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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 materialOn 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. | ||||
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