos with his experienced eyes.
“The first time I saw Commander Ellsberg was two days after our departure when he convinced the senior passenger on board, an Army Brigadier General, to call a meeting of all passengers and order them to wear their lifejackets at all times on deck. Your grandfather helped in many other ways – convinced the captain, whose experience was limited to peacetime coastal voyages, not to turn on the ship’s running lights, navigated the ship while retraining the ship’s officers in how to use their sextants which he had to adjust first, inspected and, with the help of passenger volunteers, began the repair of the ill-equipped and almost useless lifeboats. He even directed the young Navy lieutenant, JG in charge of the gun crew how to resecure the three-inch stern gun when it ripped its mounting bolts out of the deck during the first firing practice. From the moment the ship left its berth until we landed in Africa 31 days later, your grandfather never stopped trying to improve our chances of surviving the German submarines which we knew were cruising off the US east coast and on our intended South Atlantic course. In effect, he was the unpaid, non-appointed captain of the ship. His low-key but unquestionable authority gave a much needed sense of discipline and security to the 500 mostly young and inexperienced passengers and those, supposedly in charge, on the ship’s bridge.”
On February 10, 2005, Mr. Wiseman made the following additions to his story above:
"I really did enjoy the Admiral's Fairfax story. It brought out details we passengers were not aware of: radio messages re: the many sinkings during our first three days at sea; the names of the US Navy ships that stopped us in the South Atlantic, etc. While he mentioned the awful selection of food served he didn't recount the standoff with the galley crew.
About two weeks into the voyage many of the passengers contracted diarrhea. General Scott asked his senior Army doctor to try to find the source. the answer came back that the galley crew who were angry, along with their fellow union members, that they were not being paid some sort of war danger bonus, decided to cut corners. As a result they were not washing used dishes, but merely wiping them off with dirty dishtowels. when the doctor admonished them he was run out of the galley by men armed with butcher knives. The general was so enraged that, without reference to the Captain, he sent down a squad armed with drawn 45s whose sergeant gave the order to wash every dish and utensil in boiling water. For the rest of the trip an armed soldier supervised the cleanup after each meal."
Mr. Wiseman also pointed out that Howard Dean, father of the recent presidential candidate, was also on board the Fairfax during this trip.
Printed with permission of Mr. Wiseman.
Background information:
S.S. Fairfax, Merchants and Miners Line (chartered to Agwi for operation)
Capt. A. Brooks
Tonnage 5600 gross
Length, about 360 feet
Armed guard officer: Ensign McCausland, U.S.N.R.
Armament
1 4” gun on stern (ex-destroyer)
1 3” high angle all-purpose gun on forecastle
2 .50 cal. A.A. machine guns
2 .30 cal. Lewis guns. (A.A.)
Speed, 12.5 knots
Monday, Feb. 16, 1942
New York
Embarked about 3 PM on S.S. Fairfax. Ship still in hands of shipyard workmen. Rain. Yard force working all night to complete installation of lifeboats. All boats in miserable order. Rain.
Tuesday, Feb. 17, 1942
Heavy fog. Still alongside pier. Workmen finishing up. Ship’s force (merchant crew) engaged in cleaning up ship. 2 PM. Fog cleared. 4:30 PM. Ship underway for lower harbor. Passed U.S.S. Texas anchored off St. George. 27 years ago when I was just out of the Naval Academy and Texas was a new battleship, I joined her for my first cruise as an Ensign. Fairfax anchored in Gravesend Bay. Took aboard ammunition for our guns. Strong wind, very cold.
Wednesday, Feb. 18, 1942
9 AM. Underway alone for Ambrose Channel. Cleared channel 10 AM. Swinging ship off Ambrose Lightship to calibrate radio compass.> Weather cold, clear, moderate breeze, slight sea. 1 PM. Finished swinging ship. Headed south, outward bound. During afternoon fired all guns (one 4”, one 3”, two .50 cal. machine guns and 2 .30 cal. Lewis guns) for test. Running alone, no convoy. Escorted however by Navy blimp K-6, flying slowly ahead. Ensign McCausland, U.S.N.R., in charge of armed guard party. Total passenger list, about 380, crew about 105. Entered Delaware Bay about 10 PM, and anchored for night. Very cold.
Thursday, Feb. 19, 1942
Underway at daylight. Entered Delaware-Chesapeake Canal and emerged into Chesapeake Bay about 11 AM. Ran down the bay. Anchored about 10 PM off Hampton Rhoads to await degaussing calibration.
Friday, Feb. 20, 1942
At anchor till late afternoon while other merchantmen were being calibrated. Held boat drill, ship’s crew lowering all boats to rail. Except for 3 boats (out of 14) lowering accomplished within 5 minutes. Rearranging boat gear, and working on boats, all of which were poorly stowed. About 4:30 PM, underway on range for degaussing calibration. One seaman of armed guard sent ashore ill, probably pneumonia. Finished degaussing calibration. Anchored. Wind and sea increasing. Very cold.
Saturday, Feb. 21, 1942
At anchor until about 11 AM. Fresh gale. Received report of degaussing. Station recommended deperming, for which a trip to Newport News was required. Got underway for Newport News. Urged captain to contact Naval Operating Base to see what delay deperming involved. Discovered it would require waiting till Feb. 27, since only 1 ship a day could be handled. On inquiry, discovered deperming was for us only a desirable refinement. Nav. Op. Base agreed with us it could be omitted. 4 PM. Picked up 4 army officers who had gone ashore for stores the day before. They had a terrible time in small boats getting back. 5 PM. Still blowing fairly hard. Anchored inside Cape Henry.
Sunday, Feb. 22, 1942
Underway at last! About 7:30 AM, cleared Cape Henry, dropped pilot, and stood down the coast for Cape Hatteras. Our original destination was Trinidad for refueling. Because of U-boat attacks on Aruba and Trinidad, and one sinking reported off Jupiter Inlet late Saturday, our routing was changed by radio to proceed direct to San Juan, Puerto Rico. Held a discussion with Captain Brooks and recommended he steer directly for San Juan from Cape Hatteras, going thus far out to sea and avoiding the Florida Straits. I think he had intended to hug the Florida and Cuban shores, but after the discussion, he decided it was best to take the deep-sea route as best avoiding known areas of submarine activity.
Moderate westerly breeze, weather warming somewhat.
Held Devine Service at 11 AM, Major Goff conducting. Moderate attendance, with those attending reverently following the service.
Cleared Cape Hatteras (Diamond Shoals) at 5 PM and stood southeast for Puerto Rico, leaving traffic stream which was headed for the Florida Straits. More reports of ships torpedoed off Jupiter Inlet, Florida. Fairfaxstood on alone. When some hours off the coast, we were inspected by a Navy flying patrol boat and an army bomber, both of which flew overhead, circled our bow, and returned to the cape. No convoy now or before.
Noted after dark that while ship was completely blacked out, her side lights (red & green) were still on. Went to see Capt. Brooks about this. He was very belligerent immediately the subject was raised. Found he was gravely concerned over collision risk, deeming it more serious than torpedo hazard. After a long discussion on this matter, he agreed to extinguish the side lights when a few miles further from Cape Hatteras. About ten minutes later, he turned off the lights and we steamed on completely blacked out.
A light flowing breeze and warmer weather made it a beautiful evening. Orion and Sirius glowed brilliantly dead ahead, with a gorgeous half moon on the starboard side. Overcoats were no longer required.
About 11 PM, a ship with all lights burning, including many cabin lights, passed us headed north. What she may have been (a Portuguese or Spanish neutral?) we could not tell. We kept well clear. Moderate roll with some passengers sick.
Monday, Feb. 23, 1942
Beautiful day, with a very definite deep blue to the water, a moderate breeze, and a following sea. Position at noon, Lat. 31°37′N, Long. 72°40′W.
About 6 AM received a radio signal that a vessel was being chased by a submarine about 50 miles southwest of us. Heard nothing further from her. More radio messages of another ship being followed by a U-boat off Jupiter Inlet, and a sinking off Bethel Shoals, with a warning to keep clear of the Florida coast. Wreck of ship reported drifting on her side off Jupiter Inlet.
A tanker bound north passed us about 10:30 AM. Saw no other vessels at all, in marked contrast with yesterday, when six to eleven were in sight at all times. I think we have selected the safest track.
Held fire and boat drills as per daily routine.
Tuesday, Feb. 24, 1942
Storm. Heavy sea from ahead, wind about 50 miles per hour. Ship pitching, increasing to heavy pitch in the afternoon. Large number of passengers sick. Temperature moderate. Saw no ships at all today. Toward night, wind started to haul to starboard and increased in strength. Ship pitching and pounding heavily. Sea very steep, with remarkable breaking effect of crests. No rain, but overcast.
Wednesday, Feb. 25, 1942
Still blowing hard, with wind now about abeam. Clear overhead, with sun all day. Large seasick list. I missed no meals myself, however. No ships in sight, and no reports of submarine activities. U-boats apparently having their own difficulties, for which we on the Fairfax had little sympathy. It was obvious that submarine attacks, either surface or submerged, would have been hazardous to the submarine in the heavy, steep seas running. Reports of several collisions of ships along the coast, which Capt. Brooks relayed to me with some relish. Our lights still stay out at night, however. Toward night, wind and sea died down.
Thursday, Feb. 26, 1942
Approaching Puerto Rico. Weather fine, moderate sea, slight wind. Took morning and noon sights myself for position, showing ourselves about 12 miles too far west for a good landfall on our course. Captain failed to alter course sufficiently, relying on the fourth mate’s sights, which showed up further east. Picked up land ahead about 2 PM. Unable to locate any recognizable land marks. Turned eastward. I located two charted chimneys and got a good bearing from them. Ran 10 miles east to San Juan. Found my noon position was three miles out, but closest to our actual point; one mate was 7 miles off and the other 12 miles off.
Puerto Rico looked unusually beautiful as seen from the sea, with exceptionally rugged mountains and uneven hills; the water was deep close inshore. Everything green of course. We entered San Juan, with the old Morro Castle dark brown and somewhat mossy rising steeply from the sea on the peninsula point. A submarine net was stretched across a narrow harbor entrance, with heavy surf breaking each side.
The town as seen from the harbor is lovely, rising on the side of a hill. The architecture is decidedly Spanish, with even the modern buildings harmonizing in the same general style.
We moored alongside the dock, with the Orizaba (a converted ex-Ward liner) manned by a Navy crew, across from us. All hands ashore about 5 PM. San Juan on closer view was less inviting, but not bad. The entire layout is ancient – narrow streets, narrower sidewalks, and plenty of dirt – typically a Spanish town. Bought a few books on navigation and returned to the ship. Ashore again for an evening walk. Hot and sticky in the town. My shirt was soon soaked.
With most of the shops closed, the major attractions seemed to be “night clubs” – scarcely camouflaged dance halls with apparently plenty of Puerto Rican rum, most unattractive “hostesses” and an infernal racket echoing over the streets from inside. Patrons mostly soldiers, sailors, and our civilian passengers.
The usual evidence of cripples and beggars all around. Made the mistake of asking a boy a question about the location of the cable office. The result was two Puerto Ricans started to guide me without themselves having the slightest knowledge of its direction. Had a hard time getting rid of them.
Mailed a few letters and sent a cable. After reading the cable censor’s rules, I decided I could safely send only “Well and busy.” Nearly everything else seemed barred that might ordinarily go in a personal cable.
Returned to the ship around 10 PM, having seen plenty of San Juan. About 11 PM (the deadline for shore leave) our passenger list started to return – some fighting drunk, some roaring drunk, some singing drunk, and some just drunk. A more hideous and disgraceful night from then on I never heard on any ship. Sleep was impossible. I judge our group of civilians (and a few soldiers) acted worse than any lot of drunken bums I have ever seen.
Friday, Feb. 27, 1942
Ashore a few hours in the morning to buy a pillow (the one I had on the ship positively stank). Returned about 10 AM. The Puerto Rican shops gloried mostly in New York merchandise, nothing native visible. Made ready to sail at noon. Held up till 1 PM by the absence of one of our civilians who should have been back by 11 PM the night before. He finally sauntered down the dock with the news that he had been asleep ashore till he heard the ship’s preparatory warning whistles. He should have been left.
Underway about 1 PM. Two huge Pan-American flying boats came in for a landing while we were clearing the harbor; also a destroyer tender, the Somers. Stood out to the northward, then headed ENE to get well off the coast as a U-boat had been reported that morning in the Anageda Passage east of St. Thomas. Gorgeous night, with calm sea, mild air, and fine display of stars. Stayed up till midnight admiring it.
Saturday, Feb. 28, 1942
Headed southeast this morning on a long leg for the South American coast off Natal. Saw nothing of U-boats. Heard the air patrol had sunk one inside the Caribbean. About 12:30 AM our forward lookouts saw something that scared them stiff. They reported a couple of torpedo tracks! On close investigation this morning, I decided they had seen a whale spouting twice – no one had seen any tracks at all, simply two spouts above the surface. Fine weather. Nothing sighted. Caught cold in the head from getting in a draft while perspiring.
Sunday, March 1, 1942
General alarm around 12:30 AM. On turning out, found bright moonlight illuminating sea. All passengers standing by boats. Ran aft, to find ship had reversed course and there was a moderate smoke visible several miles dead astern. Gun crew aft at stations, trained on object. Shortly reported by 1st mate he had decided object was a tanker headed north (before we sheared off). Came back on course and secured. Only ship sighted this day.
Sunday dawned as an exceptionally beautiful day – moderate sea, an invigorating breeze, low humidity, and very pleasant temperature. Visibility to horizon most remarkable – a fine clear cut line. Saw nothing during the daylight hours.
Sunday night was as lovely as the day – a clear full moon, brilliant stars, and a few clouds to decorate the sky. Weather like this (if guaranteed) would make a trip through here the world’s finest honeymoon setting. Flying fish starting to appear in moderate shoals. The water was a heavenly blue in the daylight.
Took my first star sights – Canopus bearing south and Pollux bearing east. Got a fine position from the two crossed lines of position.
The ships’ officers are beginning to improve in navigation. I am teaching several of them. Still bothered by cold in head.
Monday, March 2, 1942
Another fine day. Wind somewhat stronger with whitecaps all around. Moderate pitch to ship. Some of our passengers still rather indisposed.
Tuesday, March 3, 1942
Running southeast for the Equator. Now about 300 miles east of French Guiana. No ships sighted. Observed that for about three days we had had a steady breeze, force 4 (about 24 miles) from about east-southeast. Little variation either in strength or direction of wind. A fine breeze here for a sailing ship. (The trade winds?)
Complained (unofficially) to the Purser about the meals, which run strongly to beef stew, corned beef and cabbage, frankfurters and sauerkraut, pig’s knuckles, and baked ham with boiled potatoes, all served in huge quantities. Suggested this was an exceedingly inappropriate diet in the tropics for passengers doing little (or nothing) of physical work, being more suitable for a section gang working on the railroad in Minnesota in midwinter. Got exactly nowhere in the discussion. Whoever provisioned this ship should be jailed. The Purser pleaded inexperience of the shipping line (Agwi) with a tropical voyage. Rotten excuse.
Nose running freely from cold in the head. How I ever got the idea that the tropics might be a good place to lose the cold I had in New York is beyond me. This cold makes me more miserable than when in cold weather.
Wednesday, March 4, 1942
Still heading southeast. Wind blowing as usual. Fine weather with moderate motion. Cold somewhat better. Position about 4° N. Lat; 46° W. Long.
Both of our .50 caliber machine guns found to jam after a few rounds. After much investigation and experiment cured one by removing air which was found in oil chamber of recoil cylinder. Will check the other gun tomorrow.
Thursday, March 5, 1942
About 3 PM today, we sighted when somewhat north of the Equator, two warships on the westerly horizon, about abeam. Both started for us. As per our was instructions, we turned to get both of them astern and made full speed ahead (13 knots). The ships, evidently a destroyer and a cruiser, hauled up rapidly, and the destroyer soon started flashing signals to us to show our call letters. We broke out our war code call on a flag hoist.
The destroyer then came about on our starboard quarter, crossed under our stern, hauled up to port and ordered us to stop. She turned out to be a destroyer leader of the Somers class, (the Davis) numbered 395. Her skipper bawled us out through the megaphone for showing our war call before we had identified him as a friendly warship and he had asked for it. He stated we should have flown only our commercial call letters as a flag hoist.
At any rate, #395 foamed up under our port quarter with all her turrets and eight 5-inch guns trained on us till they were assured by a close aboard inspection we were who we claimed to be. I judge with all the troops lining our rails and waving at them, it could hardly have been very dubious.
Meanwhile the cruiser, #6, one of the Omaha class of four-stackers, lay off our port quarter and perhaps a mile away, to cover us should we try anything rash on the destroyer.
However, when #395 had scanned us from close aboard through their glasses, they signaled us
“Good luck!” and sheered away to rejoin #6, when both steamed off to the northwest to resume the patrol of the route to North America.
The vessels were, I think, the Cincinnati cruiser and the Davis destroyer.
Friday, March 6, 1942
At 4 AM this morning we crossed the Equator. The traditional ceremony of holding Neptune’s Court and initiating the neophytes was carried through at 10 AM.
Father Neptune, Queen Amphitrite, Davy Jones, and assorted mermaids were excellently done under Major Goff’s direction. Amphitrite in particular with two sizeable glass balls for breasts, one a vivid green, the other a startling red, made a sea queen that might well have stood out in any company.
Some ten of the passengers (I was one) were selected for actual initiation and appeared before Neptune to answer charges. (Mine were that I persisted in refusing to help the ship’s officers navigate, though repeatedly begged to!). So we were lathered with strong soap, shaved with a wooden razor, cured of our infirmities with some huge pills, and finally cleansed of all earthy taints with a salt water hose. After which we were admitted as shellbacks to Neptune’s Kingdom. Cold about gone.
Saturday, March 7, 1942
A beautiful day. Busy with sights, checking the ship’s position. My navigation has caused some hard feeling with the Captain, who now takes it amiss, though originally he invited me to use his sextant whenever I pleased. So far as I can judge, the skipper may think I am trying to show up the incompetence of his mates. He asked the 3rd mate, Mr. Beck, to tell me to quit, but Beck refused on the ground I was doing all the mates a good turn (and the ship besides). It seems the skipper got quite irritated then and Beck seems anxious to quit the ship, feeling the skipper now has a knife out for him. I intend to keep on with at least an occasional sight, since the ship cannot afford the repetition of her San Juan landfall.
Sunday, March 8, 1942
Fine day. Star sights in morning and good noon latitude. Picked up South American coast some 60 miles north of Pernambuco on bearing and on time my sights indicated, being myself the first to sight land. Made Pernambuco harbor about 3:30 PM. Entered and cast anchor. Being Sunday, we were unable to get practique officials aboard or port authorities, so all hands stayed on ship till Monday.
Peruvian light cruiser Baia tied up alongside quay together with some eight freighters. City looked very inviting with a green background, Point Olinda rising over it to the north, and a pleasantly cool breeze blowing in from the sea.
Monday, March 9, 1942
We finally got clearance to go alongside the dock about 8 AM, and by 10 AM were ashore. Pernambuco was an agreeable surprise as compared to San Juan, being much cleaner and, of course, a more modernly laid out city. Found nothing of any particular historical interest, nor any striking cathedrals. Did a little shopping, had a very good dinner ashore (cost .50); returned to the Fairfax.
Meanwhile the U.S. destroyer Greene, converted to a seaplane tender and now serving on the Brazilian coast, came in. Went aboard her and met her skipper, commander Briggs, a torpedo specialist. Stayed for supper, witnessed the ship’s movies (Johnny Apollo with Tyrone Power and Dorothy Lamour), and spent a very pleasant evening with Briggs discussing torpedoes and depth charges and the need for improving the latter.
Tuesday, March 10, 1942
Vessel began fueling about 9:30 AM, this being the object of our entering Pernambuco. It appears no definite arrangements for oil had previously been made, so much cabling and the loss of a day and a half ensued before we finally were able to start fueling. Went ashore for a walk about 9 AM. While we had the sun practically overhead (88° at noon) the temperature did not seem excessive and I have been much hotter on summer days in Boston and New York (let alone a few hot days in Maine). No appreciable humidity.
The Brazilians here are about as expected – all shades from white to black, but with no Indian types here at least. Had a fine dinner at the Hotel Grande total cost .75 cents; worth at least $2.50 in a similar hotel in New York.
Because of rigorous warnings against a repetition of any such outrageous display as marked our drunken passengers in San Juan, there was relative peace in Pernambuco, alongside the Fairfax, and aboard her during our visit. Some disgracefully drunk cases staggered or were taxied back alongside, but we were spared a night of hideous screeches and shouts.
We came away from San Juan with six cases of venereal disease soon developing, several of them combination cases of gonorrhea and syphilis. The score for Pernambuco remains to be seen.
A sharp disagreement developed between General Scott and the Captain over our sailing hour – the Captain announcing at noon after most all hands were ashore and could not have been reached, that the ship would sail at 2:30 PM, regardless of who was aboard. General Scott sent him word he would sail at 6 PM instead.
We did not sail at 2:30 PM, but neither did we sail at 6 PM. In a childish huff, Captain Brooks decided if he couldn’t sail at 2:30 PM, he wouldn’t sail till next morning, meanwhile insultingly informing the General that he was costing the government a $1,000 for holding the Fairfax another day. Rot. The ship could easily have sailed at 6 PM. Our captain revealed himself as a peevish old woman. Sailing set for 6 AM.
Wednesday, March 11, 1942
Ship unready to sail at 6 AM due to several of her crew still missing. Finally got away about 9 AM, leaving a quartermaster and an oiler.
The hard feeling aboard the ship between Captain Brooks and his passengers is quite evident.
Cleared Pernambuco harbor at 9:30 AM, and then started steaming on course 49°. The course to Lagos directly is 70°. I cannot understand this except on the assumption that the captain tried to lay out a great circle course and miscalculated it, or that he is trying to get north of the direct route to a less frequented one to avoid danger. On the latter assumption, Commander Briggs of the destroyer Greene assured me there had been no reports of submarine activity south of latitude 9° N.; therefore Captain Brooks could hardly have been advised to take this course for that reason. Our present course will lengthen our voyage perhaps a day.
3rd mate Beck took several sights with the Captain’s sextant, which gave curious results.
Thursday, March 12, 1942
Checked the Captain’s sextant, which had been taken back into his custody during our stay in port. Found it grossly in error, with the mirrors badly out of adjustment, giving an error of 22’. (twenty-two miles). Corrected the errors and turned the sextant over to Beck.
Another beautiful day – cool, a little humid, with the usual flying fish and gorgeous blue water.
Sun today at noon practically vertically overhead - 89° in altitude.
Passed two ships – one close aboard, a Spanish freighter bound west and the other an unidentified steamer off on the horizon.
Menu changed starting yesterday, to serve only cold cuts and salad for lunch at noon. This is a great improvement.
Friday, March 13, 1942
Good weather, fairly cool, with occasional rain squalls. Changed course to due east (90°) at midnight, sailing now in latitude 2°30’ south, keeping the Equator on the port hand.
The cold cuts lasted just one day. I don’t know why. Back to a menu of stew again. No vessels sighted.
Saturday, March 14, 1942
Occasional equatorial showers with good weather between. Steady southeast trade winds. I finally determined the temperature about which I have been curious for some time as the ship’s bridge thermometer was broken (so reported) in the shipyard and never replaced since. Got Sergeant Anderson to find a thermometer. He first asked the Captain who inquired:
“Who wants to know?”
“Oh, Commander Ellsberg, Major Goff, and some others.”
“Well, I won’t tell you, for if they learned that, who knows what they’d want to know next.”
So!
At any rate, Sergeant Anderson finally dug up a thermometer from the sickbay, and we read it in the open air. The temperature is 84° F.
It is most astonishing that practically on the Equator, the temperature is no hotter. In fact it is much cooler here (and has been at sea throughout the tropics) than in New York in summer. The sea breeze is responsible, I suppose. While the humidity is not in any way oppressive, still it must be humid, for the decks stay damp for long periods and drying the laundry takes a considerable time.
No vessels sighted today.
Sunday, March 15, 1942
A beautiful day. Major Goff held religious services on the forecastle at 10:30 AM. Attendance fair.
Got some good sights. In particular, got a noon sight of the sun, 89° 40’ high – practically at the zenith, and so high that on passing the meridian, it changed azimuth from due east (dead ahead) to due west (dead astern) in a minute or two. Ordinarily this takes over eight hours. Navigation near the Equator has its advantages, for at noon the sun bore south, giving a perfect latitude sight, and a minute later it bore practically due west, giving an exact sight for longitude and thus providing an accurate “fix” from two sights of the same body almost as quickly as the sights could be taken. Unusual.
I noticed today that several sealed up ports in the side of the ship in the dining room and some cargo (or entrance doors) ports on both sides only eight feet above the water line, were opened up for ventilation purposes. As these would all admit water to the hull should the ship be torpedoed and take a moderate list, thus ensuring her prompt capsizing or hastening her foundering, I felt the opening of those ports in wartime in a danger zone to be both hazardous and foolhardy, regardless of the desirability of cooling off below.
I reported the hazard to Major Curtin (safety officer). After a discussion with General Scott, Colonel Gruver, Major Curtin, and I, were detailed to request Captain Brooks to close the ports at sea.
As usual, the Captain was instantly belligerent on hearing the reason of our call.
“Am I to understand that you are demanding I close these ports?” he asked.
“No, Captain, “ answered Major Curtin. “We are reporting the danger and requesting you close them.”
“Well, I’ll close them when I get good and ready!” the Captain informed us.
“And when will that be, Captain?” I asked.
“Maybe in two days, maybe in two weeks,” Brooks replied. And then he went on to tell us that in ordinary times, he would be warranted in locking up some twenty of his passengers for their interferences with his ship, and particularly excoriated General Scott. I wasn’t mentioned individually.
There was some general discussion, in which Colonel Gruver endeavored to point out the passengers were merely trying to improve unsafe conditions – not to antagonize the Captain. My impression – discussion was useless. The Captain seems to have a persecution complex – no suggestion can be made to him without his immediately taking offense and becoming belligerent. Inasmuch as much is required for safety, his temperament is unfortunate, and as he is evidently densely ignorant of what torpedoes can do and has the unfounded faith of a complete fool on the ability of his ship to remain afloat if torpedoed, the situation is dangerous.
The result – the dining room ports were closed, but the side cargo doors remain open during the day. God help the Fairfax if she is torpedoed, with her own master obstinately doing his best to insure her loss!
Monday, March 16, 1942
Another beautiful day. We are still steaming due east, in latitude 2° 30’ south. Longitude at noon, 12° 30’ west, which puts us due south of the hump of Africa and some 500 miles from the nearest land. At midnight, the clocks were advanced an hour Saturday night, being our first change at sea since leaving Washington. They were previously changed in Pernambuco, the Captain refusing previously to change them at sea. This queer quirk, the third mate assured me, was due to his lack of knowledge as to which way to change them. Maybe so.
Held boat drill.
No ships have been sighted for three days.
The meals remain as before – stew, etc., poorly cooked. Today the butter gave out and they started to serve oleo-margarine. This seems queer, as oleo takes up as much room as butter, and the latter could just as well have been carried instead from New York. Inasmuch as the Government is paying $650 each for our passage, I judge more than sufficient was paid for food of first-class quality.
Some notes on the personnel, to be run in now and then:
Captain Archibald (?) Brooks, master of the Fairfax.
Captain Brooks is roughly 55 years of age, large, round-faced, quite reddish in complexion, with stooped shoulders, and a generally soured expression. He has been master of the Fairfax since her completion 16 years ago. During all this time, the ship’s run has been between Boston and Miami, with stops at intermediate ports – coasting only. She has never before been on the deep sea, and I judge neither has her Captain, who has evidently spent his seagoing life with the Merchants and Miners Line in coasting voyages.
Captain Brooks gives no evidence of knowing deep-sea navigation. I have never seen him with a sextant, nor taking a sight. The second mate assures me that in his seven years on the ship before this voyage, no one ever took a sight, all navigation being solely by shore bearings.
Captain Brooks is having continual difficulty with his new mates (the third and the junior third) and his crew. The crew, I believe, have him sized up for an incompetent (which he is) and are taking advantage of it. The Captain confuses peevishness with authority, and gets nowhere in his attempts to control anything.
The first mate is Chief Officer Murphy, a mild-mannered, inoffensive person of slight build and general futility in exercising authority and acting as executive officer on this ship. He takes sights religiously, but I have never seen any of his results plotted on the chart. Whether he can work a sight properly I do no know.
The second mate is Marshall, who is a well meaning, hard working officer, but so slow-witted that in navigation at least he has great difficulty always in getting his data set up correctly and in getting his arithmetic done without gross errors. In time, I think he can learn by rote, but it will be slow.
Beck is third mate. He was very poor at navigation, but is picking it up rapidly and should soon make a fair navigator. He is passable now and diligently working to improve himself. Unquestionably the Captain has a knife out for him however, and Beck is anxious to leave as soon as possible. He would have left at Pernambuco if not dissuaded there by the American consul to whom he told his troubles.
Muhlenbeck, a heavy-set, heavy-jowled seaman, is the junior third mate. He is at present the best navigator among the ship’s officers, but the Captain discourages his efforts and Muhlenbeck is afraid to take many sights lest he get in trouble. He also is disgusted with the ship and desires to leave as soon as possible.
Massawa
August 15, 1942
At the above point my diary was suspended, due to too much happening in the succeeding months to do anything on it. I shall now endeavor briefly to bring it up to date.
On the early afternoon of March 20 we made Lagos, coming in on a course from sea based on some early morning star sights I got (and the third mate plotted as our position) which put us squarely into the entrance of the harbor. A beautiful landfall.
Our introduction to the African scene was prophetic of what we had come to remedy. Sunk just at the harbor entrance, with only her masts above water, was a freighter that had hit a mine.
Lagos was hot and humid, and like most of the West African coast, malarial. We got ashore for dinner at the Grand (of course) Hotel. It was not so grand. Returned aboard early and slept under a mosquito net for the first time. Damned sticky inside.
March 21, 1942
Embarked about 10 AM in a Pan-American Airways plane and departed from the Fairfax without regret and without a farewell to Archibald Brooks. I think all other army officers acted similarly. Very hot in the plane at the takeoff, so we were all soon wringing wet. Once we were away at some 9000 feet it cooled off and we dried off. We flew NE for Kano, a very ancient city on the southern edge of the Sahara, built of mud pueblos very much resembling those of our Pueblo Indians in Colorado.
We landed at Kano for lunch only. Hot, as usual. Our passengers consisted of General Scott, Major Bibo, his aide, Col. Gruver, Major Goff, and some fifteen other army officers and myself, plus one half portion Hindoo taken aboard in Lagos. The Hindoo much resembled Mahatma Gandhi. He was returning eastward to India, having been interrupted in his passage westward at Pearl Harbor by the bombs on Dec. 7.
We landed at Maidugurry for the night. Typical mid-African scenery – thick mud walled buildings with high-pitched thatched roofs open at the wall tops to give ventilation. I slept in the open (under a net) under the stars. Very fine dinner served – fried chicken, apple pie, American coffee. Pan Am runs an American menu.
During the evening, we had an excellent opportunity to buy leopard skins, python skins, and other native souvenirs from dozens of native merchants who came to exhibit their wares in the dust. No place to carry anything within my plane allowance, so refrained, though there were some magnificent boa constrictor skins offered.
March 22, 1942
Took off from Maidugurry at dawn. Our Hindoo friend was missing. Heard he had been taken into custody during the night on radio orders to detain him as a German agent; so he was then in the local calaboose.
Continued in flight across Africa. Saw some lions, a few giraffes and some other animals. Country on the whole pretty well baked along our route following the southern edge of the Sahara. I was quite glad to be passing over it by plane, and not by caravan, of which we saw many. We traveled usually at about 5000 feet, where it was cool.
We landed at El Fasher for lunch, and then hopped some very forbidding mountain ranges to get to Khartoum for the night. It was quite a depressing region to fly over, for a forced landing (if successful) meant a trek for perhaps hundreds of miles at any real chance for aid.
We landed at Khartoum in the late afternoon, to step from the plane into what seemed the entrance to a blast furnace, the air seemed so hot. Went to town with Major Goff, saw the statue of Chinese Gordon astride a camel, found Khartoum (in the far southern Sudan) a town built for Europeans only with somewhat of a tropical architecture, but clean enough and generally about as exciting as Worcester or Peoria. Went to a cabaret with the major to view a tenth rate vaudeville put on by a troupe of Austrians interned for the duration in Khartoum. Got back to the airfield rater late. Too hot to sleep comfortably, though the quarters (in an ex-college dormitory for girls) were fair.
Among other things (but not liquid) had what purported to be a chocolate malted milk with ice cream at a canteen run by the Church of England next to the Episcopal church.
March 23, 1942
Underway early for Cairo, by air and glad to get off. We followed the Nile, to get a startling impression of how that river is Egypt. Only a narrow strip, often less than a mile wide, along its banks is green. Outside that strip, the hot sands came in on both sides to a sharp line of demarcation between desert sand and cultivated (and irrigated) fields. Almost for a thousand miles we saw that – the thin strip of green intensely cultivated running through the desert on each side. And away from where the Nile waters the land, is the most terrible desert on Earth from Khartoum north to Cairo – sand, sand dunes, barren rocks bordered with sand, mountains rising from seas of sand with never a bit of green on them, and everywhere, desolation, aridity, and sand.
We made a stop at Wady Hulfa for lunch. Just as blazing hot as at Khartoum. Continued on then over more sand, to arrive finally in mid-afternoon at the Heliopolis commercial airport where we landed.
General Maxwell (Chief of the North African Mission) was there to greet General Scott, so I also met him for the first time. General Maxwell appeared to be a rather reserved person.
I went to the Hotel Continental, where six years ago I stayed with Lucy and Mary. Now it was so crowded, I shared a room with three other army officers.
Cairo felt moderately comfortable, not hot.
March 24, 1942
I had a brief discussion with General Maxwell about the work to be done in Massawa. I suggested going to Alexandria for a few days to meet the British officers there, get acquainted with the fleet and repair situation there, and then proceed to Massawa, but the General preferred I proceed immediately, returning to visit Alex. In a few weeks after I had things going on my station. I was invited to have dinner with him that evening.
Went to the General’s residence (an Egyptian mansion somewhere in the outskirts). Had a very good dinner and a pleasant evening. Was driven back about midnight, to find the air uncomfortably cold. Wished for an overcoat.
March 25, 1942
Tried to make arrangements with British Overseas Airways Company (BOAC) for a passage to Eritrea thru the Army transportation officer. Got a fine run-around. Developed also a case of “Gyppy tummy.” Whether this was due to the chill of the evening before or the ice cream of two evenings before in Khartoum, I didn’t know yet. At any rate, for some days, my average interval off the toilet seat was about fifteen minutes.
After no satisfaction from BOAC, Pan Am offered to take me to Asmara, via Khartoum. I accepted. Once more south across that infernal desert to Khartoum, only to find on landing there that the last connecting plane flying to Asmara had gone out that morning and there would be no more. Spent another hot night at Khartoum, aggravated by the fact that the airfield toilets were all of the outhouse type and the frequent treks there that night were about the last straw.
March 26, 1942
Back again to Cairo by air, over the desert for the third time. I began to get well acquainted with both the sand and the desolate rocks which make it up. In Cairo, I started once more on BOAC, got a passage, had it cancelled on me in a message in what I still think is tops in British obtuseness:
“We regret to inform you that you are not traveling with us tomorrow.”
No more, no less. Got the Army working on them, so I was later informed I was traveling with them tomorrow.
March 29, 1942
Got aboard the BOAC plane early, so they couldn’t pull my plane seat from under me once more. Flew via Luxor and Port Sudan to Asmara. Port Sudan proved terribly hot – as bad as Khartoum. About half a dozen British flight officers came down with me from Cairo to Port Sudan to fly away American fighters debarked at Port Sudan and assembled there. Within ten minutes of our landing they were in the air again in American Tomahawks (I think) roaring westward over the field toward the Libyan Desert at well over 300 miles an hour, it seemed. So amazingly fast, anyway, they shot by in the air I could hardly turn my head fast enough to follow as they swooped over.
A few minutes later we were off again ourselves for Asmara, flying shortly over high mountains, to land finally at about 7000 feet elevation near that city. It was quite cool there.
The End
(Ed: Since diaries were not allowed, Ellsberg had to cease writing this journal.)
Additional material
On January 21, 2005, Parker C. Wiseman sent me the following letter pertaining to the Fairfax’s voyage and his observations of Ellsberg:
“My personal connection with your grandfather began as a fellow passenger on the former Merchant and Miners Line coastal steamer Fairfax which left pier 50 on New York’s North River, February 16, 1942 bound for Lagos, Nigeria. Your grandfather, back in the Navy, was enroute to Massawa in East Africa to salvage the Axis ships and floating dry-docks they had sunk in that port to delay the advance of the Allied Forces. The early chapters of Under the Red Sea Sun tell of the travails of that voyage.
“I was just 21 and on my way as an air operations employee of Pan American Airways in British West Africa. When we boarded the ship in a freezing rain, we were shocked to see the hulk of the former French superliner, Normandie, lying in the mud next door sunk by New York firemen in an effort to extinguish a fire caused by a careless workman’s torch. The same kind of hectic work was still continuing on the Fairfax as it was converted from civilian service to wartime use – and the work continued three more days until we left Norfolk, Virginia. When my father delivered me to the ship and saw the frenzied commotion, he thought to himself, ‘I may never see my son again.’ I can only imagine what your grandfather thought when he first came aboard and saw the chaos with his experienced eyes.
“The first time I saw Commander Ellsberg was two days after our departure when he convinced the senior passenger on board, an Army Brigadier General, to call a meeting of all passengers and order them to wear their lifejackets at all times on deck. Your grandfather helped in many other ways – convinced the captain, whose experience was limited to peacetime coastal voyages, not to turn on the ship’s running lights, navigated the ship while retraining the ship’s officers in how to use their sextants which he had to adjust first, inspected and, with the help of passenger volunteers, began the repair of the ill-equipped and almost useless lifeboats. He even directed the young Navy lieutenant, JG in charge of the gun crew how to resecure the three-inch stern gun when it ripped its mounting bolts out of the deck during the first firing practice. From the moment the ship left its berth until we landed in Africa 31 days later, your grandfather never stopped trying to improve our chances of surviving the German submarines which we knew were cruising off the US east coast and on our intended South Atlantic course. In effect, he was the unpaid, non-appointed captain of the ship. His low-key but unquestionable authority gave a much needed sense of discipline and security to the 500 mostly young and inexperienced passengers and those, supposedly in charge, on the ship’s bridge.”
On February 10, 2005, Mr. Wiseman made the following additions to his story above:
"I really did enjoy the Admiral's Fairfax story. It brought out details we passengers were not aware of: radio messages re: the many sinkings during our first three days at sea; the names of the US Navy ships that stopped us in the South Atlantic, etc. While he mentioned the awful selection of food served he didn't recount the standoff with the galley crew.
About two weeks into the voyage many of the passengers contracted diarrhea. General Scott asked his senior Army doctor to try to find the source. the answer came back that the galley crew who were angry, along with their fellow union members, that they were not being paid some sort of war danger bonus, decided to cut corners. As a result they were not washing used dishes, but merely wiping them off with dirty dishtowels. when the doctor admonished them he was run out of the galley by men armed with butcher knives. The general was so enraged that, without reference to the Captain, he sent down a squad armed with drawn 45s whose sergeant gave the order to wash every dish and utensil in boiling water. For the rest of the trip an armed soldier supervised the cleanup after each meal."
Mr. Wiseman also pointed out that Howard Dean, father of the recent presidential candidate, was also on board the Fairfax during this trip.
Printed with permission of Mr. Wiseman.