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. Fairfax stood 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 1^st 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 3^rd 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.