his collection consists of 86 letters written by Ellsberg to his wife, Lucy, from February 26, 1942-November 24, 1942. These letters are interesting because they are very descriptive of the landscape, his battles with the civilian contractors who oversaw the naval base, and the elements, where the temperature got as high as 160 degrees. You will be interested to see how Ellsberg dealt with conflict and managed the diverse groups he had to work with. The naval base had been all but wiped out by the retreating Italians. Ellsberg, with just a handful of men and no equipment, rebuilt it within a short period of time into a fully functional base. Using his ingenuity, he raised a sunken drydock in nine days that the British had given up on. This became known as the "Miracle of Massawa" and lead to his promotion to captain.
Letter #1
February 26, 1942
At Sea
Darling:
We have been getting along since I saw you, but rather slowly. The vessel wasn’t really ready so far as lifeboats were concerned, so we spent a few days before departure getting lifeboats in order, and training our passengers and crew on how to lower and handle them in a heavy sea. We are good at boat drill now.
When we did leave, it was only to steam a day or so for another stop to calibrate our degaussing system against magnetic mines.
Finally we sailed out through the same capes that 31 years ago I passed through on my youngster cruise.
Up to then we had very cold weather but moderate sea. Within a day we were in warmer water and well out on the deep sea, as I had persuaded our skipper the major dangers lay along the coast. We saw few ships (none at all after our first day out) and are I think well out of all sub zones for the present. We heard several radio reports of ships being sunk off Florida, and attacks on Aruba and Trinidad. I kept the ship clear of the coast, and I’m sure we’ll be directed well clear of all tropical dangers.
We should shortly make port (a safe one) to refuel and get our orders for our next leg.
We had a very bad storm for two days. The ship behaved well, but many of our passengers went under. I was fortunate enough not to miss a meal, which my sailing of last summer may have contributed to.
So far our closest contact with subs was a radio message early in the morning the day after we left the coast, stating the ship sending was being chased by a sub about 50 miles from us. As we heard nothing further, we presume she got away.
The vessel is not unduly crowded. She has about 25% above normal passengers aboard. The food I can only say is plain but wholesome. I think the chief steward is a washout on menus, and presumably on his record could get a job at Hollins (Ed: Hollins College in VA where Mary Ellsberg graduated).
I have been doing some navigating the last few days. As we should make a landfall in a few hours, I’ll have some proof of my navigation. I’m imitating my young hero in “Captain Paul,” as I should shortly be looking at the selfsame castle where Captain Paul brought him in the “Santissima Trinidad” to give up his command as a pirate skipper, and from which they sailed away in the “Two Friends.” (Ed: This refers to John Paul Jones).
There are a lot of censorship rules about dates, places, ship’s names, and routes, as a result of which not so much may be mentioned. My letters are not censored aboard, but I am bound to follow the rules.
I have been well, and busy with boat drills, instructing passengers in handling boats. I have also been brushing up on my nav, and studying the diving manual.
Judging from our progress so far, I believe our voyage to our ultimate port will take the longer time I once outlined to you, rather than the shorter. I believe we will step along now with stops only for refueling, but even so our route may be circuitous.
I see I am second in rank aboard, the general you may have noted in port being my only senior. The field officers (that is, majors and above) dine together, so I’m at his table.
The weather has warmed so much, I’ve been wearing khaki for three days now, and since we are now in the tropics, I anticipate even less will feel pleasant before long.
A little later.
Well, we picked up our landfall. On my position, the ship was nearer to her true position than by any of the ship’s officers’ positions. So it seems that though I have not navigated since 1916, I can still do a fair job. (Ed: Ellsberg was #1 in his class in navigation). In fact, I feel about as elated as Tom Folger was when he came in and picked up (under Captain Paul’s tutelage) this very same place.
We are proceeding in now, and will be permitted ashore until late tonight. This should go off from here (by airmail if there is any).
Still a little later.
We are now making fast to the dock. As the post office will shortly close and I have to get stamps ashore, I’ll have to finish this. If I can, I’ll write again from here before we love. (I meant to say leave, but I see I had something else subconsciously on my mind).
With much love my dear, Ned
Letter #2
February 27, 1942
In port
Darling:
This is letter #2. #1 went off by air mail this afternoon and this will go by regular mail the same night.
I’ve been ashore. This town reminds me very much of Las Palmas in general appearance, except everyone here seems to be selling lottery tickets.
It’s beautifully warm and sticky. Wearing only a khaki shirt, I came in after a few hours ashore with it thoroughly soaked.
If we stay here tomorrow, I may go ashore again, but I think I’ve seen nearly enough in one visit.
I learned a few items since leaving. One was that the Comptroller General decided that uniform allowance ($100) was payable to officers in my status, even if it was wartime. If you don’t get it by the time you get this letter, I would suggest you write the Bu. of S&A (I think their letter was left on my desk), referring to that letter and asking when payment will be made.
A second item was that Congress had raised the pay of officers in the military service on foreign service, 10%. I presume this includes the Navy. I’ll find out when I get to my destination. As usual, I suppose the increase (if any) will be in pay only, not in allowances, and may mean about $500 a year (maybe).
I wrote Mary this afternoon, but somewhat more briefly. You might pass along most of the news, such as it is, to her.
I doubt that our stay here will be long, as we are fueling tonight. What our next destination is, I suppose we’ll learn only after we sail. I can only say our itinerary has been changed from the original one. I presume our next leg will be a long tropical hop.
I sent you a brief cable from ashore an hour ago. After reading the censorship rules about what I couldn’t include, that was, I found nearly all I could say – “Well and busy.” I am well and busy and very much in love with you, my dear.
Ned
P.S. I see no harm now in advising the Westfield Leader somewhat as follows:
“Commander Edward Ellsberg, U.S.N.R. (be sure they include the “R”)
who was promoted again to his former rank of Commander shortly after reenrolling (for Heaven’s sake, see they don’t say “reenlisting”) in the
Navy for active service, has now gone overseas for duty.”
It is not necessary for them to know or to state where, and I think some such statement will help to clarify matters among our acquaintances and friends in Westfield.
Letter # 3
April 10, 1942 (post marked)
March 5, 1942 (written)
Still en route
Lucy darling:
We have been a week at sea today since leaving our last port. On the whole the weather has been surprising. We started practically at the edge of the tropics and tomorrow morning we will cross the Equator, but it has been pleasantly temperate at sea, with no hot days. And that in spite of the fact that the sun is higher overhead than it ever gets in Westfield in mid-summer. It must be the tradewinds, which blow steadily here, are tempering our climate. At any rate, instead of baking at sea, we are having really remarkable weather, with beautifully deep blue water and some really heavenly evenings under the stars and the moon that make it a crying shame to spend alone. No question, for those who are good sailors, this trip would make the ideal honeymoon. (And I think we are both good sailors).
I regret to say that I’d hardly recommend the ship itself for the voyage, and still less, her officers and crew. I think this voyage all around is the damnedest I have ever been on.
Part of the trouble lies in the fact the vessel is not operated by the Navy nor by the government – she is simply a merchantman on which the government has bought all the passenger space and furnished the passengers. Consequently she is manned and operated by her owners, the Agwi Co. (the Atlantic, Gulf, and West Indies Co.), and so far as I can judge, they are doing a first class job of gypping the government, and the passengers.
The service is terrible and the menu reminds one of what might seem appropriate to a gang of laborers building a railroad in winter – frankfurters and cabbage, corned beef & cabbage, beef stew, baked ham – more or less in rotation twice a day with soggy potatoes, thoroughly awash spinach, and lots of carrots. And this in the tropics!
Frankly I don’t eat much of it and get along nicely, but it is a damned waste of the government’s money and an imposition on the passengers.
There have been complaints galore, and the Chief Steward is (under Army advice) going now to try to devise a more sensible menu, though he is much handicapped by the lack of variety in the provisions given him in New York.
Aside from the above, the crew appears surly, inefficient, and unwilling to work. This, the ship's officers assert, is a result of the C.I.O. union which controls the crew. It is certainly obvious that the ship’s officers do not control the crew. As a result the dining room service resembles a lumber camp, and the decks never get cleaned. The latter got so bad, the passengers are washing down decks themselves. The crew apparently claims they can’t do it in their regular 8 hour day, and want overtime if they tackle the job.
Taking it all in all, I should say this voyage between Agwi officials, ship’s officers, and crew present the American merchant marine in a very sad light.
Fortunately, we have an unusual passenger list aboard, perfectly capable of doing everything from navigating the ship to washing the dishes and quite ready to take over and run the ship if necessary. As a fact, since the vessel is on a military mission in wartime, the ship’s officers have been warned that if necessary exactly thatwill be done.
Friday, March 6
We have seen very little traffic since the start of this leg of our voyage, not over three ships in seven days, and we sheered away from all of them. Yesterday afternoon, however, when a little north of the Equator, we sighted two warships on the westerly horizon and they both started for us. Considering our location, I never had any particular doubts as to their nationality. In about thirty minutes they both overhauled us and signaled us to stop for identification. The destroyer (one of our large destroyer leaders) came fairly close alongside covering us with all her guns, while the cruisers (one of our light cruiser class) lay about a mile off, similarly aiming at us.
We passed inspection, of course, so the destroyer signaled us to proceed, with a parting “Good luck.”
At 4 AM this morning, we crossed the Equator. Consequently, at 10 AM, we had the traditional ceremony of initiation into Neptune’s kingdom of all those who had not previously crossed, (including me).
Neptune’s Court was quite something, with Amphitrik’s breasts (made of two large glass balls, green to starboard and red to port) giving her quite a startling feminine appearance. The neophytes were shaved with a wooden razor, lathered with God knows what, and washed clean of all earthly taints in lots of salt water. Quite an effective ceremony. So now I’m a shellback.
About all I have to do to complete my marine education is to round the Horn. We had a heavy tropical rain this afternoon.
Saturday, March 7
Another gorgeous day at sea – marvelous blue water, balmy breezes and a clear sky. At noon the sun was practically vertically overhead but it has not been hot.
The Southern Cross is now fairly well above the horizon at night and we have sunk the North Star. However, the Southern Cross has not much to commend it for beauty, being neither very brilliant nor a very good cross.
Sunday, March 8
We are heading now for our port at the end of our second leg (and longest one). 2700 miles since leaving our last port. This next port is in the country Isabel Rockwell recently graced with her presence, but much north of where she stayed. (all the above to avoid mentioning the name of the port, which probably, will be nevertheless postmarked on this envelope (Ed: it was not). It is the port which originally we were scheduled to make in this country, and our last before we shove off for our final seaport.
Today is again a marvelous day, with a slight sea only, a clearcut horizon, and everything blue overhead as well as round about in the water.
If we get in early enough, this letter should be posted this evening. We should make port about 6 PM, and may possibly get ashore tonight. About one day, I judge, will be our stop.
For the present, that is all about what is happening to me. I wonder how everything is going at home and how you are. I trust since my departure you have been able to rest somewhat and settle down into a less nerve-racking state than when I was scheduled to shove off every other day.
It is too bad we were not better advised as to our itinerary, for then I might have had an airmail letter waiting me in our pending port. As it is, I suppose I have to wait till I get where we left the sheiks awaiting our return.
Later Sunday
We are now off the port.
Much love, Ned
Letter #4
March 10, 1942
Sweetheart:
Dropping all pretense since I now know that all mail going out of here is postmarked, we are in Pernambuco.
We arrived late Sunday afternoon but did not actually get alongside a dock and disembark until Monday.
I found Pernambuco a far pleasanter place than our last port – much cleaner, far more modern, and, oddly enough, cooler.
We arrived here on what we were told were the hottest days of their summer, but found the place reasonably comfortable.
The usual South American architecture is here, with most of the buildings stucco or cement in pastel shades. There is nothing startling in Pernambuco in the way of historical places and the major cathedral seems unusually gingerbready inside.
They do have some modern hotels and various good restaurants, in which it was a relief to go for a change from the idiotic menu of this ship.
We had two days here really – Monday and Tuesday. We should have fueled Monday and been on our way then, but like everything connected with this blundering cruise, it appears the owners had made no definite arrangements to fuel her here, so the day was lost while various cables fled back and forth to the U.S. about the oil. Today that was arranged and we finished oiling the early part of the afternoon and might have sailed this evening if our skipper in a childish fit had not decided to hold the ship till morning. He has the most irrational fears, and I’ll be well pleased to see the last of him, his inefficient crew, his owners, and his Alice in Wonderland method of trying to run a ship – all of which should have come to pass before you receive this letter.
We should be about eight days on our next leg.
With much love, Ned
P.S. I mailed you a small souvenir from here today. E.E.
Letter #5
March 17, 1942
Lucy dearest:
We are about 2/3 of the way along on the last leg of our sea voyage – by Friday night we should make our African port. From our first day out on this leg, we have been running eastward just 21/2 degrees south of the Equator. For practically six days the Equator has been right on our port beam with our bow due east and the weather has been really remarkable – blue skies, blue water, flying fish, a phosphorescent wake at night, burning stars – and no moon.
This last is especially appreciated, as frankly I feel much better when we can run at night totally blacked out and unilluminated by moonlight. This is the general area where the Zamzam and the Robin Moor were sunk by raiders last year, and it’s just as well not to be visible at night at all. As for U-boats, this appears to be an unlikely spot for their activities, as I imagine they are unlikely to get so far away from Dakar where probably they refuel.
We still keep an active watch day and night at the guns – if we ever sight anything hostile we should be able to put up quite a scrap, though against torpedoes, guns aren’t worth much as the U-boats fire nowadays while submerged.
It is amazing how out of the world we are while at sea on this ship. We never get any radio news reports, for the ship’s radio set is kept constantly on the emergency SOS receiving wavelength and consequently is never tuned in on any long or short wave broadcasts. The use of all other radio receiving sets (portables) is strictly prohibited, as such sets themselves send out electrical waves while receiving, which a U-boat can pick up with a direction finder.
So we run along at about the speed of the old time sailing ships (11.5 knots) and know just as little about what is happening.
The friction between passengers and captain on this ship has increased if anything. I doubt whether the skipper of this ship has ever been on the deep sea before – he has spent the last 16 years anyway in the Merchants and Miners Line running up and down the coast between Miami, Baltimore, and Boston, where the second mate assures me, no one ever took a sight to his knowledge for seven years, and he didn’t even have a sextant.
Thursday, March 19
We have been heading northeast since yesterday afternoon, pointed at last for our last port. Judging from our position at noon today, we should make it by late afternoon tomorrow, as we are only 346 miles away.
We are now inside the Gulf of Guinea, which once was the center of the slave trade. The weather has warmed up, being now about 90°, and as the breeze is practically astern, we are getting little relative wind and the heat is more noticeable. However, it is still reasonably comfortable in the shade. That we have made such a long voyage in the tropics and been really cool until today is sufficient cause for thanks even if it now gets hot.
The skipper for some reason has become afraid of air attack, now that we are closer in, and requested of General Scott that the military lookout be doubled during the night. I volunteered and consequently stood a watch from midnight till dawn atop the pilothouse, but sighted nothing at all except a lovely array of stars which of themselves repaid the effort and the loss of sleep.
We are now getting concerned as to what will be the transportation situation out of port and overland to Cairo. Supposedly planes should take us out and according to our information in New York, I should shortly get out by plane. I certainly hope so, for I imagine we will find this port a damned hot place – just north of the Equator with the sun just getting into north declination and consequently starting summer there day after tomorrow by being practically overhead every day.
It seems a little unbelievable but we will have traveled about 6900 miles by a somewhat circuitous route when we arrive tomorrow – thirty-two days on the sea. And there is about 3000 miles more to go by air before arriving at Cairo and another thousand to Massawa.
Friday, March 20
In port at last!
We made a beautiful landfall at 2 PM today, coming in from the deep sea to hit the entrance to the harbor squarely on the nose. I got up at 3:30 this morning and got some star sights to fix our position exactly while still 129 miles at sea, and from that position (as palmed off on the Captain by the third mate) we changed course so that we hit this entrance exactly.
The African coast here has a beautiful stretch of beach and so far looks very inviting, with palm trees, lovely homes, a yacht club, and what other appurtenances of English colonial life you’ve read about.
We steamed some miles up the river to the port itself, arriving off our berth at 3 PM. The tugs are now engaged in pushing us alongside.
As a grim reminder of what’s going on, just at the harbor entrance were the two masts of a ship protruding from the water – just the tips of her two masts with some shrouds showing and nothing else. She struck a mine and was sunk there at the very end of her voyage.
Too bad I haven’t one of my salvage ships here. We could go right to work on her.
I suppose by tonight I may have some information about my departure for Cairo. I’ll write about that as soon as I learn.
With much love, my darling, Ned
Letter #6
March 21, 1942
Lucy darling:
We arrived safely at our last seaport Friday. To my surprise, efficient arrangements were made here on our arrival and I am going out this (Saturday) morning on the first plane to the city where Mary was invited to come back for her honeymoon. I should be there by Monday night (March -–censored).
I don’t know how long I’ll be there before moving on to my ultimate station.
I arrived here after the cable office closed last night. I’m leaving direct from the ship without a chance to make the one hour trip to the cable office this morning. I’m trying to make arrangements with another officer to send one for me, for I haven’t much hope of actual accomplishment. So if you don’t get a cable, you’ll know at least every effort was made to send one. And the same may apply to future cases. Don’t worry.
With love, Ned
P.S. We are now about to shove off.
Saturday morning.
Letter #7
March 22, 1942
Sunday
En route by air
Lucy darling:
We got away by air yesterday morning (Saturday) from our disembarkation port. I went off in the first plane with General …….. and the ranking Army officers.
I may say I left the S.S.--------- with no regrets. That we got in safely was with no thanks to her skipper, who, thank God, says he is going to retire after this trip. He should never have left his coasting and gone to sea. (Pardon the blot – we have just finished climbing a few thousand feet over the desert, and it has affected my pen.)
We were cleared coming into port by the British seamen in the port, who seemed glad to see us, and as we passed the Governor’s mansion, the guard was turned out in our honor – four bare-footed blacks who stood most rigidly at “Present Arms.”
I saw very little of the port itself – getting ashore only after dark for the first decent meal in a month at the Hotel Grande (there’s one in every foreign city). Our last night on the ship was hot and humid. It was a pleasure to leave.
We took off by plane – all of us officers except one passenger, a Hindoo whom we picked up there in the port. He had just come by air via clipper from the ……., and we learned to our astonishment that this Hindoo, who was a dead ringer in appearance, age, and manner, for Mahatma Gandhi, had been with one of our lieutenants aboard a clipper bound west (the Hindoo for India) when they pulled into Hawaii the day the bombs fell, and the clipper ended its voyage then and there while the Hindoo wept. Apparently he was now going home the other way round the world, and as he hardly weighed 80 lbs. complete, they took him aboard our plane as involving practically no extra weight. Like the late lamented Chamberlain, he traveled firmly attached to an umbrella (though it’s drier than Hades around here) and a cane.
The plane, which had been stranding in the sun over an hour before we boarded it, was hotter than an oven inside, and before we took off, we were all wringing wet with perspiration. The pilot promptly went up to 9000 feet, at which elevation, it was cold enough so my shipmates started putting on their overcoats. I first stripped down to nothing and changed even my undershirt (which I hung up to dry) before I followed suit.
We moved along……and when we stopped for lunch it was …. miles inside the coast, at, what surprised me, was a town of perhaps a million people with all the domiciles huge apartment houses built of mud and resembling very much the Indian pueblos of the Southwest. And never have I seen the blacks so utterly black – so much so in fact they seemed to have a bluish tinge.
We had lunch at the officers’ mess of the air force (guess whose) and I managed from one of them to get a little news of what’s going on in the world. The place was hot (temperature 105° in the shade) but dry.
On our take-off, we stood inland again till late afternoon, with somewhat bumpier riding which gave me a headache (eye-strain, I think) and made some of the other passengers air sick.
We came down in the early evening for the night. (They do no night flying on this route). There was a town around but we stayed at the air company’s station outside of it, and slept outside under the stars in beds with real mattresses screened individually under mosquito nets (no mosquitoes, however). We had a grand dinner – spinach soup, creamed, fried chicken, roast beef………….and real apple pie with cheese! …….cooked and nicely served. Shades of the S.S……. How we fell on that dinner!
It grew dark quite early and I turned in at 8 PM under the Equatorial stars. It was already cool, and shortly I had to pull the blanket over me. I slept like a rock till 4:30 AM – the beds on our late ship had mattresses like rocks, (pardon the repetition), but they didn’t encourage sleep. After breakfast (pancakes and real maple sirup) we all gathered at a bus in the early twilight for our trip back to the airport. We counted noses to be sure all hands were there, but our Hindoo was missing. However, that did not seem to bother our bus driver who said it was OK to shove off without him – Mahatma Gandhi was staying there on business. All of which seemed odd, but we departed for the plane once more.
After boarding it, with the door shut, before the take-off the pilot informed us Gandhi would go no further – late the night before……….which they promptly did, and searched his baggage. What they found there I don’t know, but beneath the ferrules on the ends of both his cane and his umbrella, they found closely rolled up strips of paper with messages and in a little medicine box, some more in German. So there on the edge of the desert we left him – weeping worse, I’ll bet, than when his plane in Honolulu failed to carry him further along toward India and sedition.
Sunday
We took off just at sunrise and since have been flying mostly over desert country – nothing green whatever, with the earth looking dry and burned with only this continent’s version of sage-brush and desert trees. A little after the take-off with the sun well up, the pilot flew lower (at about 800 feet) so we could see the scenery. We saw a couple of lions loping through the brush, some half dozen ostriches, crossed a river with a few crocodiles, (the river seemed out of place, for Heaven knows where the water comes from) saw a few gazelles, and plenty of fine dry riverbeds all of sand.
We are now back at about 5000 feet and flying smoothly along going east with the southern edge of the desert spread out below us flat as a pancake.
We saw plenty of native villages once we got clear of the green belt near the coast – all the huts made circular of mud walls topped with a conical thatch and each little village set in a circular wall - to keep the animals out, I suppose. The blacks are black here, as well as tall, erect and with the most marvelous sets of teeth which positively glisten when they open their mouths. And the usual costume seems to be a white flour sack with three holes cut in it for the wearer’s head and his arms, though there are plenty of natives with long white (that is, once upon a time) togas. And every burden is carried on the head. The pilot told us he gave a black woman a note to carry into town. She put the slip of paper on her head, put a stone on it to hold it down, and off she went! You see a few fezzes, but usually everyone is bareheaded.
This letter goes to the pilot of our plane, who when we land for lunch in more or less the middle of this continent, promises to turn it over to one of the air ferry command pilots who’ll take it back home.
We are now flying over terrain which is beginning to be mountainous – our plane at about 7000 feet and the mountains so far, a few thousand feet high rising out of sandy desert, with the ridges treeless and quite rugged.
And now we are crossing a mountain range rising from 7000 to 9000 feet, with the peaks quite jagged, burned very brown, and no vegetation in sight. (No snow, either, they all look too hot for that.) We are at about 8000 feet, with the air quite bumpy and the plane bouncing around in a lively fashion. Whoever invented that one about riding on air had obviously never been up in a plane when the air currents were rising off hot mountain peaks.
And now we are mostly over with the desert stretching out again on either side – hot, yellow, and barren. Even the Mojave desert had much on this. (The air is still bumpy).
And now we are out in another country (which in a way includes our present destination of tomorrow night), and we are about to land for lunch.
With much love, Ned
Letter #8
March 23, 1942
Monday
En route by air
Lucy dearest:
We are still underway for our immediate land destination, where I hope I shall in a few hours now find some letters from you. It seems (and is) a long time since I heard anything at all from you and Mary – the longest period by far since 1917.
We spent last …….. near which Chinese Gordon died and Earl Kitchener earned his title. We got in rather late, so it was dark by the time we were able to visit the city. The major attraction for me was a statue of Chinese Gordon astride, not a horse, but a camel – the first equestrian statue I ever saw which might claim any real novelty. As examined by flashlight (the one Ed Smith gave me) it stood boldly out against the night sky, a really magnificent bronze.
As regards the rest, what I could see of the city was not much. It seemed modern enough in its way, with street cars, a cinema showing Jean Arthur in “The Devil & Miss Jones” and a cathedral which (even closed) seemed quite impressive outside. As a change from the ….there was alongside the church….canteen run by the ….where, believe it or not, …..milk shakes! Good ones, too. …..influence, I think, of America…stationed in this region.
Aft…was nothing else open but a ….which had a performance very….of one we saw years ago in….at 11 PM the light went out,…..we departed for our quarters….miles outside the town, in what, I am told, was a girl’s college before the war. We slept in one of the ex-dormitories. They must have had the girls living on a high spiritual plane in that college, for the beds (cots) had rope for springs and the pillows consisted of short cylindrical rolls packed hard with straw which gave me a pain alternately in each ear as I rolled from side to side.
………is the ultimate in deserts – a wide spread ocean of hot sands glistening beneath the sun all yellow and red with occasional outcrops of barren rock rising here and there through the sands like little islands in the sea. Away it stretches in all directions for thousands of miles, with dust clouds drifting lazily along far below us. Where we are, at…………………with not the slightest sign………………kind on them. And we………….any sort of animal life since……….we parted from the river……sand in waves………
flowing down the……….. like glaciers…….. blown so high that……mountain tops are…
completely buried in it to… I can well believe that nowhere on earth or in the sea or air can one find an area so absolutely devoid of any form of life whatever – no birds, no animals, no men, no vegetation – just burning sand and blackened rock.
Later
We arrived in the early afternoon to be met by personnel from the Army headquarters. Oddly enough I was then assigned to the Hotel Continental where rooms had been reserved for us, and I swear I have a room directly opposite the one we occupied back in 1936 when we were here before.
And now things are starting to move fast. I have an invitation to dinner with the general commanding for tomorrow night and I suppose I’ll be moving on in a day or so.
Much love, Ned
P.S. I found one letter from you (date Feb. 24) and one from Mary (date Feb. 20) awaiting me.
I suggest you number your letters.
Letter #9
March 24, 1942
In Egypt
Darling:
Here I am back where we once all were together, even to the same hotel, and how I wish it were so again!
I have been busy today reporting, getting my pay accounts taken care of (I’m now on both Army and Navy payrolls), and seeing to a few other official matters. So I haven’t done any sightseeing at all, not yet at any rate.
I now know that I am leaving here Friday by air for my final destination, with probably an intermediate stop for a day or so in that higher and cooler city which will be our summer resort. They tell me they have a very nice house on the shore picked out for my residence and think I should be comfortable there. I trust so.
The weather here is delightful – as a matter of fact, I’m wearing blues today and feeling quite at home in them.
I understand that after a few weeks on my job, I am to be ordered to the city where Matt maintains his official residence, there to spend a few days getting acquainted with the fellow members of my service there and their problems, so that on my return to my own station they’ll know me and I’ll know them.
Several things have occurred in a financial way. I see that my per diem allowance here which will be $6 per diem and quarters, or $10 a day without them, should certainly cover my local needs. Consequently, I requested a change in my allotment home from $425, which it now should be, to $540 which it should become with the payment made you on May 1, provided of course the revised form gets to the appropriate bureau by April 20, which is by no means certain. If it doesn't the increased allotment should start the first of the following month.
I am now informed also that Congress has authorized an increase in pay for those on foreign service, which amount to 10% on base pay, equaling about $40 monthly. When that officially reaches the finance officer here, I’ll add that also to my allotment home.
March 26, Thursday
You can use your own judgment about what to do with the extra money, as to investing it when enough has accumulated or using all or part of it for current expenses.
I am also enclosing a Treasury Department form which gives you power to endorse and collect Treasury checks made out in my name. This may prove of some use to you. If used, the checks should be signed
“Mrs. Lucy Buck Ellsberg,
attorney”
You might see the bank about this before you use it. The original form should be mailed by you immediately on receipt to the Treasury Dept., Treasurer, U.S. Accounting Division and the duplicate kept by you for reference when needed.
I am enclosing also two Treasury checks totaling $353, one for my reimbursement for traveling (per diem) and one for my pay up to my arrival here. Please deposit them.
I sent you a cable (or radio) Tuesday about my arrival, which the Marconi office said would be delivered within 48 hours. I am also informed the Army people cabled a general notice to the mission headquarters requesting notice of arrival be sent to the homes of those in my party. You may get two notices.
For whatever reason, I found here a new notice about mail addresses for the members of this Mission. I come in the area indicated in the last paragraph, APO 815, %Postmaster, etc.
I had dinner Tuesday night with General Maxwell and a small party, including the American Naval Attaché. Pleasant time, with a long ride back alongside the Nile with the moon shining over it. Maxwell impresses me very favorably.
Yesterday I met Brigadier General Adler, second in the Mission, who heads its air corps activities. If I’m not mistaken, during peace time he owns and heads the New York Times.
Today, if I can get my things pulled together, I’ll try to get a few hours for a look at what’s around Cairo.
With love, Ned
Letter #10
March 29, 1942
Sunday
Egypt
Lucy dear:
Just a line to let you know I am leaving here early tomorrow morning by air for…..via……This time I’m going in a British plane. I should be in……Tuesday.
Tonight I went out to look again at the Pyramids by moonlight, with some regrets for the lack of the company I had the last time I saw them so. Both the Pyramids and the Sphinx looked lovely beneath the Egyptian moon.
I’ll write more fully from…….
With love, Ned
Letter #11
April 2, 1942
Thursday
Lucy darling:
I am at last at my journey’s end. Having arrived here, Tuesday, March 31, just six weeks after embarking from home.
I came over the mountains by plane from …………….. flying at 11000 feet the latter part of the way to clear some really rugged (and completely barren) mountains. We landed at …………. last Monday afternoon, which city, at an elevation of 7500 feet, I found quite cool, quite modern (even modernistic), and rather green. ………….is headquarters for ……..and no doubt even………..summer, will be pleasantly………..
Tuesday I was driven down by auto to…………about 70 miles away. The road is quite an engineering marvel, dropping 7000 feet in 30 miles with some breath-taking switchbacks. Mussolini built it for his Ethiopian campaign, ………….via………….being the main entrance to Haile Selassie’s domain, and his engineers did a grand………..job - guarding all the curves just about as well as was done on the road up Cadillac (Ed: Bar Harbor, ME), and maybe better.
So Tuesday, about the middle of the morning I arrived at long last to get my first view of my station. Frankly, I was surprised. The location of…..(don’t look too closely at the)……lovely, with the…….all blue and green sparkling…….background and a cool breeze blowing off the water over the naval base.
………..domiciled temporarily at the naval station in a very modern officers’ quarters building right on the water’s edge – quite a pleasant room with a …….beautiful ocean view, and best of all, a breeze (usually).
I should say that right now we are having what would be June weather at home – I have long since discarded a coat and the uniform is strictly khaki shirts.
In……I laid in one of those pith helmets without which no tropical tale or movie is complete and now that is my standard headgear. It comes well down over my neck in back, which I find is very necessary, and is light and comfortable besides.
To complete my tropical setting, I now also have a houseboy, one Ahmed Hussein, who is an inky black Sudanese (not to be confused with American negroes who were west African). Now Ahmed and I completely don’t understand each other, since he talks Arabic and I don’t. I am however, getting pretty good at pantomime, and perhaps he’ll pick up some English. Meanwhile he makes my bed, shines my shoes, sees my laundry gets sent, and shines up my automobile (how he loves to shine that car). I should have mentioned that I have a new 1942 (aren’t you jealous!) Chevrolet sedan assigned me here.
There is a British naval captain (retired) in charge of the British naval station here, with a fair sized staff of British officers. They have taken over what……………………… ……………………………………………….
I went out yesterday in a launch to survey my salvage job for the first time. This should certainly be a salvage man’s paradise, for the wrecks are laid out in neat rows (as many as seven ships in line in one row) with all kinds of salvage jobs to suit all tastes. There are ships barely submerged with their masts and stacks upright, and others flat on their sides, partly or wholly submerged. I find there are several sizable ships sunk off the port which were not even previously listed, and then there are sunken drydocks, sunken lighters and plenty else.
We haven’t started any actual salvage work, since the first salvage ships won’t be here for a month yet, but I hope when some divers arrive to start submerged inspections in a few weeks.
Meanwhile I wonder what’s happened to the mail service. I have received a total of exactly one letter from you and one from Mary (dates Feb. 20 & Feb. 24) which I found in……..and nothing here at all.
You might try sending a letter via the U.S.M.N.A.M. office in Washington simultaneously with one via that trick address in the New York post office. The Washington letters are supposed to come by air service to Africa (you don’t have to put airmail stamps on them). Why it should take more than two weeks, I can’t imagine, unless the New York (and regular mail) post office letters are put aboard slow tubs like the………You might inquire at the New York post office as to how they forward letters; also whether if you put a transatlanticairmail stamp on, would they actually get transatlantic air service and air service across Africa to…..& then……(Mail certainly goes by air from…….to here, via……..
Meanwhile I should like to have the following items boxed up for ocean shipment to me here. The box can be turned over to Johnson, Drake & Piper in New York for shipment to me:
The small tool kit in a black leather case in my bureau drawer at home. (Or a better kit which you might purchase if convenient).
An unbreakable thermos bottle, either a quart or a pint, if such things are still available.
A regular thermos bottle, if unbreakable ones are not available.
A thermos jug, if it seems such a thing can stand the trip. (About 1 pint size).
……electric coffee percolator. (About a two cup size). I’m getting more than fed up with the damned boiled to death continental coffee they serve here (and the awful boiled milk that goes with it. I’ll make my own and drink it black).
About 3 one lb cans of sealed Maxwell House coffee.
One hygrometer (or wet and dry bulb humidity indicator, similar generally to what Ed Smith has and which I once borrowed. Do not send the hygrometer I left in my study.
One thermometer capable of reading to not less than 132° F.
Two small brushes of the kind used to clean electric razors. (Jarvis should have these).
One Navy cap device in gold and silver plate. These are now made completely of metal, (not embroidered on a black cap band as formerly) and should be available in military uniform shops such as the All-Bilt Uniform Co. on Nassau St., New York; Brooks Uniform Co., 43rd(?) St. & Sixth Ave.; and others. I want this to put on the front of my pith helmet.
Two sets of service ribbons, made up on bars suitable for use on white or khaki uniforms. Each set to consist of the following three ribbons:
Navy (not Army) Distinguished Service Medal.
Navy Mexican Campaign Badge
Victory (or World War) Medal
In addition to the two bars made up, enough ribbon in addition to recover each bar when the ribbons on it wear out.
One ordinary, garden variety type of whiskbroom for brushing clothes.
Friday, April 3
I drove to…….this morning for a conference. It’s a lovely drive of about 21/2 hours, and cool most of the way……..is a queer town just now, mostly Italian, with Italian officers in full uniform (on parole) all over the streets, all the shops run by Italians, and Italian traffic cops directing traffic. It all looks very amicable, and on the surface as little…..a captured city as might be imagined. The one difficulty with it is that the shops have next to nothing to sell. (………is worse) so if one wants something, one gets it from home or goes without.
With much love, Ned
Letter #12
April 16, 1942
(Ed: This letter is heavily censored and it appears the bulk of it is missing).
………merely hot and reasonably…….freely. We are all starting to take salt tablets, which apparently have been found exceedingly helpful in hot places like blast furnaces in steel mills where the heat prostrations of workmen have been radically reduced by their use. Up to the present moment I have been very well and not particularly bothered by the heat. I find a sun helmet a highly practical headgear all day long, however. The usual daily temperature is now about 85° to 90° F in the shade. I understand we haven’t seen anything yet.
I spent last Saturday night…….where I had to sleep under blankets……quite an altitude.
Meanwhile our rest camp at………altitude……..is coming along, and should be available in about a month.
I found the two Star class racing sloops here for which I ordered sails in New York. The hulls need plenty of work as the paint is all gone; I hope to have them ready when the sails get here. After that, the ……..Yacht Club will be organized and we’ll start our summer series of boat races – with two entries. Tell Gerald Foster (Ed: an illustrator who illustrated some of Ellsberg’s works and did an etching of small sloops racing that is owned by Ted Pollard) if he wants a job out here, I’ll hire him and he can crew in one of the sloops. However, I think we’ll have no lack of candidates for crew. (Ed: the rest of the letter is censored).
Letter #13
April 19, 1942
Sunday
Darling:
Your letter of March 7 arrived Friday morning and I had meant to answer it that night only when evening came we had a tropical hurricane that nearly blew……..away. It rained in buckets and the wind blew so hard it took the roof entirely off our office building, soaked all our plans and papers, and left the roads roundabout the buildings looking as if the place had been heavily bombed, from all the debris from roofs. Of course we lost all the lights and power, and in the officers’ mess where I had gone for dinner you would think it was raining right through the roof. To cap all, it actually hailed – big hailstones, too. I guess it must have blown about 100 miles an hour while it lasted, which was for two hours.
Nobody got hurt though, and the next morning we managed to clean up and get our powerhouse going again so we looked reasonably respectable. I reacquisitioned all the roofing material in town, and the mechanics are all busy reroofing now. Fortunately none of our machinery was damaged and when we get new roofs on, everything will be all right again.
They say they haven’t had a storm like this in thirty years, so if it’s thirty to the next one, we’ll all be gone from here before we see the like. Which will be perfectly all right with me.
I did take my Westfield check book with me. The only stubs in it are #3875, spoiled; 3876, P.R.R. for $310.25; 3877, P.R.R. for $7.62; and 3878, Coll. Int. Rev. for $264.81. That’s all. They have all been deducted from your check book balance. I do not expect I’ll draw any more.
I’m glad your accounting worked out correctly. Mine usually required some search for errors before it balanced.
Your talking about spring in the air reminds me that we don’t have such a season here. Our April temperature is quite equable – it is remarkably steady, day or night, between 86° and 90°. But the humidity is high always. I don’t know what, having no hygrometer. However, between a sun helmet, salt tablets, and plenty of water, I haven’t minded the heat especially yet. What it will feel like when it gets above 100° regularly, remains to be seen.
We are busy as usual, repairing smashed Italian machinery and making fair progress, which should shortly improve with more men arriving.
……..has its points. It is really lovely looking out over the…….about noontime when there is usually a breeze blowing in from the ocean, while along the coastline are mountains about 3000 feet high and visible farther back are long ridges of peaks rising some 13000 feet. And all along the sea are Arab Dows under sail, which make you think you are watching a regatta in progress.
So far as I can see, there is no objection now to telling any of our friends where I am. The…………………………………………………in any way.
You might tell Ed Smith his gift of a flashlight has proved very useful. I used it in the ship blackouts, in Cairo likewise, and now I sleep with it under my pillow just in case.
If it’s all over with Mike, I have no regrets.
By the way, if you have not shipped the things I asked for, you might throw in a single slice Toastmaster.
Life is in a way a gay affair around here, even though there are no amusements. We employ Eritreans (some form of negro), Italians who are prisoners of war, and Americans. And we have our problems with all of them. The Eritreans are a shiftless lot, working under the………………… work at all, which is seldom, the Italians do a so-so job, most of them, though some seem to realize how lucky they are to get paid at all, and try to show it in their work; and the Americans are really working very hard, only some of them on Saturday night are inclined to get soused and smack the local MPs (who are British soldiers) and create international problems for me to solve, on which, being Sunday, I have been working all day.
…………now, it being 11 PM to bed.
With much love, Ned
Letter #14
April 30, 1942
Massawa
Lucy darling:
Your letter of Mar. 26 arrived a few days ago, just thirty days on the way.
About the cables, I sent one from San Juan; one (I believe I may be wrong on this) from Pernambuco; one from Lagos; one from Cairo; and finally another (probably also marked Cairo) announcing my arrival here. How many were ever delivered? You have only mentioned the 1st one from Cairo and none of those preceding it.
Thanks for the subscriptions to Life, the Reader’s Digest, and Newsweek. That will be quite sufficient. I don’t care for the New Yorker.
Thanks for the news on Ed & Sally. I’m sure Ed will do more good with Bethlehem than in Wall Street.
Sorry you said some time ago you couldn’t get a fourth tire retreaded for the LaSalle. I would suggest that if you still can’t get it, you tell Leo to put two good treads on the rear tires, and use as the front tires a pair of (recently) unretreaded tires that match each other, using perhaps your present spare and a match to it from the collection of tires in the basement.
As usual we are very busy here, but I can already begin to see results, which is heartening. However, my ships are still on the way, so the wrecks are undisturbed as yet.
We’ve had a lot of high-ranking British visitors about whom I’ve had to show over the place. If a few more come, I’ll begin to feel like a barker in a sideshow.
It’s hot as usual, but not bad yet. Average daily temperature, about 93°; nightly average, about 90°. It’s not the heat, it’s the humidity.
Yesterday I had a room air conditioner put in my room, and it went to work. It reduced the room temperature only about 4°, to say 88°, but it certainly did things to the humidity. The drip from the cooling coil is so large, that a pint of water is being removed from the air in my room every forty minutes. Meanwhile the room itself feels decidedly cool, and last night for the first time, since all the doors and windows were kept shut, I sleptwithout a mosquito net canopy over my bed. Which was in itself a vast improvement, for it is necessary to use so fine a mesh here that being enclosed in a mosquito net is like being shut up inside a cabinet, so far as air circulation is concerned.
The air conditioner I am trying now is a York window type machine. We also have a more powerful machine, a Westinghouse floor cabinet model, which I’ll try in a day or two. It’s bigger and should do an even better job. Meanwhile, blessings on the air conditioner man. I woke up this morning not covered with perspiration, for the first time since reaching Massawa. (I hadn’t even been using pajamas lately, but last night I wore them and even slept under a sheet!)
With love, Ned
Letter #15
Massawa
May 4, 1942
Lucy darling:
Your letter (#4) of Apr. 12 arrived today, the fastest delivery yet. Perhaps it was speeded along by your recollections (and mine) of the day long ago when I dropped my ring in the soup.
And speaking of that ring, I wonder what luck you may have had with Bailey, Banks and Biddle (Ed: Philadelphia jewelers) about getting me a duplicate? I think it would be of some real service here, where symbols seem to have more than ordinary importance. If you get it, better be sure it comes out via the diplomatic mail pouch through Washington, accompanied by a separate letter the same way and another via regular air mail advising me of its dispatch, so if anything goes wrong with the ring parcel, I can proceed to trace it back.
Meanwhile, if it’s not too much trouble, I could use the following:
3 pairs of khaki shorts, size 32 waist and not over 22 inches long from waist to end of leg. (I’ve shrunk somewhat about the stomach in the heat out here, and none of my trousers fit anymore. Thank God, I haven’t lost anything anywhere else, however).
6 pairs of white shorts, same sizes. These should be of some material similar to that used in white uniforms.
1 doz. white shirts, the open neck type, where the collar folds back in front, with collars attached. I have not been able to wear a single white shirt I have, since all have separate collars, and that type is quite impossible here. No one ever wears a necktie with any kind of shirt (it’s all open throat exposure for comfort) and without a necktie a separate collar is impossible for looks, let alone its other drawbacks. So I haven’t worn whites of any kind at all here yet – always khaki – though whites would go well on some occasions. The white shirts should be of some plain material and plain weave that will stand the scrubbing well – nothing fancy wanted.
1 doz. pairs of khaki socks for wear with shorts – the kind of socks that run up just under your knees. These should be of light weight material (but not thin silk). Lisle or light weight wool is all right, but I don’t want any heavy weights. Size of shoe, #7; length of socks from bottom of heel to top of fold under knee as worn, about 15 inches, and not over 16 inches.
1 doz. pairs of white socks for wear with white shorts. All the comment above about khaki applies to these also.
4 pairs of khaki trousers, waist 32, length of trouser leg from crotch to heel, 29 inches.
½ doz. khaki shirts, regulation uniform for Navy, size 151/2, sleeve 31 or 32 (it doesn’t matter since I have the sleeves cut off at the elbow here).
You can get all the above khaki things at the All Bilt Uniform Co., just off Broadway on Nassau St. (or Fulton or thereabouts, east of Broadway a few doors, second floor). You may also get the white shorts there and maybe the socks too.
1 doz. white handkerchiefs.
I imagine all the above had best go by parcel post via the N.Y. post office, though it might be well to check with Johnson, Drake & Piper to see whether they have a ship going which might get it here sooner.
It is next to impossible to buy any clothes here or I wouldn’t bother you with all the above.
We are getting along with our work here, though under some difficulties due to lack of personnel so far. It is a pleasure to see new things going into operation almost daily, however, and particularly the machinery the Italians thought they had sabotaged so thoroughly as to render it forever useless. It would give Mussolini a sharp pain if he could only see all the machinery of his we have so far restored to service in spite of the sledge hammers the Italians here wielded on it just before the place was captured. Already we have a young navy yard going just on rehabilitated Italian equipment.
We had a few more generals visit us today, and they left much impressed.
So far the heat hasn’t bothered us too much, though the outside humidity is running 92% tonight and the temperature outside somewhere about the same Fahrenheit. I now have another air conditioner (a Westinghouse) model FC-091 which is somewhat larger than the York machine I first tried. This one looks like a rather large radio cabinet and does a better job. I would suggest your getting one installed in the front of our living room if you are going to be there any part of June, and never mind the cost – it’s worth it. What surprises me about it however, is how beautifully cool this room feels, even though the thermometer insidethe room assures me the temperature inside is all of 86° F! It’s the reduction in humidity that does the trick – that’s down to 65% as against about 92% outside. But if anyone had ever told me I’d feel cool and comfortable in a room at 86° F, I’d have thought them crazy. As Mary puts it, I should be boiled, but I’m not.
So far I’ve had poor luck with my camera – all the shots turned out so over-exposed they wouldn’t even print. I’ve learned now the sun is so bright here the camera shutter must be stopped down almost closed, or no picture. I’ll see if the next batch doesn’t do better. Meanwhile, an exposure meter of some type might be a help. If you can get a simple one, you might toss it into the box along with the khaki shorts.
I’ve played bridge a few times with some British naval officers here, but so far I have not held a decent hand. It’s a relaxation however, and there’s always hope the next hand will really be something.
I suppose by the time this gets home, it will be June. I should have liked to send you something for June 1 (Ed: their anniversary), but there’s just nothing so far I’ve seen but what would be a waste of postage to send on, so I must wait till I get back to Cairo again, and meanwhile send you only my whole hearted love for you and nothing else.
Affectionately, Ned
Letter #16
May 12, 1942
Massawa
Lucy dearest:
The package with “I Have Just Begun to Fight” (Ed: his latest book) came last night. It makes a fine looking book and the illustrations are excellent. Congratulate Gerald (Ed: Foster, the illustrator) for me. And now, for his sake at least, I hope it sells well. Let me know what the advance sale and their figures to date on it are.
I received your letter of Feb. 28 a couple of days ago and several days after your letter of April 12. Its comments on Captain Paul, 3rd, are not quite a shock to me. I hardly really believed D.M. (Ed: Dodd, Mead, his publisher) & Co. would go through with that book.
Speaking of packages, however, I may say that a package containing such prosaic things as socks for shorts, for instance, would have given me a bigger thrill.
Matters are beginning to look alive round here and today my three ring circus opens up with performers in every ring. The shops here I have had going for some time. May 8 we inaugurated our drydock by a successful docking and now the dock is busy with one ship following practically on the stern of another through that dock. We have received a congratulatory radio from the British Commander-in-Chief, Mediterranean Fleet, on that.
Today the third and last of the rings opens up with a troupe of divers, absolutely fresh from the United States, presenting a spectacle never before witnessed in any arena, least of all an African one.
So from now on life here should have never a dull moment. (It hasn’t had yet, anyway). I wish you might be here to see it, not to mention me.
With love, my darling, Ned
Letter #17
May 20, 1944
Lucy darling:
Today was rather a red letter day for me around here.
To start with, one of my salvage masters and five divers arrived eleven days ago and I turned to with them to salvage an unusually important craft sunk here by the Italians, who blew seven huge holes in her bottom with high explosives. The British, whose divers examined her last year, had officially abandoned her as unsalvageable.
I started on her as our first venture, and today, ten days after our start, we had her up from the bottom and afloat again, ready in a few days to start repair work on her in our own shops.
So now where a few days ago in the harbor there was nothing, she now rides at anchor, to the very great astonishment of all of our British friends, and over her waves the Stars and Stripes.
To make the day perfect, General Maxwell, head of the North African Mission, came down from Cairo to inspect our naval base, accompanied by the British general commanding in Egypt, the British general commanding Eritrea, and an assorted lot of colonels, both British and American. So we were able to stage quite a show for them, with our drydock housing a large ship, our salvaged vessel up from the deep, fresh in a thick coating of oysters and barnacles, and our ships all running on machinery the Italians thought they had thoroughly sabotaged.
Everything went off beautifully. For the first time, we had hoisted over our naval base the American flag, and I have never felt prouder of it than when this morning (after a very brief speech by me) it was hoisted over our highest building.
Then the visiting brass hats were escorted over the base and taken out in a boat to inspect our exhibits afloat, all of which made quite an impression. On the way back, the British general commanding, who was certainly deeply impressed by what he had seen, told me,
“Commander, I know of no one who is doing as much to help win the
war as you!”
That is laying it on a bit thick, I’ll admit, but it was a pleasant compliment anyway, and our accomplishment on our first salvage job has created quite a sensation around here. As an added cause of amazement, we have been getting ships in and out of our drydock so fast the British have had trouble furnishing ships fast enough for us.
As a final gracious touch to the day, I was invited at lunch to sit at the head of the table with generals on either side and Heaven only knows how much allied army gold lace backing them up down both sides of a long table. So by and large, the Massawa Naval Base had quite a gala day.
Changing the subject somewhat, I was more than gratified to receive a cable the other day from Irita Van Doren & Ogden Reid, with the news of “I Have Just Begun to Fight” having received the Herald Tribune’s Children’s Book Award. That’s grand! And they stated you had represented me at their celebration. More power to Captain Paul, senior and junior. I am especially happy for Gerald’s sake, for I feel his illustrations must have been a powerful factor in getting the award.
I received a lovely letter from Mary with some news of her vacation (dated Apr. 13) today. When you get this, college will long be over. I hope you both go to Maine, at least for part of the summer. It would please me very much if you did, and I could almost feel as if I were enjoying the Maine breezes myself then.
It’s getting hotter here, but so far it hasn’t bothered me, and I can sleep beautifully in my air conditioned room, so I feel fine. I am down to about 150 lbs. Now, and it has all come off the waistline, so none of my trousers fit any more, and I have quite a figure, a model for Apollo almost now.
We are fitting out another building for quarters, into which we’ll move in a couple of weeks, where I’ll have a private kitchenette, replete with refrigerator, electric stove, and whatnot else (provided the things I asked for from the U.S. ever get here). And quite a grand room, with two air conditioners in it!
With much love, Ned
Letter #18
May 30, 1942
Massawa
Lucy darling:
This letter should be mailed in the United States by Colonel Claterbos, who is returning home by ship from here because of the recurrence of a former heart ailment. He has very kindly consented to take a letter for you, so you should have this by about July 20.
As your letter of May 13, delivered here May 25, stated you had as yet received nothing at all from me since I left Cairo, I may here repeat a few things to make sure you know them.
The mail system from the United States is fair, with most letters coming here in a month, though some take twice that. But the mail from here to the U.S. seems to be terribly slow.
So to cover the situation:
First, I really am well. In spite of everything that has been said of this place, much of which is true, the heat doesn’t bother me; the various diseases, mostly tropical, can be dodged by proper care, which we have; and I don’t drink, which is an avoidance of the cause why most white men disintegrate in the tropics.
Second, I’m busy, so I don’t have time to cogitate on how hot and humid it is, and so worry myself ill over that.
I have plenty to do. We have taken a naval plant which the Italians thought they had thoroughly wrecked, and we have that plant rehabilitated now and running today, so the Massawa Naval Base is in operating condition now instead of having to wait for American machinery, none of which has yet arrived. The Base is as good now as the Italians ever had it; when our new equipment arrives, we’ll have a navy yard that would be a credit to any yard in the U.S.
We have a drydock which the British brought down from the Persian Gulf and turned over to us. I’m running that on American principles, and I think it is the busiest dock in all the world. We’ve had it in operation since May 9. In that time (20 days) we have docked 12 large ships, better than an average of one every two days which was the goal set, though it seemed impossible of achievement with the untrained crew and the miserable native labor I had to work with. But we have beaten our quota, and have run the British ragged trying to send ships here fast enough to keep the dock occupied.
Finally our salvage work has started. On May 10, the first salvage master and five divers arrived by passenger ship from the U.S. We had only two diving suits and no other salvage gear at all, as none of our salvage ships had then arrived.
Salvage operations started therefore on a shoestring. For our first task, I picked out a sunken drydock, because of all types of floating craft today, drydocks are the most valuable and are literally priceless. This dock (larger than the one we are operating) was sunk by the Italians by exploding TNT bombs in the hull and blowing seven huge holes in the bottom sections, through which gashes you could drive a 5 ton truck.
The British had made a diving examination of this dock a year ago when they occupied Massawa, and had officially gone on record as saying the dock was beyond salvage. Possibly it was, with all those holes in it. But nevertheless, we tackled it with our trifling salvage crew and absurd equipment. Naturally I had to use somewhat unconventional methods.
As is usual, all the experts far and near, stood around and laughed. Wheeler, chief of the British Mediterranean Salvage Forces, bet another officer we couldn’t do it. But in nine days from the day we started, that drydock was afloat again, and it is still a nine days wonder around here! Now we are repairing it.
The North African Mission has done lots all over Africa, but nothing it has done has attracted as much attention as that dock.
To me it is a particular satisfaction as showing that I may be nearly seventeen years older than when I tackled the S-51, but I find I have all the energy I had then in running a job plus a great deal more knowledge.
The repercussions of that first salvage success have been considerable. I had quite a carefully built up reputation here before I arrived, which I had some fears I could never live up to, but now the British look on me with some awe, and the funniest thing of all is the enthusiasm which the Italians here have greeted the raising of the dock they sank, because it tickles them to see the Americans do something the British said they couldn’t do.
To go along, the first concrete result was that General Maxwell came here from Cairo with a galaxy of British generals to have a look, and he immediately sent a cable to the United States, a copy of which I enclose as furnished me by Col. Chickering.
(Ed: this is the text of the cable):
USMNAM CAIRO
FOR SAMS
USMNAM ASMARA US/228 5/21/42
SEND FOLLOWING RADIO TO WASHINGTON
QUOTE COMMANDER EDWARD ELLSBERG IS
PERFORMING MOST OUTSTANDING SERVICE WITH
THIS MISSION STOP HE HAS
REHABILITATED A BADLY SABOTAGED MACHINE
SHOP AND PUT IT IN
OPERATION IS DRYDOCKING A SHIP
FOR SCRAPING AND PAINTING ON
A SCHEDULE OF ONE EVERY
TWO DAYS AND HAS RAISED
A SUNKEN DRYDOCK WHICH OTHER
EXPERTS SAID COULD NOT BE
SALVAGED STOP HIS RANK OF
COMMANDER IS BY NO MEANS
COMMENSURATE WITH HIS ABILITIES RESPONSIBILITIES
AND THE RELATIONSHIPS HE MUST
MAINTAIN WITH SENIOR BRITISH OFFICERS
STOP REQUEST THAT NAVY DEPARTMENT
BE ADVISED OF FOREGOING AND
URGED TO PROMOTE HIM TO
CAPTAIN WITHOUT DELAY UNQUOTE FROM
MAXWELL SIGNED CHICKERING
0500/21 GMT
(Ed: A cover memo was attached):
U.S. Military North African Mission
Asmara Service Command
Routing Slip (dated May 22 1942)
“General Maxwell desired that this copy of radiogram be furnished you.
We all join in the chorus. WEC (Ed: Ellsberg wrote – this is Colonel Chickering)
(Ed: In addition to the above cable, the following letter was included in Ellsberg’s letter to his wife):
Copy of letter by Major General B.O. Hutchison, General Officer, Commanding Troops
In Sudan
H.Q. Troops
in Sudan
20th May
My dear General Maxwell:
On the conclusion of my visit to Massawa, I should like you to know how much I was impressed by the excellent work being done by Comdr. Ellsberg.
I was delighted to see the initiative with which he was tackling the difficult jobs which others had been unable to do.
He is certainly doing a first class job towards winning the war.
Yours very sincerely,
/s/ B.O. Hutchison
A true copy:
/s/ H. Kunzler
1st. Lt., A.U.S.
Adjt. USMNAM
201-Ellsberg, Edward (OFF) Wrapper Ind. HK/kc
Headquarters, United States Military North African Mission, Cairo, Egypt.
May 24, 1942. TO: Commander Edward Ellsberg, United States Navy, c/o
Commanding Officer, United States Military North African Mission, Eritrea
Service Command, Asmara, Eritrea.
Copies of the attached letter have been furnished the Commanding Officer, United States Military North African Mission, Eritrea Service Command, Asmara, Eritrea, and the Bureau of Navigation, United States Navy, Washington, D.C.
By command of Major General MAXWELL
/s/ H. KUNZLER
H. KUNZLER
1st Lt., A.U.S.
Adjutant
1 Incl
Incl 1 – copy of letter from
Maj. Gen. B.O. Hutchison,
5/20/42
(Ed: Ellsberg penned at the bottom):
This just came in today. I see General Hutchison went farther than just telling me orally what he thought, though in writing he was somewhat conservative. Ned
What action the Navy Department may take on General Maxwell’s recommendation to promote me to Captain “without delay” I do not know. Whether I get it or whether I don’t will bother me little, after that accolade from the Chief of the Mission of being the only officer here to be recommended for promotion for “most outstanding service.”
And the General Commanding the British forces in Egypt, who accompanied Maxwell, told me “you are doing more to win the war than any man I know,” which compliment may be a little extravagant, but without question he meant it.
And in addition I have received also a radio from Vice Admiral Halifax, R.N. commanding the British forces in the Red Sea, which also I enclose. (He is F.O.R.S., who sent the dispatch, that meaning Flag Officer Red Sea).
(Ed: In a Naval Message came the following):
TO: NOi/c Massawa FROM: F.O.I.R.S.
Please convey may (sic) congratulations to Commander ELLSBERG
U.S.N. on his success in raising the floating dock.
1220B/28/5.
NOIC NLO Cmdr ELLSBERG BAO C.O. LOG.
W/T CODE B TOR 1858z/28/5/42. GR 30 A.D. F.
(Ed: in Ellsberg’s hand: From Vice Adm. Halifax RN)
But all is not roses here. I have my troubles with the usual quota of damned fools, American and British, who forget there is a war on and obstruct instead of cooperating. So far I have rolled over them, sometimes by force, sometimes by diplomacy (of which latter I am better acquainted with than formerly) and then the labor I have to work with would drive anyone into an asylum. There are so far very few Americans. I work with English, British colonials, Italian prisoners of war, Maltese, Hindoos, Persians, Egyptians, Sudanese, Somalis, and Eritreans, which last are absolutely the world’s most worthless laborers.
I have kicked the English out of the habit of taking most of the afternoon off for tea, and I have even managed to get something in the way of work out of the Eritrean natives, both of which achievements should be ranked as minor miracles. But I long for the day when all the American mechanics promised me arrive here, and I can work with men who know their jobs. But whether that day will ever come I am beginning to doubt, because our own Navy Department is now insisting the British furnish the mechanics instead of our doing it, and I am afraid Britain is stretched so thin she just can’t. Meanwhile I don’t get the mechanics I desperately need, either from America or Britain, while Washington and London argue by cable as to who should furnish them, and I am left to make bricks without straw. However, a fair quality of brick is being turned out even so, but it could be better, and that makes me sick to contemplate.
To change the subject to something pleasanter. A few days ago, two people arrived from New York, one by ship and air, one by air direct, and God be praised, I received five letters from you all at once, the latest dated May 12, being #21. How can I say what a heavenly joy that was! I live now only for two things – one, to do what I may to help win this war, and the other, to come home again to Mary and you. And now for a while when letters must be our only tie, they mean so much!
I was intensely gratified at receiving the Herald-Tribune’s cable over the Children’s Book Award. May it mean more power to John Paul Jones in firing America! And I may say, as never before I understand now as I struggle with a medley of indifferent nationalities and scant equipment, what Paul Jones suffered in the fitting out and taking to sea for a victorious action of the worthless crew and rotten ship he had cajoled from the King of France.
As regards matters financial, I think I am entitled to something of a pay increase for foreign service, and as soon as I can get it arranged in Cairo, where my accounts are carried, I may be able to increase my allotment to you by about $40 a month. This will take several months. Meanwhile, I am in need of only a small part of the special subsistence and quarters allowance which is paid me here, and if the transfer arrangements can be made, I can soon start sending you perhaps $200 a month more out of that.
I believe that in spite of reduced dividends and radically increased taxes, we can pay all of Mary’s expenses in college without selling anything of hers, and I am sure that if good management can accomplish anything, you’ll succeed in doing that.
I am sorry to hear that gas rationing has made you decide not to go to Maine. At this distance, I can not suggest any means by which enough gasoline might be saved up for the trip, or otherwise obtained, but if it can be done by hook or crook (or even by train) I hope you and Mary can get up there if only for a month. I should almost feel as if I were enjoying the Maine breezes myself if only I knew that you were there.
I have mentioned air-conditioning in one of the letters which by now I hope you have received. If you must stay in Westfield any part of the summer, forget economy for once and get one for the living room, and not too small a one, either. I suggest a Westinghouse Mobilaire, model FC-091, which is what I have here, and which is doing a marvelous job here under tough temperature and humidity conditions. And perhaps a second unit upstairs in our bedroom would also be worthwhile. Never mind the cost!
I am shortly moving into new quarters here in a building left by the Italians which we are fitting out as officers’ quarters. I get a grand room, about 25 by 15 feet, with my own kitchenette, refrigerator, electric grill, and whatnot, and a private shower and toilet, all with two air conditioners! Don’t worry about my ability to keep comfortable and sleep in that. But to furnish the kitchenette I wrote you a month ago asking for some knick-nacks like a Toastmaster, a small coffee percolator, and some Thermos bottles, plus a miscellaneous assortment of clothes and other thing which are practically unobtainable here.
Please order the ring from Bailey Banks and Biddle, even if it does cost around $70. It’ll be worth it as a war souvenir afterwards, and meanwhile it will be useful.
My thanks to Gerald for what his illustrations did in helping “I Have Just Begun to Fight!” win the book award.
It is evident some of your letters telling of your mother’s pneumonia haven’t arrived yet. I’m happy to know she is now convalescing.
I haven’t received yet anything from my own mother. I believe it best if you suggest she send her letters to you and you forward them inside another envelope which you know is properly addressed.
So far I have received in your numbered series, letters #3, 4, 7, 9, 18, 19, 20, 21, and before you started numbering letters of Feb. 24, 28, Mar. 4, 7, and 26th. The others must be following diverse routes and ships over the globe, bus should someday arrive here.
Via a British naval officer who had to go to Cairo yesterday, I sent a message to be cabled you from Cairo for our twenty-fourth anniversary. I hope it got by the censor and was delivered in time. There is no cable service from here, and it takes a week apparently to get a message from here to Cairo, with no knowing what happens to it then.
I got up at three o’clock in the morning to write this, and it’s now six AM and I must get ready to take the first of my three daily baths and then get to work. Colonel Claterbos’ ship should take not over six weeks for the trip from here and delivery of this letter at least should be assured. (Ed: Unfortunately it was not postmarked from Washington until Sept. 16th).
With very much love, my darling, Ned
(Ed: the following note from Claterbos tells the story of the letter):
Trinidad, BWI
9/5/42
Dear Mrs. Ellsberg:
Your husband gave me this to mail when I reached the U.S. Its present condition is due to a dunking in the Caribbean when my ship was torpedoed.
I hope to call you when I can get up to New York – I want to tell you what a swell job Capt. E has done.
Sincerely,
Louis J. Claterbos
Col., C.E., USA
Letter #19
June 2, 1942
Massawa
Lucy darling:
This letter will be taken to America by Mr. Embury of J. D. & P. who is here only for a brief inspection trip and should be back in New York by June 15. He came out here from N.Y. leaving there about May 15, and brought me a message that you had heard nothing from me since I arrived in Eritrea.
That is unfortunately due to what must be a terrible mail service to the United States since I’ve written often. The letters should start to arrive soon, if they haven’t already. I have received in one batch 5 letters from you dated from May 9 to May 12, which came out by a J. D.& P man who flew over.
But aside from that:
First, I am well now and have been since I arrived here. I see no reason yet why I shouldn’t continue so. The weather is hot and humid and will probably get much hotter, but it doesn’t bother me. I have an air-conditioned room in which I can sleep very comfortably, and next week I move into a larger one which is even better for size and comfort.
Second, I’m very busy and outdoors most of the time. As a result, I have lost my incipient bay window altogether, and I am down to about 150 lbs. My figure is the best I’ve had since my midshipmen days.
Third, I’ve had quite a grand time with important brass hats from both the American and the British army and navy passing through here to be shown what we’ve done. It’s interesting to watch their eyes pop out at what’s happened in the Massawa naval base.
Fourth, I’ve had extraordinary luck here. The Italians thought they had completely sabotaged all the shops by smashing the machinery, and I came out from New York hoping that by next December when new machinery arrived from America, I could get going. Instead of that, one look when I got here convinced me we could refit the Italian machinery, which we have done already. The result is every Italian shop is already running again with the smashed machinery repaired and doing as good a job as the Italians ever did. So the Naval Base is operating now instead of next December.
Fifth, the British sent down a drydock from Persia which we are operating on a scale to make one dizzy; and it has the British, who are groggy now trying to get ships here fast enough to keep our dock occupied. Thirteen ships have been docked by us in 24 days.
Sixth, there is salvage. I had no divers at all until May 10, when a salvage master and five divers arrived by passenger ship. We had only two diving suits and nothing else, as no salvage ships had then arrived. I borrowed some air compressors, and we went to work, choosing as our first task a large Italian floating drydock as that was far more valuable, if recovered, than any ship could be.
The Italian naval captain (who is in jail here) who sank her by exploding 7 TNT bombs in her hold, blasting out 7 holes big enough to drive a truck through in her bottom, had bragged to his British captors what a grand job he had done as that dock could now never be raised. The British salvage experts, after an examination of those 7 holes, agreed with him and officially abandoned the dock as unsalvageable. When he heard we were tackling it, the Chief of the British Mediterranean Salvage Squadron bet another officer we couldn’t do it.
To make a long story short, nine days after we had started on that drydock, it was afloat again, with its blasted holes exposed ready for repair work to begin (which it has). That has been a nine days wonder around here, and well it might be.
So as a salvage expert, I’m vindicated. The laudatory comments that have rained in on my head for that job might well have turned it completely, except that the S-51 job already had done whatever might be accomplished on my ego along those lines.
Briefly, both the British general and the admiral commanding in North Africa have sent their congratulations, General Maxwell of our Mission has been here to look, and all the lesser fry have joined in the chorus.
Now as a practical result, General Maxwell has cabled the Navy Department recommending that without delay, I be promoted to Captain “for most outstanding achievement.” Whether the Navy Department will act “without delay” or will even act at all, remains to be seen, but I don’t much care. I’ve always liked the title of Commander, and I don’t think I’ve done it any harm. And I’ve earned the only accolade in foreign service that General Maxwell has given anyone, so whether I ever get the promotion or not, I have the inner satisfaction of knowing I’ve done a good job, and the knowledge that those higher-up on this station know it also.
Meanwhile, it is a personal gratification to confirm to myself that I haven’t slipped back in any way since the day seventeen years ago, when full of youthful energy and armed with youthful ignorance of the difficulties, I set out to salvage the S-51. I may be older now, and this climate isn’t exactly the bracing air we had off Block Island, but if ever a salvage job was done with neatness and dispatch and no errors on a supposedly hopeless wreck, it was on this scuttled Italian drydock.
So now I feel all right. The war can go on and I know I haven’t ossified so far either mentally or physically so that I can’t do my bit.
We are of course, having plenty of difficulties. The heat is no joke. Neither are the English, who are so damned slow when I want any men or materials in a hurry. Then most of the men promised me from the United States for my Naval Base haven’t come nor have they even been hired in the United States, while Washington and London squabble by cable over who should furnish them, when it was all agreed before I left that we should. But I haven’t the men. And I must work with a conglomerate of nationalities instead that would be a good match to Paul Jones’ crew on the Bon Homme Richard. My force consists of a few American supervisors backed up by Italian prisoners of war, Hindoos, Persians, Somalis, Sudanese, Maltese, Arabs, Ethiopians, Egyptians, and some Englishmen. The American flag floats over this Naval Base (which daily gladdens my heart when I look up at it) but I wish to God America would do something for us in the way of men as well as in the way of the machinery which she is sending us. From its location, this Massawa Naval Base can be an important factor in our own naval strategy in the Indian Ocean and the western Pacific, as well as being all important as a main base for the British Mediterranean Fleet.
Meanwhile, I do the best I can with what men (regardless of their race) that I can lay my hands on, and so far all who have seen have agreed that we have done well and far beyond any expectations.
I am writing more fully via Colonel Claterbos, who is shortly going home by ship and will carry another letter.
With love, Ned
P.S. Yesterday was our 24th anniversary. I sent you a cable, which I hope arrived.
P.P.S. In spite of gas rationing, I hope you and Mary find some way to go to Maine for a while.
Letter #20
June 2, 1942
Massawa
Lucy dearest:
I have just received your June 1 cable here. I sent you one via Cairo on May 28, which I hope arrived by June 1.
This letter goes by regular post from here and I hope arrives not too late. I have heard from a Mr. Embury of J. D. & P., who left New York by air about May 15, that up to then you had received not a single letter from me since I reached Massawa in late March. That is a beautiful tribute to what inefficient mail service and (perhaps) too efficient censors can do to hold up the mail. I have written plenty of letters in that time.
Meanwhile, briefly I can say that I am well now and have been continuously so since my arrival. I’m very busy with all the different things I have to do and I have been startingly successful on my first underseas job which was completed in an amazingly short time.
So here all is well so far as my work is concerned.
I hope you and Mary get up to Maine for at least part of the summer in spite of gas rationing. Please order my ring.
With love, Ned
Letter #21
June 8, 1942
Massawa
Lucy darling:
The mail came in bunches this week. I received your letter of Mar. 13, and also in one batch your letters sent via the Home Office USMNAM as follows: #5 of 4/14, #8 of 4/20, #10 of 4/23, #12 of 4/28, #14 of 5/1, #15 of 5/3, #16 of 5/7, and #17 of 5/8. That meant eight letters in one day, covering a period of nearly a month. Apparently the Army letters were forwarded from the U.S. all at once, but not till quite a lot of mail had stacked up.
The last word I had as embodied in your letters of about May 9 to 12, #18, 19, 20 and 21, showed you had not yet received any letters from here, which was also the information given me orally by the J. D. & P. man who flew over at that time. He is now on his way back with a message for you, which you should receive a long time before the arrival of this letter. In addition to that, an Army officer returning to the U.S. shortly (presumably by ship) will also have a little more information for you when he gets back to New York.
Meanwhile I am head over heels in work as usual. Our drydock has turned in a magnificent performance of ships docked for its first month, which ends today. My salvage forces are active (such as are here already) and we are well started on a second wreck. Also my dockyard shops are quite busy.
As regards other things, particularly financial, my expenses here are slight – nothing for quarters, only a moderate amount for a mess bill, and next to nothing for anything else, principally because there is nothing here that money can buy. I could use a number of articles of which I have long ago written you, and which by now I hope you have word.
I mentioned in my June 1 cable that my ring should be ordered, but how it should be sent I can’t say. The best way is to keep in touch with J. D. & P. and when they are sending someone by air to Eritrea, have him take it. But if no such bearer seems available, the next best bet is to send it via the Mission home office in Washington.
As regards this, I understand a certain vessel – (come to think of it she would have sailed long before you get this, so forget my half-spoken thought of that route).
The multitudinous articles I wanted can best be sent by J. D. & P. on whatever ship they send out next.
I have not yet received any copies either of Life or the Reader’s Digest, to which you subscribed for me. I would judge that over two months must elapse at least for their transmission.
I am happy to note your mother is convalescing well from her pneumonia and has presumably already visited you. Give her my love.
There seems to be a lot of miscellaneous misinformation going about concerning this country and its setup, such as you refer to from Raymond Clapper in his published articles. It is true that a large and expensive rest camp has been built in the hills some 40 miles from here at an elevation of 3500 feet, with the expectation that everyone would leave here each evening to sleep there and return in the morning to work. But it takes an hour and a half each way for the journey over a terribly hot intervening plain and then up a mountain highway full of sharp switchbacks. The problem of transporting several thousand men in buses daily over that road is quite insoluble, and I think myself the men would be completely knocked out by the daily journey, not to mention that the accident rate would undoubtedly be high. (There have been plenty of accidents to our trucks already over that road). So far no attempt has been made for daily commuting, and I doubt that it ever will be. The rest camp may be used by giving the men in batches a few days each month in the hills, but the dream of leaving Massawa nightly to the night watchmen is out. As for myself, I never expect to use the rest camp and I think it is going to be a washout, (and an expensive one). I rely more on air-conditioning the sleeping quarters here for everyone, which we will do when our equipment arrives. Meanwhile, I wouldn’t trade my air-conditioned room at night for all the rest camps in Ghinda.
It is getting quite hot, but between drinking huge quantities of water daily (between two and three gallons) and taking salt tablets with each quart, I don’t find the heat oppressive, though I work often out in the sun. It is interesting to find my shirt (when I dry it) frequently streaked with salt left there by sweat.
It’s hot. We are working now under the sun on repairing the blasted steel plates of the drydock we recently salvaged. Down on that dock floor, in spite of the fact it is well out on the water in the bay, there is little breeze but plenty of direct sunlight. I took a thermometer out there the other day. Laid on the wood keel blocks, at about the level where our heads are, the temperature that thermometer registered in the sun was 149° F. Of course that’s in the sun, but so are the workmen. The same thermometer laid on the steel plates of the dock floor, read 163° F. The steel we work with or on, gets too hot to handle without gloves.
My normal costume is shorts, a sun helmet, and half-sleeved shirts – all khaki, of course.
Inside the shops, where the men are shaded, it’s not so bad, though our blacksmiths have a tough time over their forges.
But all in all, so far we have managed to work steadily in spite of the heat and the humidity, and I think we can keep on through the summer. We are fairly well used to the heat and it doesn’t bother us much, though I notice that our Asmara crowd when they visit here (which is not frequently) get out of this place after about a two hour stay and it’s difficult to keep a single one here over night. They cause us plenty of trouble though, for the main office is in Asmara and attempts to direct many operations here without anybody ever staying in Massawa long enough to find out what anything is about. I fully realize now how Franklin, Washington, Adams and their associates finally decided to risk a war rather than submit further to remote control of their affairs by absentee landlords. And the telephone communication is so terrible that making a call to Asmara literally usually takes an hour for a call to get through and leaves one mentally washed up for the day and nearly fit for the nut house before it’s over. A force of American telephone men are working on the problem, but till they shoot half the Italian operators and put the rest in a concentration camp, I hope for little improvement.
I have a few other minor irritations. The chief of our mission cabled the Navy Department to send out seven naval officers as my assistants, and heaven knows I could use them. The answer he got by cable was that none would be sent. Apparently the Navy Department regards us as a step-child on the ground this is an “area of British responsibility.” Maybe it is, but we still fight here under the American flag, regardless of whose area of responsibility this is. At any rate, I’ll have to get along with a couple of Army lieutenants as assistants and some civilians (if I can ever get the civilians). Meanwhile I work with a heterogeneous mixture of all nationalities and get by mainly because the British and the colonial brass hats who have visited here have been so impressed by what the Americans here have done that they have lent me the hand that Washington refuses to extend. But if I only had more Americans, I could do a vastly better job. This is a American navy yard in the same sense that the Bon Homme Richard was an American warship – it has an American skipper and a few American lieutenants but as for the rest it doesn’t assay one American in every hundred. And yet we make it go and even the British regard it as an American establishment.
With love, Ned
Letter #22
June 13, 1942
Lucy darling:
Your letters #22, 23 & 24 (the last May 24) arrived here today, together with one of Mary’s of May 18. This is especially rapid delivery. I notice they all came via Amseg, which must be livening up its mail service very considerably. I suggest you send all your letters that way except when you can catch an air passenger at J. D. & P.
I am glad to see that my………letter of Apr. 2nd finally arrived by May 15. The others ought to follow with some regularity now. As regards sending my letters by air mail, I don’t think I can do anything about it. We can’t get any stamps of any nature here, and besides I think the mail all goes out the same way regardless of how the sender intends it shall go. It all goes by air from here to……….and after that, nobody seems to be able to find out what happens to it.
I sent you a message by Mr. Embury of J. D. & P., who should be back in New York by air about June 15. If you hear nothing from him by the time you get this, you might enquire at his office about it.
As regards Ahmed Hussen, whom you seem to fear as a possible rival, I regret to say he is no more around here. He was fired about 10 days ago for complaining to me he had never been paid and when I came to check up why not, I found he was on the payroll under another name and drawing just twice as much pay as he was supposed to get. Now I have another boy who is completely hopeless. I haven’t bothered to find out his name.
Thanks for sending me the clipping about Richard Hawes. As you probably remember, I managed to get him commissioned an Ensign after the S-51. I always knew he was a good man and he has proved it. But I’m sorry to know the Japanese have got their hands on him. Regarding the clipping, don’t hesitate to send more. I have not seen an American newspaper since the day I sailed.
I am glad to know we have some porch furniture at last which is satisfactory. It will be particularly useful this summer.
It just occurs to me (if you get this letter before October) that one way for you and Mary to get to Maine and still have a car there to drive, is to go by train and ship the station wagon the same way. You ought to get gasoline enough up there to get you around for the……things and you can make the telephone and Jackson’s save you from having to use gasoline for groceries. Or you might hire a car up there, which should not be difficult.
Sorry about the Argo (Ed: Ellsberg’s 27’ gaff-rigged A class sloop). I would give lots to have her here, with the whole Red Sea at my front door and Arab Dows sailing all over the place and I with no sailboat at all! I had hoped to fix up a couple of Star boats the Italians left when they evacuated, but my men are so few I can’t take them off essential war work to repair those boats. However, I still have hopes, and next December should be just as good a sailing season as this June.
Lovely hot weather we’re having. I hardly think 150° F we’re having where we work on our salvaged drydock can be beaten many places. But it is like many things you hear about – it sounds worse than it really is. So far we haven’t had a heat prostration case. Of course the story goes that this is nothing to what we’ll get in July and August, but I don’t believe it. It can’t get much hotter nor more humid. And we shade most of the spots where we have to work repairing the huge holes the Italians blasted in the steel plating so we get along. I understand this is about the time Massawa used to shut up shop and go to the hills, but we expect to keep right on working through. Wars aren’t won by taking four hours off in the middle of the day for a siesta, nor by closing up shop for a couple of months in the summer time.
Later June 21
This letter was somewhat interrupted by moving day. We have been converting a building the Italians used to use as an office building, into quarters for our officers, and we finally got it done so we could move in last Sunday night.
I now have a large room, 16 by 20 ft, with a private bath and a kitchenette attached. (That is, I will have a kitchenette when the refrigerator arrives next week, and I can manage to cabbage an electric grill somewhere and when that coffee percolator and toaster you are sending finally arrive. By the way, that reminds me that the trunk shipped after I left has not yet arrived, but may get here early in July. Maybe.) I have twoWestinghouse air conditioners in this room, but they are having a tough time. Imagine feeling cool in a room where the temperature is 88° F, as it is here this minute. Outside it is 102° F in the shade. I suppose it’s the reduction in humidity as usual.
I really have quite a pleasant setup this time, with something of a view over our harbor and the Red Sea (we are not as close to the water as we were before). If only I could get an interior decorator in, I might make something really restful of the place, but I’ll have to do what I can myself between other work. As it is, there isn’t a curtain in the place, nor any pictures for the walls, which gives it a rather bare appearance in spite of some fairly decent furniture (all made in Eritrea).
But I can sleep here comfortably with no mosquito nets, and that makes a big difference. And speaking of mosquitoes, there are less here day or night than in Maine, and very few flies.
Colonel Claterbos, who was the district engineer, sailed here for home two days ago. Apparently an old heart trouble recurred, and he couldn’t stand the gaff, though his headquarters were not here but in Asmara. He should be home about the later part of August, and I mention him only because he is carrying a message for you which I wrote some weeks ago when he first expected to sail, but didn’t. It will probably seem quite stale when you get it.
The captain of the ship the colonel sailed on presented me with a radio set. It is a Pilot portable, about the size of Mary’s, except it has a cloth cover. Just now I am struggling to get an antennae wire long enough to get reasonable reception with it, for we are thousands of miles from most stations, and the reception here isn’t so hot, even if the weather is. Of course, short wave is all I can get on it, though it will take the long wave stations also. Imagine living only twenty miles from WJZ again and not worrying over reception!
Meanwhile, in spite of the heat and all the irritations of squabbling over a terrible telephone line with some civilians in Asmara who won’t come to Massawa because it’s too hot but still try to poke their noses into our engineering work, I manage to keep very well. I may go crazy here over the idiocies and interferences I have to combat, but the climate will certainly never put me away. And I just have an idea I can outlast those remote control directors, in spite of their cool Asmara climate.
Our surgeon (Capt. Plummer of the Army medical corps) continually keeps an eagle eye on me and constantly asks after my health. He says he gets so many inquiries from Colonel Chickering and from Cairo about how I’m standing it (I’m the one person they have no relief for) that he told me he thinks that if I got sick, he’d get a court-martial.
Our major work goes along very satisfactorily. I expect to celebrate the Fourth of July here by lifting another ship on which the crew of my first salvage ship have been working for a couple of weeks. (Most of our salvage force has not yet arrived).
The three snapshots you enclosed are lovely, and your smile in them is wonderful. I have the one taken through the car door on my desk and it seems as I look at it that I’m looking directly into your eyes! Darling, if only you could be here, Massawa could be Heaven!
Ned
P.S. Your letter of Feb 26 just arrived 6/20/42. Your letters #1, 2, 6 and 11 have not yet arrived.
Letter #23
June 24, 1942
Massawa
Lucy darling:
Yesterday I received a cable from the War Department dated June 19, announcing that I had been appointed by the President to the rank of Captain. This was the action taken as a result of General Maxwell’s cable of May 21 requesting I be promoted “without delay” for “most outstanding service.” Considering the slowness of communications, even by cable, it appears that Washington did act expeditiously on his recommendation.
So now I am a Captain in the Navy. That I received the promotion not in the regular order or simply because it was the turn of my class, makes it doubly gratifying. Every one here, American and British, has been most hearty in their congratulations, and even the British telephone operator (a seaman whom I have never seen) when I made my first phone call today, instead of getting my number for me immediately, took occasion to tell me first over the phone how pleased he was to see my work rewarded.
I have worked here, but no harder than on any other task. Still, either I’ve been luckier than usual or my judgment is better, for the results seem to have shown up sooner and perhaps against a war background have stood out more. At any rate, seeing that I had to come back in the Service only six months ago as a lieutenant commander, I have moved along quite handsomely.
There is no longer any particular need (I think I said this before) of keeping my whereabouts or what I am doing a secret from anybody. There is nothing particularly confidential about what the North African Mission is here for nor what its personnel is or is engaged in.
My salvage fleet should very shortly be considerably augmented and then we should be able to get to work on quite a grand scale. As it is, even with trifling forces we have pulled one near miracle on our first salvage job, and I expect that very shortly a large German ship that the Nazis blasted a huge hole in and scuttled here, will be floating again with the Stars and Stripes waving over her. Which job will be done by a tiny salvage ship smaller than a New York harbor tug, which came 12,000 miles to get here under the skipper I hired on the beach at Santa Barbara, assisted by a crew totaling only 14 men including the captain. The docking of that salvaged ship I hope to make our Fourth of July celebration.
It will interest you to know that in connection with my promotion I had to take another physical examination, which opportunity our medical officer seized on with alacrity as apparently he was itching to find out what effect my activities had had on my blood pressure, which I have an idea he expected to find sky high. Last January, on my last Navy examination, it was 105. Yesterday it was 100. (Ed: Ellsberg had such low blood pressure that often he was reexamined by the Navy doctors who couldn’t believe the results; he stated that if stress or some aggravating situation raised his blood pressure it “only went up to normal”). I don’t know just what that proves, but anyway not what he was afraid of. As for the rest of me, everything was OK, so I passed with no difficulty.
It is getting somewhat hotter and muggier around here, with our first sandstorm thrown in day before yesterday for good measure. The sandstorms are what is supposed to make a summer here really different. We’ll see.
I’m sending you a cable which should get off from Cairo next Saturday (June 27) as otherwise the major news in this letter wouldn’t reach you till the summer is fairly well over (that is, in the United States).
And I expect also in the next few days to send you a Treasury check for around $600, covering my Army allowances here for about two months (check enclosed with this letter). You can use it as you think best. In addition, I have something coming to me from my Navy pay since last March above the allotments made you, which sums I have never drawn. Those accounts are in Cairo, and as soon as I can get in touch with the paymaster there, I’ll try to get a check for that and forward it also. In the meantime, I have about $180 in the bank (Barclay’s) here, which will keep me going for a while yet, seeing that willy-nilly, I never get a chance to spend much here, much as I should like to buy some things but they just don’t exist around here.
June 25, 1942
The mail just came in, bringing your letter #29 of June 2, sent via J D & P, plus a letter from Mary sent the same way, dated June 5. Fast work.
I heard today that an Army officer, Major O’Neal is flying back to U.S. within a week, and he has promised to carry this letter for me, my second chance to get real air service back. (The first was via Mr. Embury of J D & P who should have arrived in U.S. about June 15).
Lest it wasn’t mentioned elsewhere, I got your June 1 cable on June 2, the same day you got mine.
As regards salvage, we have already salvaged a large Italian drydock, which was the main cause of my promotion. The ship we hope to raise soon is the ex-German Liebenfels, on which my solitary salvage ship so far, the Intent, is now working. When my other three ships get here, we should be able to make quite a dent in this job.
Glad you ordered my ring.
Sorry to hear about the passing of the Com. & So. dividend. That means the omission of a lot of money. Queer, because they should have a huge power demand, but I suppose labor & taxes have swallowed all their income. I’ll try to send all the money I can from here to make up. Meanwhile, I strongly advise against selling anything to meet expenses, yours or Mary’s. If necessary, quit buying bonds.
As regards my income taxes, please do nothing whatever about rendering any returns for me for 1943 to the Government. Of course, my payments for the rest of this year must be made, but as regards next year and the payments on it, let the Government look to me, not to you both for the returns and the cash. All I’ll want on that is a statement of what my receipts were in the U.S. on dividends (if any) and from other American sources. These can be sent me about next November or December. I’m not sure that I’m liable for any income taxes in the U.S. on my Navy pay since I left the country, but at any rate, I’ll investigate all that myself. Don’t you bother over it, and if there are any inquiries about my taxes at all, refer all inquiries to me via the regular mail channels.
As regards the old gas heater you long for, it is still in our basement, and if you want to use it to save oil, just call on the gas company to put in an additional meter for it (it requires a separate meter from the gas stove to avoid trouble) and have the plumber hook it up again. It costs somewhat more to run than an oil heater, but if saving oil is a factor, go ahead. Meanwhile of course, it is certainly advisable to keep your oil tank filled.
As regards Farnham Butler and the Argo, I did pay a considerable part of the bill last winter. Look in my desk for the Southwest Harbor Folder or something similar. You’ll find in it the bills with a note regarding payments made, and our stub books of last winter will furnish the information if nothing else does.
Thanks for getting me the things from Lewis & Conger. My refrigerator arrived today, so all I need now to get along in comfort is what’s coming from the U.S.
As I said before, I don’t go to the mountains either weekends or daily. It’s more comfortable to stay in Massawa and bask in the light of the air conditioners. (I have a 16x20 room in a new building now, with twoair conditioners, a kitchenette, and a private bath). You’ll learn more of this when the regular mail reaches you about next August.
I hope Mary gets some rest this summer. Both of you will do me the greatest favor if you go to Maine by train (ship the station wagon up by freight if you must, or otherwise by rail or express) and get where it’s cool. I rather imagine you can get enough gas up there to get about as much as is necessary.
Later
I went up to Asmara this afternoon when I heard O’Neal might leave tomorrow to give him this. He isn’t going for a week, but another Army officer who is flying to Cairo early tomorrow will possibly take it with him and get it sent from there by real air mail. I’ll try. Let me know if it reached you quickly and when.
With love, Ned
Ed: When Ellsberg wrote his name on the envelope he at first wrote “Cmdr”, then crossed it out and wrote “Captain”.
Letter #24
June 27, 1942
Massawa
Lucy darling:
A couple of days ago I had an opportunity to send you a letter which I think will really go air mail. The colonel in command of the Mission air base here was flying to Cairo and offered to take a letter which he guaranteed he could see would go by air from there. So I sent one, dated June 25, in which I enclosed a check (Treasury) for $600, being all my Army allowances for some time back, together with some news of what has been happening to me here.
If you fail to receive that letter, or if it comes without the check enclosed, better cable me and I’ll start to trace what happened to it from this end.
There is some possibility that another air corps officer from Eritrea may fly back home himself on some mission before the coming week is out. If he gets sent (which is not now certain) he offers to take this letter, which may therefore also get through quickly.
Meanwhile I have sent to Cairo to the navy paymaster handling my accounts there, asking for a check for what is due me since late March. That should cover perhaps another one or two hundred dollars, which I will forward when received. The 10% increase for foreign service went through all right, but I don’t think I have collected any of it. I’m not sure, since I increased my allotment just before leaving Cairo and I have never had a statement since. I can’t say whether the increased allotment included that or not. I’m asking for a detailed statement of my Navy pay account so I’ll know where I’m at.
As I mentioned in the airmail letter of June 25, I have been promoted to Captain. Whether the promotion amounts financially to anything or not, I don’t know yet. There was a limit of $7200 on a Captain or Commander’s total of pay plus allowances (Navy) and as I was receiving within three or four hundred dollars of that as a Commander, the maximum increase I could get by the promotion would be that sum, unless they have lifted the limit or removed the limitation altogether. I should, I suppose, soon learn that from Cairo. John Hale can also tell you. I haven’t any Navy pay table here, and I can’t get one. And what Congress may have done to it since I left U.S., I am completely ignorant of.
It is getting damned hot and humid here. The last week, I might just as well have soaked my clothes in a bucket of warm water before putting them on, because a few minutes after going out they were all wringing wet anyway. I have certainly learned that everything is relative, for I feel comfortable enough in my room (air-conditioned) where nevertheless the temperature at this moment (11 PM) is 90° F. and the humidity is 60%. You can imagine what it is outside, where there is no air-conditioning. But back home under those conditions I should feel, like Mary, “boiled,” even in my room.
Like most others here, I have a mild case of prickly heat, which with me is on my arms only. Lots of the men have it all over. It’s a result, I suppose, of being continually bathed in perspiration. They say in about ten days you get over it, but I don’t know. You might consult Jarvis on what’s good for it and send me a can of some powder or other. I’ll get it by Christmas I suppose, since my trunk shipped last February, presumably just after I sailed, hasn’t arrived yet.
And you might throw in some of my assorted collection of cigarette lighters. It’s a nuisance trying to keep matches dry here. (Ed: Ellsberg told his wife that he smoked only four packs a day, when in reality he smoked eight. He didn’t want her to get worried!).
I had quite a time decking myself out in four stripes when I got promoted. Blues were no problem, since I never wear them, but I did have to change my shoulder marks, which are about the only insignia of rank worn around here with khaki. No gold lace is available hereabouts, so I solved the problem by stripping a gold stripe off my old broadcloth coat and sewing it on as the top stripe of my shoulder marks. And I’m having one blue serge coat fixed up against next winter when I may perhaps wear it, by taking the stripes off another and older serge coat I have, to add to the sleeves on my newer coat. I think that will about take care of the situation, except that with a khaki shirt, one is supposed to wear the insignia of his rank on the collar. I had some miniature silver leaves, for a Commander, but now I should have some miniature solver eagles (metal) for pinning on the khaki shirt collar. Of course there aren’t any around here. Would you mind getting me a pair? I think that wrapped in a little tissue paper, they would go in a letter. The All-Bilt Uniform Co., 147 Fulton Street, N.Y., should have them. Be sure they are miniatures for a Navy khaki shirt – the Army ones for their shirts are larger, I believe.
By the way, while you are in that vicinity, please drop in on Jos. Friedlander Co., 8 Maiden Lane, and order me a pair of glasses. I dropped my old tortoise shell ones with the new lenses I got last January, overboard from a boat while going out to our salvaged drydock. According to Dr. Childer’s prescription of Jan. 10, 1942, the lenses for both eyes are identical, calling for spherical + 1.50 for both eyes, with apparently no other corrections. As measured on the new pair of glasses I got from Friedlander last January at the same time I had new lenses put in my old tortoise shell frames, the outside width of the glasses is just 5 inches from bow to bow, the clearance between the nose clips is 11/16 of an inch, and the bows are 4 1/8 inches long from the glasses to the point where they start to curve to go around the ears.
There is no startling emergency in getting me new glasses, since I still have one new pair, and the old lenses out of my lost tortoise shell frames, which I might have mounted here and use in a pinch in case I lost my second pair. I’m quite all right unless I lose them, and even then I’ll not be wholly without something at least useable for reading.
Speaking of glasses, I never really got any test on the Polaroids Carl Fuller gave me. I dropped them and smashed them within a week of getting here. Then I got a pair of Calobars, which cost $8 here (the only kind available) and in three days I dropped and smashed them also. That meant $8 more for another pair, which I still have. Then shortly thereafter a diving foreman got here with a pair of another kind of sun glasses which Kandel (Ed: Charles Kandel, president of Craftsweld, the company which made Ellsberg’s underwater cutting torch) sent me as a present, and ever since I’ve used them. They are more comfortable than the Calobars.
Sun glasses are a necessity here, since they must be put on the moment one steps outdoors. Tell Carl I’m sorry I never had his long enough to find out much about them here.
In your letter of Feb 26, recently received, there was an enclosure from Rose, on which she noted that the censor on reading it would think either she was crazy or he was. Who is crazy, I knew before I left Westfield, but the censor never had the problem put up to him as that letter, mailed direct, unlike others mailed similarly since, bore no censor’s stamp.
It now appears that the best way to send mail (except when J. D. & P. lets you know somebody is flying out) is to send it via the Home Office of the North African Mission. Those apparently come through now in three to four weeks without either being delayed or molested by anybody. I recommend against any further use of ……..% Postmaster, N.Y., as those letters seem to get all the delays of censorship…..God knows what other delays in transmission. I understand there are thousands of sacks of such mail awaiting inspection before forwarding from N.Y., and then they come all the way by water which I believe is not the case of those sent via the Mission headquarters. (A late bulletin says they come by air, but that is doubtful).
We had a funny experience a few weeks ago. The drydock we recently salvaged had eight separate compartments in its lower hull, in seven of which holes big enough to drive a 10 ton truck through, had been blasted by the……when they scuttled the dock. (That was why, after the English divers who first looked it over, gave the job up as hopeless when they saw those holes). But the eighth compartment had no hole in it. Feeling sure the…..had not intentionally slighted that compartment, when we had the dock up we looked through the hold in that compartment, and sure enough, there was an unexploded bomb with the fuse still attached, which for some reason had failed to explode with the others. So we heaved it up on deck (it weighed 200 lbs.) and turned it over to the British explosive experts to dispose of. They took it about 5 miles out of……to touch it off.
Now it so happened that the Royal Naval Base alongside us had just received a new air raid siren which at 5:30 PM they turned on for a test. Just a few minutes after their siren had shrieked out, the bomb (in spite of being…….water) went off with a concussion that shook….. as if it had been in the main street. I was just entering our messhall at the moment, only to see every……cook and waiter come flying out, heads up looking for the bombing plane the siren had apparently given warning of, and streaking for the nearest air raid shelter. It took some time to convince them there was no connection, so dinner could go on.
July 8
The officer who was to fly home carrying this letter never made the trip, so this didn’t go as scheduled. However, I still hope I can get it sent through direct.
A lot has happened since June 27 when I started this letter. We were then engaged in finishing up our underwater work on the scuttled….Liebenfels, with the hope that shortly we would be ready to try lifting her. (Ed: the censors cut out about 1/3 of a page)…..hulk was well out of water,…..started. We had no equipment of our own (it hasn’t arrived yet) so we were using pumps borrowed from the British, which pumps were antiquated in the last war. The damned pumps kept breaking down on us, so we found ourselves time after time with a waterlogged ship on our hands…..rapidly leaking back and no pumps running to hold it down.
For four days straight, night and day with next to no sleep for anybody,…..those leaks, only on the fourth night to have the ship listed 21° to port and on the point of capsizing with not a pump then working. Our last hope was in getting a broken down pump in the bottom of the engine room running again, which was a tough place to work between the heat, a terrible humidity down there, and the list of the ship which was so bad that it was impossible to stand on the deck without hanging on to something to avoid sliding into the bilges.
We got the pump running, and reduced the list enough so that on the Fourth of July, we celebrated by towing the…. (Ed: Liebenfels) from the spot where she was scuttled, some seven miles around to our naval base, with the biggest Stars and Stripes our salvage ship owned floating proudly at the masthead of the…..over the Nazi banner. (Ed: according to Ellsberg, this was the first time the American flag had flown over captured German territory in the war. This flag is in the possession of Ted Pollard) And on July 5 we drydocked her, where now she lies, safely salvaged at last and under repair – a fine big ship to help carry the men and the arms which are going to scuttle Mr. Adolph Hitler’s hopes.
(Ed: the last 1/3 of this page is gone).
With love, Ned
P.S. when we got her up, we found a nice big bomb in the…unexploded.
P.P.S. My trunk has arrived at last.
Letter #25
July 9, 1942
Massawa
Lucy darling:
My trunk arrived finally a couple of days ago. I found a note in it which you said you supposed I’d get it about Easter. Easter, however, is so far back, I can hardly remember it. I am happy to have the trunk, nevertheless, and I have it all unpacked now.
I was delighted to find in it the two pictures you sent – one of you on the divan beneath your portrait, and the other of my study. Both give me acute nostalgia as I gaze at them alongside my desk here.
Piggy and sister (Ed: two very small china dolls that were Mary’s favorites) also arrived safely and now repose before me also, very appropriate salvage mascots which seem as effective now as when Mary as a baby sent them to help Daddy salvage the S-51.
The ship these things came on had an unduly prolonged voyage due to several breakdowns en route, caused, I am assured by some of our men on her, by completely incompetent officers. I can well believe it.
We are getting close to mid-July but I can’t say heat conditions are any worse than a month ago. When this intolerable heat is going to get here that makes it impossible to work, I can’t say, but I just suspect it is here already only we don’t know it and keep on working anyway. It is hot however, and I have a lovely case of prickly heat over my arms and chest. It gets better in the evenings when I’m in my air-cooled room, and worse in the daytime when I’m all bathed in sweat. It should go, they tell me after ten days, but I think I’ve had it that long already.
My case was somewhat aggravated by the six days I spent out on our salvage ship when we were lifting the German ship we have just salvaged. We had a tough time with her, as I’ve told you in the letter just preceding this one, but there was still some romance in it. The first night, while we were busily engaged in trying to get her off the bottom, with her stern just lifted but her bow still in the mud, made a wonderful picture. It was hot, of course, but with a full moon lighting the scene, the naked, sweating men on deck positively glistened under the beam of our searchlight as they struggled on the lines heaving pumps about the flooded holds. The glow of the moon on the Red Sea, the brilliant stars overhead, and the waterlogged hull of that ex-German Liebenfels gradually lifting from her cradle on the ocean floor would have made a movie scene of which Hollywood could well be proud.
Well, the Liebenfels is in the drydock now; the moon has vanished and the scene has faded into a memory only, but the prickly heat remains to remind me of five days and nights bathed in sweat and mud. My shoes became so stiff with salt I could hardly get them on or off, and as a last aggravation, when the ship finally took a 21° list and the deck sloped so much one could hardly walk on it, those damned shoes rubbed a hole in my ankle whenever I walked aft because of the unnatural angle at which they were forced into my foot. I think I’ll remember the Liebenfels a long time.
One of the men got a wonderful snapshot of the Stars and Stripes floating over the Nazi flag on July 4 as we towed the Liebenfels in to dock her – the best Fourth of July celebration I’ve had in years. I’ve been promised a copy of that snapshot as soon as it can be reprinted and I’ll send it to you.
We manage to keep quite busy here. The hectic hours of raising a ship are over for the moment but now comes the not so hectic but quite as trying business of repairing her with a ridiculously inadequate navy yard force while Washington and London kick back and forth the question of whose responsibility it is to furnish the men and meanwhile nobody furnishes them. How any one can be so blind as not to see that no where else in the world will a few hundred workmen yield such a quick and rich reward in tonnage restored to service afloat, is beyond me. And yet Washington turns itself inside out to provide thousands of shipyard workers on new construction of ships when a hundredth part of them could get our salvaged ships repaired in a tenth the time it takes to build new ones. General Maxwell has turned himself inside out also trying to get the matter settled properly, but so far, no luck.
Yours in disgust, Ned
P.S. In a letter following this, I am enclosing the government checks totaling $200. Let me know if that letter shows up without the checks.
P.P.S. I enclose two photographs just arrived, showing one way of celebrating the Fourth of July. Excuse the mending.
Letter #26
June is crossed out & EE writes “It must be July”
July 15, 1942
Same place as usual
At the top of this letter Ellsberg wrote: “This letter has two checks for $200 enclosed.”
Lucy darling:
The present score on your letters is that #1, 2, 25, 26, 27, 28, 31, 32, 33, 34, 36, and 37 have not yet arrived. #6 came yesterday and #11 today.
The last letter I received was #38 of June 26, which came yesterday, quite rapid transmission. It came of course, via Johnson, Drake, as did #30 and 35, all together. And together with them arrived the package with my class ring, which I am now wearing and which feels very natural on my finger again. It is lovely, I like the monogrammed seal, and I’m ever so grateful to you for all the trouble in getting it. It came through in a remarkably short time. I’m much obligated to Mr. Dixon and to Mr. Flanagan for all their assistance in forwarding both it and the letters.
I see you must have received the letter carried by special messenger, though you make no direct mention of its receipt, that perhaps being in one of the missing letters between #30 and #38, which I have. I judge so since you mention my recommendation for promotion, which was in the letter so forwarded.
As regards sending messages that way, I have by every chance I’ve heard of, but that particular person was the only one I’ve heard of who went back by air. You must remember most of those people go from Asmara or Cairo, both of which are none too close to this place, so my chances of keeping track of people flying back and forth are exceptionally poor. Another letter has gone by a person going home by ship, who may get there by late August.
As regards air mail (as I’ve said before) all mail from here is supposed to go by air from here all the way to the U.S. I believe it does, too, when it goes at all, regardless of air mail stamps or lack of them, except that when it comes into Miami, I believe it stays a month or two while the censors examine it. I can see no other reason for the truly atrocious delays in delivery which have occurred.
It is useless for you to put airmail stamps on mail coming here. None that ever goes through APO815 ever goes by air, regardless of the stamps. I think that travels by ship and takes two or three months in transit. Mail via Dixon’s office really goes by air when it catches some one going out, and I believe everything sent via the Mission’s home office also goes by air from there. As I’ve said before, I think I’d give up APO815 for the present.
(Ed: Written across the preceding three paragraphs EE wrote “This letter has two checks for $200 enclosed.”)
I suppose you know by now, if you ever got my cable of late June, that I was promoted to Captain, as you surmised from Mr. E’s letter to you from Washington. So far as I can see, the promotion means little in the way of pay, about $300 a year at most, as I was already receiving nearly the limit of pay for a captain as a commander. While my pay should now (exclusive of the 10% for foreign service be about $7600 a year for pay and allowances) a captain is limited (exclusive of about $560 a year for foreign service) to $7200 for regular pay and allowances and I was already getting something over $6900 for that as a commander.
At any rate, my total now should be about $7760, including foreign service pay of 10%. When and if I can get the papers arranged through the somewhat disorganized Cairo office, I’ll increase my allotment to around $600. This will probably take some months yet.
Meanwhile, I enclose in this letter two government checks totaling $200, one, #59-589 for $140, and one, #223083, for $60. Inform me immediately that you have them, and twice as immediately if either or both are missing from this letter.
(Ed: As noted above, EE wrote across the last three paragraphs “This letter has two checks for $200 enclosed.”)
I sent you about June 26, in a letter presumably mailed by air from Cairo, another government check for $600. Let me know also if you got that one. It went supposedly in a government mail bag.
As regards money for Mary’s senior year expenses, I am decidedly opposed to borrowing anything on life insurance policies for anything short of avoiding actual starvation. My one experience with that back in 1921 will last me for this lifetime. If you run short for Mary’s expenses, you may sell all the Government bonds we own first (including the cessation of any new purchases). After that you may take whatever I have in the savings bank, including the money from the Herald-Tribune prize.
I judge from your letter of June 26 (#38) that some of my letters have finally started to arrive. You might comment in some detail as to how the censor has been treating them. Yours have come through with only one excision so far, in a letter in which you mentioned a letter from me from……., and the censor cut out the name of the place, thereby preventing Mr. Hitler from getting the one last bit of information he needed to round out his plans for conquering America.
(Ed: As noted above, EE wrote across the last three paragraphs “This letter has two checks for $200 enclosed.”)
I’m glad to see you finally received the list of clothing articles I asked for last April. With a little luck, I may receive the things you sent by Christmas. My trunk arrived about 10 days ago, having been some three months (nearly four) in transit.
What you can’t get in the way of white shorts, I suppose some day I can have made here. They are not very important. I wear khaki almost exclusively. And the same goes for the white socks to go with the shorts – if I ever get to some of the places a little more civilized than here, I may be able to buy some.
Never mind the exposure meter for the camera. I can get some expert advice here which should fix the matter, and the meter isn’t worth $25 to me. What Clara sent me was a rangefinder for the camera.
In addition to the checks, I am enclosing some photographs. One shows Captain Brown (Ed: Edison Brown), whom I went across the continent to hire and then had to chase up the coast to Santa Barbara finally to make contact with. Alongside him is me; both of us are in our working salvage uniforms. This picture was taken on July 3 on the deck of our salvage ship. The reason for the smiles on both our faces is that we had just lifted from the bottom a large ship scuttled by our German friends, the superstructure of which shows somewhat to the left of Brown’s head. Why Brown looks more messed up than I, I can’t understand. I hadn’t had a bath for five days, and look at my shoes, which were so stiff from mud and salt water, I could hardly get them on. (They were once my most expensive pair of black Florsheim’s, but that job finished them forever). (I suppose it’s one ship, one pair of shoes.)
The next picture was taken last May 20, when I was entertaining a galaxy of generals (mostly British) just after the conclusion of our first salvage success. (That made me a captain).
In two other pictures (taken the same day) you can find me with the same group on the pier and in a boat on our way out to examine our newly risen drydock.
The other pictures, labeled A, B, C, D, E, and F are various views in the life of a certain German ship which decided to come up from the bottom, barnacles and all, with some of the pictures showing the cataracts of water pouring from her during her rise.
The best picture of the lot I haven’t a print of yet myself, but I hope to get it soon and send it to you. That one, taken on the Fourth of July during the voyage of the ship from where she came up around to our dock, shows the American flag flying beautifully out over the Nazi ensign at the masthead of Mr. Hitler’s late ship. There are a total of ten (10) count ‘em, ten – pictures enclosed with this letter.
I have not yet received a single copy of Life or the Reader’s Digest, and I doubt that I ever will. You might as well cancel the subscriptions and get your money back (if you can) or part of it.
I haven’t received Clara’s book “The Moon is down.”
I am happy to know Mary is home now with you. I only wish I were too.
With much love, Ned
Letter #27
July 16, 1942
As usual
Lucy dearest:
I sent you two letters today which I think will go by different routes. One, dated July 16, I believe will actually go through by air, since I am assured by an air corps officer that he’ll see it gets on a direct plane from this country. That letter contains two checks, one for $140 and one for $60. Both are treasury checks, sent unendorsed. Let me know immediately if you get them, and also immediately if you don’t get them by the time this letter arrives. Also, about June 26, I sent you via supposedly air mail another letter carrying a treasury check for $600. Let me know also the fate of that one, if by the time you get this you have not received that check.
The letter of this morning (July 16) carrying the two checks for $200 also included ten snapshots showing a few marine seascapes of a ship which recently under the urgings of our salvage pumps decided to part company with the ocean floor. Included in the ten were also about four snapshots showing me at work and as escort for an assorted lot of British generals last May. Let me know if any of that lot fail to arrive.
In the second letter (dated July 9) I sent you today, which included some observations on the difficulties of working without men, were included two Fourth of July snapshots showing how we celebrated the holiday on the waterfront hereabouts. Let me know also if that letter arrived with its two pictures and how it fared in conveying to you my comparisons of how much our government has learned since John Paul Jones received the wholehearted cooperation of the country for which he was fighting. That letter went by regular mail from here.
Lest the other letters miscarry or be delayed in transit, I repeat here that my ring arrived July 14, together with your letter #38 of June 26, which came through in remarkably fast time thanks to a fair wind from Mr. Dixon.
I may also mention by way of repetition that if you run short of money for Mary’s college expenses, you may sell all of the Government bonds we have and quit buying others, but don’t try to borrow on my life insurance. I’m set against that.
In your letter #6 of April 16, which apparently lost 12 days while awaiting censorship, after which the censors removed the clipping from the Herald Tribune about the project in this country and substituted the enclosed notice, which from its date shows the delay in censorship. It rather makes me laugh, as the whole newspaper arrives occasionally whenever a ship comes in. (Ed: Printed on the notice: The enclosure in this communication has been extracted as its transmission is not permitted. It was dated April 28, 1942. Ellsberg wrote the following to his censor on the slip: “To the censor: This notice does not refer to any enclosures in this letter. E.E.” And: “This refers to a clipping from Herald Tribune on this project, which you mention in your letter dated April 16. E.E.”)
The whole performance convinces me that the worst way to send mail is via APO 815, as that letter took almost exactly three months to arrive.
There were enclosed in your letter #6 the two statements of Dodd, Mead, which I am returning to you herewith. The major thing I note from the report is that “Spanish Ingots” still acts as if it had a couple of millstones round its neck. Please file these reports with the others in the bottom drawer of my desk.
As regards the voyage, which in that letter you mention as sounding like a nightmare, and trusted was not typical of our merchant marine, I can assure you I now know it was not typical. From the stories I have heard of other ships since and what I have seen of their officers and crews here, I can assure you I traveled on a beautifully disciplined and unusually well managed ship, with officers and crew considerably above average. Draw your own conclusions.
In your letter #30 of June 5 which came recently, you mention again shipping the things I asked for on April 2. Thanks, but I don’t need any soap – I can get plenty here. You want to know what you might send that I might enjoy to vary my diet? Well, I’ll tell you, but you can’t send them. I’d care most for a jar of cream and an orange! Milk and cream are non-existent in this country, and the canned kinds give me a pain, so I drink my coffee black. There are a few million goats all over the hills here, but I haven’t descended to goat’s milk yet. Literally goats seem to be the major animal here for all purposes, and by contract, I must furnish a gang of Persians I have on my drydock one goat every five days. Some Sudanese I had working in the carpenter shop began to park their goats for their Sunday dinners alongside the office building and then slaughter and roast them right there, till I declared a moratorium on goats inside the limits of this naval base. Now the place smells somewhat less goatey.
As for oranges, we get no fresh fruit here at all. The country doesn’t grow any, and the transmission of Palestine oranges, which are marvelous is stopped by the Egyptian government which shows its independence by refusing to allow the transmission through their territory, to encourage the consumption of Egyptian oranges which are uneatable.
We are reduced to canned fruit juices for breakfast, which are not bad, except that the supply seems to run to an undue proportion of prune juice, which I detest. I had thought all the prune juice in the world had gone to Nantucket, judging by the number of decorated prune juice bottles we saw there, but I was wrong. The supply seems still to hang on. I see no remedy, unless you can send me a cow and an orange tree.
As regards your financial problem, I do not advise selling any of the Commonwealth & Southern, nor so far as I can judge from here, any other stock. I think every corporation is going to catch it in the neck on taxes and labor costs, and I can see no great gain in trying to switch from one to another. There is little to be done there except grin and bear it, with an occasional gnashing of your teeth as you observe how the government soaks those who have saved and invested their money, and passes more lightly over the labor profiteers who are drawing huge wages out of staying home and holding up the country on overtime demands.
There may be one ray of light in this tax situation. Check up yourself in New York at the tax bureau in the Federal Building (or ask Ed Smith to do it for you) on whether I as an American citizen domiciled here for more than six months this year, am liable for any American tax on my salary earned abroad. So far as I can judge, I am not, but I’d like to know what the income tax authorities say on the subject. If, as I believe is correct, I am not, then our tax situation for next year will be somewhat ameliorated. I will of course, be liable for taxes on the money paid me in dividends and in royalties by Dodd, Mead, but that is no part of the question to be put – my tax liability on my salary earned abroad is all I want to know about. I may say that whether most or all of the money is remitted to the United States has no bearing on the question and is not to be introduced into any discussion on the matter.
In regard to what you state about rumors about the government forcing people with two cars to sell one of them, kindly remember that you do not own two cars. I happen to own a car and if I don’t want to sell it till I come home, that’s my business. And if you don’t want to sell the car you own, that is your business. And the same goes for the spare tires I have for my car. Don’t in any misguided moment let anyone have, buy, steal, or confiscate my spare tires. Refer them to me.
And if I were you, I wouldn’t sell the station wagon, though it is possible you might find it advisable to lay one car up and save the insurance and license cost on it. I leave that to your judgment.
So far I’ve been well and I see no reason why I shouldn’t continue so. I’ve reduced my figure to quite healthy proportions, get lots of exercise out in the glorious sunshine and the open air, and have nothing whatever to worry about except everybody’s troubles on this station. If Bill Cunningham on a Saturday night goes to town, gets drunk, and lays out 10 M.P.s trying to put him in the jug, when they get him there finally, I’m the one who is called up to get Bill out of jail. (This actually happened). If Doc Kimble, diver, doesn’t think the ventilation in the corner of the barracks where he sleeps suits him, the problem comes to me. If Bill Reed is envious because Higgins, another superintendent rides in a sedan while he is furnished only a station wagon, I have to soothe Reed’s feelings. If the paymaster makes a mistake in Buck Scougale’s pay, it’s my headaches (and the damned paymaster makes a hundred mistakes every payday, affecting Buck Scougale, Mohamed Ali, Antonio Bertolotti, and a varied assortment of Hindoos, Persians, Sudanese, and God knows what other nationalities). This is quite an exciting life, and oddly enough, the least of my worries is the job I came out to do – the salvage problem. However, in spite of the climate, of the enemy, of the League of Nations on my hands, of the British, of the Americans, and of far-off Washington, I’m well and I’m going to stay that way. I have two very good reasons for it.
With love to them both, Ned
P. S. I’ve just been weighed, and I find I weigh 149 pounds, which is a good fighting weight and I feel very combative. I haven’t had a sick day since I arrived on this station.
Letter #28
July 17, 1942
Lucy darling:
I long since lost track of my numbers and haven’t used any for some time, but now I’ll start again with #40, which might be about correct. (Ed: It is actually #28.)
To cover briefly a few things said before in recent letters, I sent you two checks for $200 total two days ago; enclosed 10 snapshots in the same letter; and by a different route on the same day sent another letter with two other snapshots of our Fourth of July celebration which consisted of bringing into port a salvaged German ship. Let me know how all this reached you.
I received my class ring three days ago, in case my other acknowledgements get hung up. Many thanks.
In connection with miscellaneous matters, I guess I don’t need an exposure meter for my camera. I stopped the lens way down on my second attempt on a roll of film here, and the pictures all came out all right. Too much sun here for ordinary settings, I now see. Unfortunately the pictures were all of our salvage work on the drydock, so I can’t send them. I’ll now try to get some more personal pictures which I can send.
“Captain Paul” still follows me up, even here. On the same day last week two letters arrived, one from a gentleman in Rochester and the other from the captain of a cruiser with the Pacific fleet, both telling me how much “Captain Paul” meant to them.
I now have a shortwave radio set I purchased from a British naval officer detached overnight from here three weeks ago to go to the eastern Mediterranean. I parted with $60 to get it. It works well enough, but I’m beginning to wonder why I did it. It’s a good shortwave set even though I can’t get any American stations here. The trouble with it is that the air around here is full of German and even Japanese stations broadcasting in English on how happy all the occupied countries are over the civilization Germany and Japan have brought them. It’s not worth $60 to me to hear that rot. I can get London regularly well enough too, but London and the British Broadcasting Co. are a poor substitute for American station programs. Incidentally, it makes me grin somewhat to listen at this moment to a program from London on how Britain is straining every nerve to provide ships, ships, ships, and try to square that up with the fact that they have here as a salvage officer supposed to be raising a ship in the middle harbor, a gentleman who wears a monocle, knows less about salvage than Mary does, and is no more a seaman than Mike Gallo. He carries on his salvage work from the comfortable elevation of 8000 feet some 70 miles north of here where it certainly is cool but a little remote from the harbor where the ship was scuttled. No wonder his salvage crew, which started months before we did, hasn’t lifted anything yet but their eyebrows. Every nerve is certainly being strained in providing ships in this instance, including mine when I contemplate the spectacle.
About my smoking, which you inquire about in your letter #35 of June 18, I have resumed smoking some months ago, there being little else to do around here by way of distraction from business. However, I’m not in need of any cigarettes. We’re rationed on them, but as long as the ration is a package a day, it’s no hardship. However, as I asked some weeks ago, if you can send me a few of my assorted cigarette lighters, it will help. Matches are scarce, and after a box of matches has been an hour or two in my pocket, it gets so soaked in sweat it’s impossible to strike a light.
About Mr. Ickes and his advice to convert your oil burner to coal, I’d leave that to Mr. Ickes and those who have janitors. Don’t you follow it. I don’t mind shoveling coal myself, but I object strongly to your having to do it. If you think there is any question of your getting enough oil, let me know immediately and I’ll write personally to some of my old associates in Tide Water, who owe me something, to see that you get enough.
As regards my trunks, etc., everything sent before or after I sailed has arrived, though my second trunk took about four months on the way.
As regards the book Clara sent, it hasn’t showed up, nor have either of the magazines you subscribed to for me. You might as well cancel the subscriptions.
I’m sorry you cannot rent the cottage or charter the boat, but I hardly thought you ever could. Don’t be too concerned yet about getting the money for Mary’s college expenses. Somehow I remember the $200 for the Herald Tribune award. You can take that first. I don’t know any better way to use it. Then you can sell off all our government bonds and quit buying others. And I should be able to increase my allotment to about $600 a month as soon as the necessary papers can be prepared (which may be some months yet). I’ll collect the difference in a check here and send that along some time late this summer, so you can figure on a total allotment of $600 a month from July 1 on, though you may not get it all till somewhat later.
You want to know how soon we can clean up our salvage work? I’ll know better by early September, when I can see the whole salvage fleet at work. But the answer really lies in an unbelievable situation regarding the men for the operation of this base, which situation Mr. Dixon can explain to you. I can’t go into it in a letter. I have a better understanding now of “Captain Paul’s” feelings than I had when I wrote the book.
Regarding the things you say you bought for me, short sleeves on the white shirts are what I want. White shorts seem to be very rare nowadays. There are none available here, except made to order when you furnish your own cloth, and that seems unobtainable. Possibly the best bet would be for you to send me cloth enough (same as for white uniforms) for about 4 pairs and I’ll have them made up here. If they have to be made, that is the safest bet. If I ever get to Cairo, I might get some there.
I’ve never heard here about any cheap cable service you refer to. What is it?
With love, Ned
Letter #29
Saturday night
July 18, 1942
Lucy darling:
I’ve had some freer evenings this last week, being the lulls between the storms of salvage work, and I’ve managed to write some four different letters, which I suppose will reach you months apart.
Today has been quite a hot day, the worst this month. It seems rather ironical that the one thing that (if it exists) the doctors might have done for us in this place, they overlooked completely. I was inoculated for smallpox, typhoid, tetanus, yellow fever, typhus, cholera and I think a couple of other things, but the one thing that would have done me or anyone else here any good would have been an inoculation for prickly heat. Not a man I have has gone to the hospital for any of the tropical diseases that were supposed to lay us away here, but nearly a quarter of my salvage gang has been shipped up the hill to the hospital on account of prickly heat and infections they’ve contracted as a result. I have it over both arms and on my back, but I’ve managed to keep free of any infections. It makes you look as if your skin were a good grade of scotch pebble grain leather, and it itches as if you had just had a haircut and all the hair had slipped down your back under your shirt. Our doctor here says he knows no treatment for it. The ordinary treatment, powder, is no good here, for the continual sweat washes the powder right off and you can’t keep your skin dry. I suppose the reason I’ve made out better than my men is that I at least sleep in an air-conditioned room where I can cool off at night and keep dry, while they can’t for we haven’t yet received air conditioners enough to go round the men’s barracks.
Switching the subject rather abruptly, I believe that if you don’t urgently need the money, you request Dodd, Mead to hold up payment of the royalties due on John Paul, Jr. (Ed: “I Have Just Begun to Fight”), until I get home next year. I have an idea you’ll need the money more in 1943, when there are no new books published, and besides it will have a desirable effect in a certain other direction, both in your case and in mine. Since (aside from any allotment) I have sent you a total of $800 ($600 in one letter June 26 and $200 early this week) recently, that should take care of any deficit in Mary’s income for college expenses, and I’ll probably be able to send a few hundred more before the year is out.
As I’ve said in several other letters, based on my experience with the delays, I advise you to give up APO 815 for mail and send everything via J D & P or thru the home office in Washington. Either one of those ways goes far faster.
And you might as well quit using air mail stamps. No matter how you address a letter, they get you nothing whatever in delivery. And don’t address any letters % J D & P and then add APO 815 which means a couple of months delivery at the best and four months at the worst.
As I’ve requested before, you might give me an idea on how my letters have been scissored, and so far as the numbered series goes, how many you’ve received and which numbers are missing. And as regards checks, please let me know what you’ve received, being specific as to dates sent and received and amounts. (This refers to every check you’ve ever received from out here.)
If you know anything about it, I’d like to know how Harry and Will (Ed: his brothers) have been holding up in their promised payments to my mother.
The three snapshots you sent me a few weeks ago (taken by Mary Adams’ friend) are some of the loveliest pictures of you I’ve ever had. I keep them on my desk in front of me in my room, and I seem to have you smiling lovingly on me all evening, which is little enough, but still something in this situation.
I am enclosing a copy of the Eritrean Daily News which is the only newspaper in this country. We do not get much news, everything in English on the front page being contained in only seven stories, which to cover the field range from the Russian battlefront to a social note about one of the King’s brothers.
It is interesting to note that the paper is published in both English and Italian. I have an idea the paper is published more for the information of the Italian population than for that of either English or American sojourners.
On the whole the paper seems to present the news, good or bad, in a fairly unbiased manner, so far as I can judge by comparing its stories with the radio broadcasts from London and Berlin. But compared to the New York Times, the amount of coverage we get is very little and I doubt if with such limited space available, anything but an English newspaper would devote even seven lines to the goings and comings of a duke, and then reprint it in Italian to make sure all hands get it.
With love, Ned
Letter #30
As usual
July 22, 1942
Lucy darling:
I sent you recently (supposedly by air from headquarters city of this organization) a letter dated about June 26 containing a check for $600. And on July 11 (presumably also by air from near here) two checks, one for $140 and one for $60 (totaling $200). Please let me know when you received these. (Use several different letters).
In this letter I enclose a check for $154.41. This cleans up my pay accounts here to July 1. When I can, which will take several months, I shall try to get the papers through to increase my allotment to $600 from $540. Let me know also in several different letters when you get this check. This particular letter goes by the regular mail service from here, and I am interested in knowing whether its delivery time differs any from that of the two letters mentioned above for which I went to considerable trouble to get supposedly special service and fast delivery. Also I’d like to know whether in any other particular whatever, this letter appears to have received different treatment than the other two.
As usual, I am well; as usual, the weather is very hot and very humid; and, as usual, I suppose it will be hotter in the next few weeks when the sun, going south, gets directly overhead in this latitude.
I saw today my first American newspaper since I left home – a copy of the World-Telegram for May 6 which one of the ships touching here left. Two and a half months old now, but it was nevertheless refreshing to read it, trash and all, including My Day. By the headlines, Corregidor has just fallen. By an inside story, I find that General Motors, some governmental alphabetic agency, and its C.I.O. employees (G.M.’s, that is) are squabbling over whether the company shall be forced to pay double time for Sunday work. My God! I wonder whether the thousands of brave Americans who fought to the end at Corregidor demanded double pay of General Wainwright for fighting on Sundays?
With love, Ned
Letter #31
As usual
July 27, 1942
Lucy dearest:
I was overjoyed to receive 6 letters from you today and one from Mary!
Your letters were #25 of May 27, #26, 27, 32, 33, and 34, the last dated June 16. Mary’s was May 26.
So far I’ve received nine of your letters before numbering began, dated Feb. 21, 24, 26, 28, Mar. 4, 7, 10, 13, and 26. The first numbered letter is #3 of Apr. 10. You state you sent about 17 letters before numbering began. You will note quite a gap between Mar. 13 and 26, and between Mar. 26 and Apr. 10. I suppose the missing nine letters fell into those two spots. What happened to them? Ships sunk? Or just delayed? I don’t know, but the letters may yet turn up.
Of your numbered letters, the following have so far been received (including those mentioned above: #3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27 (of June 1), 29 (of June 2), 30, 32, 33, 34, 35, 38 (only one) and 40. It may be there was no #28, and no #39, but of the two numbered 38 only one has yet arrived. Your #40, the latest I have, was dated June 28 and received July 22. The numbers underlined were all received today.
I admire your pertinacity in sticking it out at Brooks Uniform till they produced the right kind of ribbons for my ribbon bars, and I’m much obliged to you for all the things you ordered sent from Lewis & Conger. Also for the various articles of clothing I asked you to get. But when they may arrive here, I have no idea. It took 110 days en route for my second trunk. And I judge those packages may take as long, though perhaps what goes with Captain Whiteside may come sooner.
My ring came very quickly some weeks ago, apparently by direct air messenger.
I note from your letters of late May that you visited the Navy Yard for data on a story. Good luck to you with it. But I believe the conditions they imposed are rather foolish, but there is unlikely to be the slightest difficulty over it. But I think you should get D.M.’s (Ed: Dodd, Mead) acceptance of your MS before you ever submit it for the Commandant’s O.K.
I shall be anxious to hear what Dr. Salvati has to say about Mary’s throat. I hope now she’s home and resting (?), it may have improved.
Please let me know by date & number (if any) of every letter you have ever received since I first reached this station. Also generally how they have been maltreated in transit, and which one’s worst. Also be specific as to checks received in these letters (all checks).
As regards the strange delays in transit, the long interval between my first letter from here (received by you May 15) and the next one to arrive it wasn’t due to the fact that frequent letters weren’t written. What held them all up so long, I don’t know. Perhaps you know now. And it wasn’t the airmail stamps or lack of them. All mail goes out of here by air, regardless of stamps or lack of them. The delays must have occurred in the U.S. due to mail piling up before an inadequate staff of censors to look them over promptly. And it is wholly useless to put airmail stamps on letters coming out here. They all come the same way, regardless. An Army captain showed me two letters he got today, one with 56 cents in airmail stamps on it and the other with a 3 cent stamp. Both left the U.S. together and arrived here in the same delivery, about four weeks en route. The airmail stamp counts for nothing except inside the U.S., and there it is worthless for letters coming here.
Your concern over the gas hot water heater in a way amuses me. Out here we don’t have Hot and Cold water faucets. There is only one faucet over every washbowl, and only one valve for a shower bath. It doesn’t make any difference what kind of water you want, you always get the same kind – HOT. And that without any heater on the line at all. Right now the water runs so hot out of the shower bath that it is just about all the body can bear to stand under it. It’s all done with the sun beating down on the ground outside where the water pipes are buried. Quite economical, really. Out here it would cost money to get cold, not hot, water.
Seriously, however, though this will get to you too late for any value this summer, if the oil problem is a major one for next year, there is still that instantaneous gas heater in our basement which might be hooked up again by the plumber. It requires, however, a separate gas meter from the gas stove. This is imperative for safety reasons.
If I haven’t mentioned it before, your cable of congratulations on my promotion got here July 22 (by mail from Khartoum). I enclose is as a curiosity. (Ed: cable was enclosed).
I may say here that I am still well. Nothing physical bothers me as a result of this hot climate, except the prickly heat we all suffer from, and that is a mess. My back, and parts of my legs and arms look like Scotch grain leather, and the damned things feel as if you were stuck full of fine prickles from prickly pears or some kind of nettles. My case is not so bad as most out here, for in spite of a constant bath in sweat all day, I can at least in the evening retire to a cool room, air-conditioned (temperature from 86° F. to 90° F.) where the prickling subsides and nearly disappears by morning while I sleep. So that each day I can start fresh to acquire a new case of prickly heat.
But up to this week we have only had a total of 15 air conditioners, which went round only to a few rooms for officers and part of the supervisors. The others for the working force never arrived till this week (they are not installed yet). The result was that those poor devils got no relief at night when it was just as hot in their quarters as in the day, and each day’s prickly heat was added on top of what each man already had, so that many finally burst out all over in infected boils which have sent them to the hospital. I haven’t lost a single man yet from any of the terrible tropical diseases which were going to lay us out here (they don’t seem to exist in this vicinity) but I do have a heavy casualty list from prickly heat. Air conditioning seems to be the only palliative.
There are few mosquitoes, few flies, and no moths in our area. I’m told they can’t stand the heat, which may be so. We are supposed to have more flies in the wintertime when things cool down a bit, but I’m skeptical.
Meanwhile, I waiting with interest for August 12 when the sun should be directly overhead here, and the hottest weather should result. I’m dubious that it can get any worse, for frankly, it isn’t the heat, it’s the humidity and I can’t quite see how that can increase regardless of the sun. It is the damned humidity which keeps us all bathed in sweat that causes all this prickly heat.
I note the Coast Pilot, describing the sea we face, denominates it the hottest body of water on earth. I shouldn’t wonder but they’re right.
I never go to the hills daily, for week-ends, for rest periods, or for anything else except brief trips of a few hours when I can’t avoid it to fight out face to face some problems with the damned fools who inhibit that region and think that from long range they can control the work here when they don’t even know what’s going on here, and care less about coming down to find out. I haven’t been out of this port three nights since I got here in March.
The rest camp in the hills is a fraud and utterly useless to us. The millions spent in building it is a total loss so far as use to the men here is concerned, and is worse than that as it has taken the labor of many men who might have been doing something useful to the war effort in this port.
The trouble is that it lies 40 miles away over a twisting mountain road on which any attempt to move large bodies of men morning and evening would inevitably result in a daily fatal accident. And secondly the fifteen or twenty mile stretch just after you leave this port to cross the desert (before you start the hill ascent) is the hottest place this side of hell itself. 160° F is quite normal there in the late afternoon. To take men who have worked all day in the heat here, park them in trucks or buses, and ride them an hour through that infernal heat, would in a few days lay them all away if accidents didn’t.
So we don’t even try it. We’d all rather sweat in comfort and safety here, and pray for the day when all the quarters can be air-conditioned. (Soon now, I hope).
The rest camp was a beautiful dream from 12000 miles away, but against the realities of transport here in the summertime, it has faded completely out. Some other use may eventually be made of all the buildings, but nothing that makes any difference to us here on the shore. My cottage on the Maine coast is of quite as much practical value to me right now.
I may mention in closing that a few days ago I was host here to the gentleman who is a younger brother-in-law to a well known lady who lives now at the spot (somewhat tropical) where Rose Ackerson went to recuperate a few years ago. I had quite an interesting day showing him around our plant and our salvaged craft, riding up in his plane with him back to the high hills, and attending his dinner party there in the evening. In a way, his name reminds me of a certain seagoing village where years ago we spent our vacation (you mostly alone with Mary) and it rained like the devil practically all the time, and water never ran hot in the cottage you had.
With love, Ned
Letter #32
As usual
July 28, 1942
Lucy darling:
The last two days have been quite red letter here – yesterday I received six letters from you and one from Mary, and today I got three more from you - #28, 42 & 43.
The last two were sent %APO 617, which must be giving fast service, as they came through in 25 days.
I wrote you a long letter which went from here this morning giving you the status of your letters received here to date. The numbered series is complete from #3 to #43, except for #31, 36, 37, 39 and 41, which I expect will shortly be along. There may be no #39, as you say two were numbered 38, of which only one has yet arrived.
I don’t know what to make out of Mary’s low metabolism and low blood pressure. My blood pressure is never much either, being about 105 now. As I recollect it, they gave me a metabolism test just after the S-51 job at the Brooklyn Naval Hospital. I suppose that was low too, but a rest fixed me up. However, Mary had better follow strictly the doctor’s advice, especially about work. I spoke to Captain Plummer of the Army Medical Corps, who is our doctor here, of Mary’s case as you reported it, and he said that he agreed that the thyroid tablets seem indicated as the treatment. Dr. Plummer by the way is from Virginia, went to the Univ. of Virginia Medical School, and I may say in many ways reminds me of Dr. Ambler (also from Virginia) who went with DeLong in the Jeannette. I have a lot of confidence in Captain Plummer who has shown the deepest interest as well as medical skill in looking after the men here. He tells me he knows most of the doctors in Roanoke, and went to school with several of them.
I’m glad you were able to get a bicycle for Mary, so she won’t be reduced to the roller skates she spoke of jokingly some months ago. Speaking of getting about, I don’t know what the gasoline rationing rules are, but I see no reason why I shouldn’t have a ration card for my car (which I’m willing to lend to Mary) so that you should not be reduce to one ration for your car as well as for mine. That solution should help the situation a bit.
Just to clarify the situation on reading matter, I have never yet received a single copy of Life, of the Reader’s Digest, nor of any book ever sent me by anybody, except the copy of Capt. Paul, Jr., which I told you of.
A few days ago I had the pleasure of acting as host to Lieut. General________, who came here to look over what we are doing. The gentleman is a younger brother of the chap you and I and Mary and Len and Lillian once turned out rather early in the morning to observe taking a ride in a rather ornate carriage, and bears quite a striking resemblance to him. (Ed: I wonder if he is referring to the Coronation that he attended in 1936 and the sister-in-law is Wally Simpson?)
So I showed him over our shops and our salvaged fleet and what we were doing to them, and he answered “Oh, yes,” to my every remark, though he really was much interested. Then I had lunch with him, rode with him in his plane in the afternoon up to the high hills, sat across the table from him at a small private dinner, went to a tea with him a little earlier, and to a reception with him after dinner and got to know him quite well. As the day drew on, the “Oh, yes” formula faded out and he turned out to have quite a sense of humor. He has a tough life, I’m afraid, being dragged around to see things. I had quite an enjoyable day, anyway, and I think he did also. He did not tell me, however, of what he thought of having an American for a sister-in-law, and I deemed it unwise to quiz him on it, so our evening’s conversation was on a more prosaic plane. He wanted to know what he could do to help along our work here, and I told him. I trust he can say a word for us where it will do some good, for we certainly need it. And so at 11 PM, we parted. Some day when this is all over, and I get back to a little town north of Boston where you and I and little Mary once spent quite a rainy vacation, the name of the place will have a special significance in recalling to me my guest of last Friday. And on his part, I’ll bet he’ll remember for a long time the damned hot day he spent in ------ (name omitted for censorship reasons), and the peculiar American he met there who enjoyed fishing up ships rather than the mackerel for which his namesake town is noted.
Wit love, Ned
Letter #33
About 8000 feet higher
than my usual position
August 2, 1942
Lucy darling:
Your July 4 letter (#44) arrived a couple of days ago. Somehow your thoughts on the Fourth of July strike deeply into my own heart as I contemplate out here what liberty really means and how precious a thing it is. And here, not so far from the fronts on sea and land in every direction, we can see and feel and hear what danger we are in of losing it. How great the danger is once more of “Too little and too late” I fear is not really realized at home, or we should not be left here to struggle without the means promised us months ago. Here is an opportunity to do something on a scale I never realized at home, in a naval way that can bolster up a vital war area. The probability over these past few weeks that we shall kick it away for want of a few hundred men and a moderate supply of materials, has grown. In every way I know out here, I have fought against that outcome, against lack of understanding, ignorance, pettiness of mind, jealousy, and damnable inefficiency as well as indifference on the part of highly paid so called “executives” who can see only a contract and completely ignore the fact that we are in a war.
They don’t like me for it and I’m not very popular up here in the high hills with our civilian executives, but down on the coast where the work has to be done, I’m glad to say I can command the wholesouled cooperation of the men who have to struggle with the sea and the muck and the heat as well as ever I was able to do in the freezing waters of the cold Atlantic. And they’re doing their job, as fine a crew of salvage men as I ever hope to see. Only out here we don’t have an Admiral Plunkett to back us up in getting us what we need to work with, and of late that has been making me almost heartsick.
At the moment, things are looking a little brighter. The British have promised me the temporary loan of several hundred mechanics to work on the repairs of our salvaged vessels and perhaps before I have to give them back, something may happen to waken some minds along the Potomac to an understanding that a few hundred mechanics can do more out here to help America win the war than ten times that number can possibly do at home. But I wish to Heaven that Admiral Plunkett were alive now to tell certain people in sulphurous language what the situation requires.
There is one other ray of hope. A few weeks ago, I’d had a belly full of dilly-dallying and I took my pen in hand to tell in no uncertain terms what must be done – both sides got it, ours and our English friends – as strongly as the English language as I know it can set things out. And yesterday it looked as if at least I had cracked the situation – I got a radio to proceed to our old haunt (the recommended Mecca for honeymooners) for a week for a conference. What may come out of that conference I don’t know, but there may be action. At any rate, here I am up in the hills, waiting to catch a plane Monday (tomorrow) morning for the 1000 mile hop to headquarters – and, I suppose, my old room at the Hotel Continental.
As you know, if some of my precious letters have arrived, we celebrated the Fourth of July out here by deeds, not fireworks. I was never so proud of our flag before as on that day when I saw it floating at the masthead over the Nazi ensign on a German ship we were towing round from its old berth on the bottom of the sea to our drydock.
With much love, Ned
Letter #34
Still high in the hills
August 2, 1942
Lucy sweetheart:
I received three more letters from you today while here, #38 of 6/25/42, #49 of 7/11/42, and #53 of 7/15/42, the last one only 16 days from home. All were via APO 617, which seems to be doing a fine job, though a little spotty as the above dates show, as I have received other letters dated later than #38 before it arrived. I may say that while practically all your letters bear the censor’s stamp, nothing has ever been cut from any of your letters (or Mary’s) except in one of your letters which evidently mentioned the name of the port I bought you some souvenirs, in which that name was cut out, a rather ridiculous censor’s performance, I thought.
I’m sorry those souvenirs have never arrived. Since that was early in March, I guess they never will now, though I personally mailed them in the post office ashore, saw sufficient postage on them, and see no reason why they never reached you unless the ship they went on was sunk. The souvenirs consisted of a fairly expensive little silver table bell for you, made in the form of a Brazilian maiden, and a filigree silver butterfly brooch for Mary.
One copy of Reader’s Digest (May) has finally arrived, and two copies of Life, dated some time in April. Don’t subscribe for me for any more magazines. It isn’t worth it. If you have already cancelled the two subscriptions above, that’s all right. If you haven’t, don’t bother to. The other copies may come some day.
Just to reiterate, all my baggage got here safely, though the second trunk was 110 days on the way. The first shipment was here before I was. Also my class ring arrived with amazing speed.
I have mentioned finances at some length before. I advise against selling any stocks to get funds, and I have a great antipathy toward borrowing for any purpose except health reasons. If you need money, sell off our government bonds. If the need can be anticipated, quit buying any more and put the money in the savings bank instead.
I have just requested the paymaster here to increase my allotment to $590 per month. That should be effective about October 1. And when the official news of what we hear unofficially about some changes in the new pay bill gets here, I may be able to increase that allotment to about $610. This should result from lifting the limitation of pay of a captain, on which subject John Hale can no doubt inform you.
In addition, I should be able to send you some checks from here, covering part of my per diem allowance, since I don’t need it all for my current expenses. I’ve sent you already checks covering everything due me up to July 1, these being one check for $600 sent about June 28, and another letter containing two checks totaling around $200, which went around July 10 to 15. So far I have no word from you of their receipt, but I suppose even the first one (supposedly sent very special by air mail) could not have reached you by July 15 (your last letter so far here).
So far as I can judge (not knowing anything about the new tax bill save that I can fear the worst) I believe this should give you money enough to pay all Mary’s expenses. I should be able to send you about $1000 between now and next January out of my per diem allowance (though you may not get it all by January).
From your letters of July 11 and 15, I am glad to note that apparently you were shoving off for Southwest Harbor about July 17. I am happy to know that you were able to arrange it and also to see that somehow you could get gasoline enough to make the trip in the station wagon.
I shall be interested to learn how good a substitute Gilley and Norood made for me in getting the cottage useable and in getting our various hot water systems in working order. Presumably long before this letter gets to you, you will be back in Westfield again, since you say you are going for a month only. Did you get the Argo in the water?
I rather imagine Southwest Harbor was emptier of men than ever. It was good judgment on your part to have Mary invite her friends up and I hope all hands had a pleasant time. Meanwhile, there is nothing you could have done to make me feel better than to know you both had some time in Maine with a chance to cool off. Write me fully about it. (Maybe you already have).
I trust also you were able to get Mrs. Rice to help you, so that (foolish hope?) you got a rest yourself as well as a change. How much I wish I might have been with you, words cannot express.
So far as sailing goes around here, we are farther away from it than when I came. So badly are our work boats in need of constant repair, that I have never been able to put a single boatbuilder on refitting the two star boat hulls we found here. And today I learned that the masts and sails I ordered for those boats in New York were on a ship that was sunk on its way here (together with a whole cargo of other things for us) so that I guess our sailing is definitely off for this year and probably for good. That was a blow, for sailing seems to be the one possible recreation available to us here.
So that’s that.
Tomorrow morning I shove off for a week close up under the guns for a conference. The plane leaves about 9AM. I’ll probably stay at the Hotel Continental and will write from there.
With much love, Ned
Letter #35
In the air, bound
generally northwest
Aug. 3, 1942
Lucy darling:
Half an hour ago we took off, heading at first almost due west for a city in the adjoining ancient country, from whence we shall go due north along a very famous river. We’re flying at about 12000 feet, I judge.
I left one letter to be mailed where we took off, and another one and this will be mailed at our destination.
Just before plane departure, I was handed two letters, one from Mr. E telling me of his efforts in Washington (up to then without result, though offering a slim hope) and the second your letter #41 of June 30. In that you relate your struggles to get white shorts and socks (so far fruitless) and a later letter from you mentions that Captain Broshek was also unable to get any in Washington. Let the matter drop. The city I am going to now for a conference should be the best place in the world to get them, and I shall try there. If I can’t get anything there except scarabs and “guaranteed” relics from King Tut’s tomb, I’ll give the problem up and wear khaki for the rest of the war. I only want the white shorts for dress occasions only, such as when I entertained the Duke of Gloucester some time back (I wore a borrowed pair then) and dukes don’t visit our way very often. Unless I can get some white shorts where I’m going, the next member of the royal family who drops in will have to be received in khaki.
I note that various other articles of clothing are on their way via J D & P, plus the various articles for household use I first asked for. With a little luck, I should have them by Christmas.
No, I do not have a house and there isn’t any prospect of any. I might have had a cottage supposedly reserved for me by the British by throwing out some other officers who were in it when I arrived, but after I looked it over, I passed up my privilege of rank. The cottage wasn’t worth it. Then I decided to occupy a single room in an abandoned Italian officers’ building till all the swarms of workmen arrived, when along with barracks for them, a proper single house for the commanding officer could be built. A little experience with our contractor on the ground here, however, cured me of all my illusions about swarms of workmen (plus a lot of other things about him) and since then I have been struggling only to keep what workmen there are, on essential and desperately needed naval projects (and you would be surprised to find how tough a task that is). No house for me – it isn’t important enough to waste men on. So in an office building we converted into officers’ quarters I have a large room, a private bath, and a kitchenette. (That is, in the kitchenette I have an electric refrigerator (Hotpoint) and when the other things arrive, I’ll be in a position to do a little light housekeeping on my own hook).
I have been presented with a complete set of dishes for service for three (plus table silver) by Captain Madden of an American ship which sailed from our port last week. It seems that two days before his sailing date, he was on the verge of heat prostration and the doctor ordered him to the hospital. But he wouldn’t leave his ship, fearing if they ever got him into the hospital, he might not be released in time to catch his ship, which would sail without him. I happened to come aboard then, and getting the situation from the First Officer, I solved it by inviting Captain Madden over to my quarters for a brief visit to cool off under my air conditioners. That he gladly accepted. So I drove him over, had an extra bed put in the room, then invited him to spend the night with me and so on stretched that few hours visit into two whole days and nights till I had him well cooled off. (Of course, I had to go to work, but he never left the room, even for meals). I got him back aboard his ship an hour before she sailed, and he was so grateful, he gave me eight cartons of cigarettes, ten pounds of coffee, the dishes I’ve mentioned, ten pounds of sugar, three pounds of butter, a dozen cans of evaporated milk, four books, and – a coffee percolator! Unfortunately the last item, though the smallest he had, is an eight cup affair, so I can’t use it often without wasting coffee as it won’t perk properly on less than three to four cups of water. And Captain Madden would have given me the rest of his ship almost, if I’d only take it, as an expression of his gratitude. If his ship gets to New York on its return (he doesn’t know his destination) he’ll call you up. But as it will be months yet before he gets there, I sent no letters via his ship, as the regular mail should beat him home.
I have an idea that while I have repeatedly been informed that all the mail from out here, regardless of stamps or lack of them, goes home by air, the service is much less frequent than it is coming this way. Bound out from the U.S. are probably numerous planes of types you can guess, all of which may carry some mail. Bound back are probably only the minimum number of planes to return the ferry pilots, so the homeward bound mail stacks up and is probably further delayed by inadequate censorship forces at home to expedite its delivery.
Now one letter to you, containing a check for $600, got the most specialist, fastest, most privileged air mail service there is. It was mailed from the city to which I am now bound, on June 27. When did you get it, if you ever got it? If it arrived any faster than any of the others, let me know, as occasionally I may be able to repeat the performance.
Later
A couple of days ago, I received wireless orders to proceed to headquarters for about a week for a conference, subject not stated. So I turned over my job temporarily to my second in command (an army officer), told him everything I could think of to keep him out of trouble during my absence, and I’m now on my way.
We are now on the ground again after a few hours flight over country that would have taken a week to traverse otherwise. I’ve been here twice before this year, this being the spot from which I started north by air over the most dismal stretch of desert imaginable of which journey I wrote you at some length last March while I was in the air. We change planes here and continue on in the morning, going due north for our headquarters city.
When I was here before (both times last March about a week apart) I thought this was the hottest place on earth. Knowing I was coming back this way to face the August weather, I looked on our brief stay with some dread, but to my surprise, on disembarking here, it felt not unusually warm. I suppose it’s because it’s dry here, and my four months on my station have rather changed my body’s ideas of what heat is.
So here I am, at the moment parked in the hotel (the Grand Hotel, of course) waiting till the later afternoon when the town shall unlock itself at 4:30 PM after the midday heat (?). We (that is, an army colonel also going on duty to the same city as I’m bound for) shall then go out and I’ll see if I can pick up a few things not available in my hick town, and perhaps we shall have a look at Chinese Gordon astride his bronze camel, looking down the river a bit at the place he lost his head.
I have written Mary a birthday letter while in the air, en route here. I’ll try to get it off tomorrow by special air service, in the hope that she may get it by August 29. And, meantime, darling, for Mary’s birthday, her twenty-first, and except for her birthday twenty-one years ago, her most important, I want to tell you how I love you and how much this absence causes my heart to ache. What longing I have on that day to hold you again in my arms and look into your glowing brown eyes, I cannot express in words. From the day your eyes first smiled on me I have always loved you, and since the day you first kissed me, I have always thirsted for your caresses, but never so much, after all these years, as now. My prayer for Mary’s birthday is, may God bless both you and her, and may He soon reunite us all.
Ned
Letter #36
In the air, second
leg, going north
August 4, 1942
Lucy darling:
Yesterday I shoved off by air for a trip to headquarters for a conference. We landed for an intermediate stop due west of my departure point and stayed over night at Khartoum. This morning we took off in another plane, going due north now.
Below us the river is in full flood here high up its course, as in ancient times.
I had several letters written, two for you and one for Mary’s birthday, which I had intended when we got to our destination (Cairo) to try to forward for quick delivery by preferential treatment mail pouch when I got to the legation. But I found our landing place last night was almost like the air crossways of the world – officers were there going in every direction. So I found one bound home by air this morning and gave him the letters which he promised personally to see mailed when he landed. So it may be that Mary will get her birthday letter somewhat early.
All the smears at the head of this page are due to the ink pouring out of my pen when I took it out high up in the air (expansion due to decreased pressure). Sorry.
I got around to see Chinese Gordon’s statue again yesterday afternoon, and to go through the native city nearby where he met his death only a few days before Kitchener arrived with a belated relief expedition three-quarters of a century ago.
Cairo
Aug. 6, 1942
I went up from Khartoum to Cairo in a flying boat, getting here Tuesday afternoon. The reason for the conference seems to be a discussion about the operating personnel for our base. Before I leave here, I’m to go up (Friday) for a discussion at Port Said with the British naval officials and then back to my station.
I’m staying here at some Army billets in Helipolis, a few hundred yards from the air field. The Germans have bombed it several times and last Friday raided it heavily, smashing a few planes and losing one of their Stukas right on the field and another nearby. We had an air raid alarm last night also, but guess the Germans were turned back. No bombs. The moon is not favorable now, so the attacks may cease. Except for the airfields, Cairo itself shows no signs of bombing whatever. It’s all heavily blacked out however.
This letter should go back with an Army colonel leaving here tomorrow morning who promises to mail it at home. So it should get quick delivery.
We are having a hell of a time at my station. It’s hot, it’s humid, and the prickly heat is bad. But none of that really bothers me. I’m well, have been, and expect to remain so physically. And my salvage forces so far here (two small groups) have done beautifully. In addition to the drydock, we have now salvaged the Liebenfels (picture enclosed of her bow coming up) and are working on her larger sister, the Frauenfels, of which you’ll hear later. The rest of our salvage forces (except Whiteside’s ship) and most of our equipment should be here in a couple of weeks now and we should really begin to go to town on salvage.
But we have had a terrible shock on our naval base operations. We are told at home we can get no materials and no men for shipyard repair work from home – the British must furnish them. And the British say they can’t. So I am left without any men from either source, and with a fine base all ready to operate and desperately needed. It nearly drives me wild.
We had the Liebenfels on the dock three and a half weeks repairing the huge hole blasted in her port bow, when we should have done it in a week. And even to do that I had to beg, borrow and steal a few mechanics from the construction contractor who parted with them temporarily with such bad grace I can hardly hope to get them again.
Meanwhile, half a dozen other ships we should have docked lay idly off the port two weeks, waiting for the Liebenfels to clear the dock so they could go in. And in the United States, they think they need ships!
The Liebenfels is afloat now, her hull fully repaired. We are now working on her machinery, and in a couple of months, she should go to sea again under her own power, with less than 1% of the material and labor used on her for salvage and repair that it would take to build a new ship of her size.
General Maxwell is doing his utmost to show Washington it is making a bad mistake, for he has great faith in this base. I hope he gets somewhere soon with it, or my few men will shortly be all knocked out and I can’t get any more. It makes me too dizzy to contemplate the spectacle soon of a harbor full of salvaged ships all waiting repairs and desperately needed at sea, and no men to put on the repair work. Such a spectacle I never hoped to confront outside a madhouse.
I may not soon get a chance to talk as freely to you again, but since this letter at least should be seen by no other eyes than yours, I want to tell you I love you to distraction, and dream nightly of the time I can crush you in my arms again and drink in caresses from your eyes, your lips, your breasts and your whole body. But most of all I long to bathe again in the lovely light you’ve always poured out on me from your intoxicating soft brown eyes.
I love you, I love you, I love you, and I shall love you forever.
Ned
Letter #37
Cairo
August 10, 1942
Lucy darling:
Your two letters, #55 & 56, of July 20 & 21 from Southwest Harbor have just been delivered to me here. (They came via the home office, and consequently took this routing on their way to my regular station).
I note you got news of my promotion by my letter of June 24. I cabled you that on June 26, which apparently never arrived. Six dollars wasted. Your cable of congratulations reached me about July 21.
I note you received the $600 check. You haven’t reported yet on the two checks for $200 (about) sent you several weeks later.
I’m now in the city where Mary is due to spend her honeymoon. I’ve been here about a week, trying to get help for my station. I’ve been turned down flat where ordinarily I should get it, as I’ve told you before. I’ve spent the last week traveling the triangle of which this is the apex and the sea is the flat side, trying to get it elsewhere. It looks now as if Nina’s compatriots will lend me a hand.
I’ve been along from the place east of which a man can raise a thirst (according to the poet) to the city where cousin Matt technically is domiciled in between trips around the world. In the latter spot, I met the chap who is Ernie King’s (Ed: Admiral Ernest J. King) counterpart out here, and spent last night as his guest at his home. He was quite extravagantly complimentary on what I’d been doing beneath and above the sea, and in particular very grateful for what I’d fished up as my first salvage success. He promised me seven officers and a couple of hundred men from his mechanical forces to come to my station and lend a hand, subject only to the approval of certain officials of a type similar to those made famous by Gilbert & Sullivan in one of their most popular operas. He’s cabling in his recommendations and I think the chances look fair for my getting a couple of limey three stripers and five juniors to lend me a hand, as well as the workmen. So at this moment, things are looking brighter.
I just got back here at noon, leaving him at 8:30 AM. I hear here the jerries came along and bombed the place just an hour after I cleared out. What they hit (if anything) I haven’t heard yet.
At one of my stops this last week, the A.A. guns opened up on a high flying German also and shooed him away. He dropped nothing.
I’m due to have a discussion later this afternoon with the mission command on these new developments, and then go back to my station.
I note you are sending me something for prickly heat. I know now none of those things do any good out here, so don’t bother any more.
Also by the way, in this city I’ve had some white shorts made to order and bought some white stockings, so I’m fixed up on those now. So far as your letters show up to now, you weren’t able to get any, and now you don’t have to bother.
To reiterate, both my trunks and the suitcase arrived, the original shipment before I got here. No other packages (except my ring) have yet arrived.
Yes, I’ve started smoking again. Too much of a nuisance to keep refusing cigarettes. But at present we get a package a day out here at ten cents (no tax) so I don’t need any from home. Thanks for the offer.
I don’t need any gold lace. One blue suit is fixed up at the expense of the other; so are my shoulder marks. I don’t need the other blue suit. I wore the one that’s been fixed up only once: the night I had dinner with the Duke of Gloucester some time back up in the hills where it was cool.
As regards the silver eagles for my shirt, a very thoughtful lieutenant who’d heard of my promotion in Washington brought me out a pair. So if you’ve already had John Hale send some, I’ll have two pairs; if nothing has been done about it, don’t bother now.
So far as anyone out my way has seen, there isn’t any V-mail. Also there don’t seem to be any cheap cables.
The mail via the home office seems to come through completely unmolested. The mail via the N.Y. post office always bears a neat little paster along the edge, but has been only cut to a trifling extent once. At present both seem to get the same speed. The letters via Dixon come through fastest and unopened, but not if they are addressed %APO (which is useless on such a letter), for then Dixon never sees them and they might as well be addressed straight APO, as both ways.
Rather odd, in Matt’s city I met the captain of a battleship which Capt. B. had overhauled at Brooklyn. He spoke most glowingly of the remarkable efficiency with which Capt. B. had repaired his torpedo damages, and asked me if I knew him. I said yes, by last accounts from you, you had Capt. B. chasing around Washington trying to get me some white shorts – we knew him that well. You might write Capt. B. and tell him that even after a year, that limey captain was still bubbling over with enthusiasm over Capt. B’s work. And on my own account, remember me to him.
It’s a little late to give you any advice on the matter, but if you leave your Chevrolet in S.W. Harbor, be sure to note the mileage, take a careful look at each tire and its condition and note them down carefully, and then take the keys home with you. I wouldn’t trust any garage nowadays, especially with the owner far away, not to use a stored car rather than wearing out tires on their own.
I’m still puzzled as to how you got the gasoline to get to S.W. Harbor. If this gets to you before you leave S.W., and you can get the gasoline, take my advice and drive the car home with you. But except for the danger of having the car used during your absence, I see no great objection to leaving it in Maine.
Glad to note you’re getting some returns from Kandel (Ed: Craftsweld, the manufacturer of Ellsberg’s underwater torch). Every dollar is certainly useful now.
I sent you a letter a few days ago via an army colonel flying home. Let me know whether it reached you unmolested and when.
I’m sending you enclosed a picture (enlarged) taken with my own camera about the middle of last June, with our own ocean for a background. The lighting isn’t quite right on this one, but all the pictures I took myself on that strip came out well.
I understand the British Broadcasting Co. gave me attention on one of their broadcasts last Friday. I was at Port Said then and didn’t hear it. I’m only told a news story got cabled to the U.S. at about the same time, I haven’t seen that either. If you run across it, you might send me a N.Y. clipping.
This letter goes (I hope) via the naval attache’s bag. It may get better delivery that way.
By the time you get this, I suppose you’ll be back in Westfield, but on a chance, I’m sending it to S.W. Harbor in case it gets marvelous delivery and you stay through August.
Right now, I’m still well (steady at about 149 lbs.) and feeling somewhat more cheered up at the prospects of getting some men to work with. We can do things in a big way if only we’re given half a chance. The trouble has always been we’re so damned far from everybody, they can’t believe the place exists till they see the results.
Since this letter will probably get read by other eyes, I can only say here, very soberly, I love you.
Ned
P.S. By the time I get back on my station, I’ll have been gone over ten days and there may be other letters waiting me there.
Letter #38
August 10, 1942
Lucy darling:
I’m shoving off from here by plane tomorrow morning to go back to my station, and should be there tomorrow night.
I’ve spent the week traveling in this area from the point east of which there “ain’t no ten commandments” to the point of Matt’s residence, and down here where we all once stayed some three days. The funny thing is that this city, which we all thought quite hot, seems cool to me now – quite a pleasant summer resort.
I didn’t manage to get my problems wholly settled, but it does look as if I’ll get aid from the British, and that is something.
There was a story in the local paper today, cabled here from N.Y. as an Associated Press dispatch, about my raising the drydock. That’s humorous, seeing that the interview on which that story is based, was given right here in this town a few days ago by orders of the general commanding. So to get published here, it had to go all the way to New York and back by cable.
Well, now I hope we’ll get men enough to work with, and really start to clean up this business.
With love, Ned
Letter #39
Once more in flight
over the desert
Aug. 11, 1942
Lucy darling:
I took off in an army plane from headquarters this morning and at present, about an hour out, we are flying over the desert. The same scenery as usual – sand, rock plateaus badly cut by erosion, no vegetation and no life, except once in a while when we get a distant view of the river with its thin thread of green standing sharply out against the desert sand. That river is certainly the most marvelous in the world when one considers how down through the ages a whole civilization has been built wholly on its waters and would vanish completely should anything stop its flow. This was the one never failing granary for ancient Rome, and it does quite as well now. Too bad it is in the hands of a bad gang of parasites as curse the earth, for never have I seen the common laborer used literally so much as an ox and get so little out of his labor. Here at least the land produces marvelously, so there should be no dearth, but the poor devil harnessed to a rope dragging a heavy scow along the banks of the Nile seems to me as badly off as when his remote ancestors were hauling stone for the Pyramids.
Just before I left for the airfield this morning, I had a telephone call from the head of NBC here who wanted to know if I would broadcast to the U.S. tonight, stating he had permission from our headquarters and had already wired New York to arrange the program. I said I was willing enough but – did he have any broadcasting facilities in Massawa (all the enemy must know I’m there since the British Broadcasting Co. made it the subject of a broadcast last Friday night) and he said (as I guessed) unfortunately no. Since I couldn’t defer my departure and he couldn’t move his equipment, my chance to say a word that you might have heard, went glimmering.
I suppose long before you get this, you’ll be back from Maine and Mary will be preparing to go back to college. I certainly hope both of you got a rest there – I long myself again to roam around the pines and spruces of the Anchorage and sail the cold waters of our bays. The more I see of the world, the happier I am of our choice for our summer cottage and if I could only be there again with you and Mary, I’d want nothing more. I only hope when I’ve done my bit here to help roll Hitler in the mud, I can go back to it. But here I am instead with the desert below and my hot station ahead. However, I don’t really mind the infernal conditions we must work under as long as I can see we are really doing something effective there that can’t be done anywhere else – and I doubt can be done by anyone else as well.
Later
We’ve run across the desert and now are skirting the southerly bank of the Red Sea. The ocean always looks cool, though I know this one is not – it’s the hottest ocean in the world and the saltiest. But it’s lovely to look at with its colors running from light greens around the reefs and shoals near shore, to a gorgeous blue in deeper water - a blue that puts the Mediterranean azure quite to shame. How it ever came to be called the red sea I can’t make out. It is the bluest water on the earth, and particularly lovely looking out from the scene of our labors among the wrecks our German and Italian friends have left us with..
I sent you a snapshot taken with my camera, in a letter yesterday. In case that letter goes astray, I enclose another. It’s fair, but I hope when I get back to get some better ones.
I suppose the new tax bill has been passed by now. If you can get from any source (a newspaper report, from Ed Smith, or elsewhere) a table of what the rates are, I’d be glad to have it so I can put a little study on my problem, and perhaps some on yours. And I’d like an answer to my question of a previous letter as to where I stand as an American citizen domiciled in a foreign city as a permanent resident there for over six months a year, on my salary earned there. My understanding, obtained when I was considering that job in England, was that under such circumstances income earned abroad is not taxable in the U.S., though income like royalties or dividends received in America, is.
As soon this fall as you can make any reasonable estimate of what you have received from dividends, royalties or similar sources, please make up a rough table of it and send it out here, stating sources and amounts received. I’d like to check it over myself and advise you, before you have to submit your income tax return next March. Send me the same data relating to my income from similar sources or from any sources, starting with last January 1st. As regards my return, I believe I’m allowed six months after the year ends to make my return. As soon as you can get your hands on any of the new forms to be used, send me at least one as a sample and more if you can get them. And just as a reminder, in case you don’t know it, nothing whatever that you receive as allotments of my pay or as checks sent you by me, constitutes any part of your income and none of that is to be reported by you in any form whatever.
As regards Mary’s income, I’m somewhat dubious as to whether she’ll have to make any return, seeing that her dividends have been badly cut but that I can tell as soon as I see the new rules andI’ll advise you. Don’t go anywhere else or to any one else on that matter.
Speaking of financial matters, the Navy pay officer out here says he is quite sure that the new pay bill removed the limitation of $7200 in pay of a naval reserve captain on pay and allowances, but he does not yet have official notice of it and consequently is not yet paying on that basis. On the old basis, I’m being paid now a total of $7200 against pay and allowances plus $400 for foreign duty. (The foreign duty pay comes outside the limitation), or a grand total of $7600. On the new pay bill basis, this will be increased to about $8000 in my case, and I’ll get the retroactive differences when the news comes through officially. I’ve already changed my monthly allotment to you to $590 (which with my insurance allotments takes up nearly all the $7600) and when I can, I’ll change the allotment again to about $620 when if and as the news of the new pay bill reaches here officially.
Aside from all the above, as I’ve said before, I receive from the Army a certain allowance which I collect here somewhat irregularly, but from which I think I can send you at least $1000 more before this year is out. I’ll know more definitely about that shortly.
(My pen ran dry soon after I started this letter, and now my mechanical pencil is running dry too and I have no replacement leads with me in the air, so this letter may have to terminate rather abruptly).
I have every reason to believe that with this we should be able to take care of Mary’s senior year without her having to skimp unduly and still allow you also to get along in some comfort. I don’t think with the clothes I now have on the way, I’ll need anything more for quite a while and I need very little otherwise.
Don’t stint yourself on food or clothes or anything like that just to try to save money for investment. Once we have some idea of our tax liability for next year and our this year’s (at this point the lead went out but I’ve borrowed another pencil from a British flying officer aboard, so I can continue) income, I (or you) can figure out what if anything may be available for that. I know taxes will take a husky bite, insurance will take a couple of thousand more, and no doubt everything in the way of food and clothes is already mounting in cost. I would be interested to see what your budget is, if you have any. Meanwhile, of course, next year’s book royalties will be considerably less, for which reason if you can arrange with D.M. to pay all the royalties on John Paul, Jr. next year and not this, it should be a help. And without doubt dividends next year will be cut even more, since the poor old corporations will catch it between taxes and labor costs even more than their stockholders. Meanwhile, what, if anything, is being done to tax the mechanics who are really the profiteers in this war?
If there is anything left for investment, I would suggest it be divided about evenly between stocks and the government victory bonds, with perhaps even much more than half going into industrials. Inasmuch as I’m already kicking away two or three times as much as my entire service pay by struggling out here instead of cashing in on an executive’s job in some shipyard or with my pen or my voice as a naval expert telling our fellow countrymen how to win the war by every method except getting out on the fighting line, I don’t feel we need to go any farther than that as our financial contribution. So if you have any money left after settling with the tax collector, see Ed Smith about putting it into industrials. We won’t get trimmed any worse there than we will in government bonds, and we may make out better. The cost of the war is going to come out of our hides anyway, and inasmuch as I can expect nothing in the way of retired pay or social insurance or anything whatever except what we can do for ourselves, I can’t help but devote a little selfish attention to that problem. I know Uncle Sam won’t give me another thought when this is all over.
We’re starting to bump around a bit now as the plane is going lower to make an intermediate stop at the one port on this sea between our start and our destination. We’ve been about four hours in the air on this leg.
Still later
We were an hour and a half on the ground, and are now off again. Quite hot in that place. It vies with my own port for the honor of being the hottest spot around here, but this one can have the honor. We are more humid and they are more dusty, as they have the desert sands right in their back yards and, thank goodness, that at least we are spared. We are flying down the coast again, with the myriad reefs looking like bits of turquoise in the bluer sea.
To reiterate on V-mail, while I have heard of such a thing from English officers and seen one or two of theirs, no American service of that kind has shown up around here. And when it does, I believe it will be much slower than letters any way. So don’t rely on it now for anything you want delivered.
I notice in your #56 letter of July 21, you mention you received one of mine finished July 8, which certainly reached you in jig time. That letter was started just before we began lifting a ship, and was finished a couple of days after the lift was completed and we had her in dock, at which time I think I was a little tired and perhaps to some degree bitter also at having to work with so few men and with borrowed equipment that was next to worthless and nearly killed us all trying to keep it operating. We should have some more salvage men and equipment by the time I get back so next time I hope for a more normal performance. But of course I’m far better off with my salvage crews than so far I have been with my repair gang, where I’ve been left absolutely flat except for such men as I could steal. But the British have now practically promised to give me a few hundred and that should help.
While in Matt’s home town I was the guest over night of the gentleman who was the main character in the article I wrote for the Sperry Co. early in this war (Ed: Commodore Sir Henry Harwood), and for which purpose I went to Washington to gather data. For his very unconventional brilliance on the occasion described in that article, I have always admired him and I found him a very human and a very unaffected person. He was very generous in his praise of what I had done, and I may say very deeply interested in what more I could do for him, for which reason he is personally putting all the pressure he can on back in his home town to have me given the aid I need.
If you check back on what that article was about and its leading character, you will soon be able by asking John Hale to identify his present position. And I see that On the Bottom has never hurt me, for Rear Admiral--------, one of his aides, assured his chief that On the Bottom was far and away the most thrilling book he’d ever read himself and advised his chief that if he wanted to read a real classic of the sea, he must read that. After which we talked far into the night on that and similar matters and so to bed. That night I slept in a bed (in what had been one of the major mansions of that town) that I swear was at least eight feet wide with furniture to match. It does seem that (as I’ve seen stated in an official British letter) I have an international reputation for salvage, which our performances so far out here have done nothing to hurt. It’s almost humorous to see how much our performance in lifting that dock has dazzled them from top to bottom. I really ought to get out of here while the shine is still on my reputation, but that wouldn’t help win the war nor keep the ships moving.
Well, now my vacation (?) is about over. It has been cooler for me everywhere I’ve been, and that is something. And I have certainly gained something from meeting all the top brass hats in the British navy in this part of the world, and perhaps they have gained something too, for I’ve promised to do something for them in docking a badly needed damaged cruiser for them when they couldn’t figure out a way to do it themselves in a dock that is smaller than the ship. But we’ll do it.
Right now we are flying over my station and I can look down on my docks, but we are not landing. We are going back into the hills, about a twenty minute ride (by air) to the airfield there and from there I’ll come down by car, about a three hour trip back over a beautiful mountain road that I’ve always enjoyed riding over. And so, sweetheart, that ends this letter, which started about eight hours ago in the shadow of the pyramids.
With much love, Ned
Letter #40
Aug. 13, 1942
Lucy darling:
I am back at my regular station after a ten day trip covering pretty well the northern part of the country to the westward of us. I’m waiting now to see whether I achieved any results in getting men.
On my return, I found that our largest salvage ship with our equipment has just arrived. She’ll be a big help.
I also found on my return that a very ingenious scheme on the part of J D & P to run my salvage work for me in a palace politics sort of way had been undertaken as soon as my back was turned. That I think I squelched yesterday. The fifth columnists are not all resident at home. It would be a great help out here if we could only devote our energies to fighting our official enemies.
I am enclosing a treasury check for $186 endorsed for deposit only. Let me know when you get it.
Meanwhile I have a lot to do today, including chasing a number of rats back into their holes, so this must be brief.
With love, Ned
Letter #41
Usual station
Aug. 13, 1942
Lucy darling:
I’m back on my normal station after about ten days spent kiting about a very ancient country nearby seeking workmen.
I received quite a stack of letters yesterday, including, I think, all the missing letters in the group before you started numbering – Mar. 18, 24, 25, 29, and 31, plus two from Mary dated Mar. 17 & 26. The whole lot came with a censor’s stamp of a port bordering the eastern entrance to this sea, so unquestionably all came all the way by water, almost five months en route. I now have a total of 15 letters before your numbered series, which may complete that lot.
I have also received in the last week your letters #38, 41, 47, 49, 50, 51, 53, 55, and 56 and two from Mary of Jul. 6 & 13. The missing numbers in your series now consist of #1, 2, 31, 36, 37, 39 (but there are two #38’s here), 45, 46, 48, 52, and 54. Some of your letters have come through in the extraordinary time of 16 to 20 days; most of them now take about a month whether sent via APO or Home Office. #56 via Home Office got here in 17 days from SW Harbor.
You want to know when we shall get through here. Our largest salvage ship with most of our equipment and more salvage men has just arrived, and I had hoped with her here to get going on a big scale in an effective way. However, our contractor seized the opportunity while my back was turned during my ten days absence to try to seize command of this job and has managed by working on one gentleman (who reminds me very much of Captain Landais with whom Paul Jones had some difficulties) to go through actually with appointing him in complete charge of all salvage operations. I came back to find such an order issued and in the process of being executed. That I have stepped on and I think quite effectively squelched, but at the moment I find my salvage captains and crews divided into two camps and morale very nicely disintegrated. A beautiful piece of sabotage, for which Mr. Hitler’s agents, had they done it, would be well entitled to be decorated with first class Iron Crosses or swastikas or something studded with diamonds.
It interests me very much to observe what goes on here with an organization partly civilian and partly military endeavoring to carry through a strictly military operation in the war zone. I can assure you our civilian friends in charge act as if they didn’t know there was a war on, or at least didn’t care. Marvelous what effect the chance to make a lot of money has on some people.
When will we get through? I’ll know better in a few weeks when I see what luck I have in shaking some of these leeches loose from our tasks so we can work, and see what results I have in getting back to sanity some of my men who have been led astray. Frankly, on this job, fighting the ocean and what the enemy has done, are the least of my problems.
If I get a decent chance to work, I’ll clean this job up within a year. If I don’t get that chance, it may take longer, but a lot of people who try to get in my way out here are going to be pretty thoroughly cracked up for the delay. But that meanwhile I have to devote a great part of my time to combating petty jealousies over my successes so far, damnable intrigues, and the worst kind of inefficiency on the part of the contractor’s executives, seems unbelievable in wartime. But so it is.
Meanwhile on other subjects: This morning in another letter, I sent you a Treasury check for $186, being all of my army allowance for July. I think I can send about $150 a month for the remaining months of this year, though there is no absolute certainty of that allowance being continued beyond the month of September.
I’m glad to note from one of your much earlier letters (just received) that you got $730 from Kandel this spring and some $230 more very recently. That with the $200 I sent you in July (not yet acknowledged by you) and the $186 sent today, should certainly carry along Mary’s college expenses. I note that the $600 check I sent you in late June, arrived safely.
I enclose the first sheet of a letter I wrote you on July 23 but then decided not to send. However, now it seems a propos, so I’m including it. There wasn’t much on the second sheet of that letter, except the schedule, which showed that at very infrequent intervals, the executives got down from the hills just before lunch, and started back immediately afterwards so the afternoon heat wouldn’t incommode them. A very efficient arrangement for keeping well acquainted with what was going on here and what was needed. After observing it here for some months, I now appreciate better how it was the Irish finally came to the conclusion over a century that even wholesale murder was justifiable to achieve home rule.
Your somewhat disillusioned Ned.
(Ed: This is the enclosed letter)
As usual
July 23 1942
Lucy darling:
I received your letter no. 40 of June 28 yesterday, together with Mary’s letter of June 27. Yours came via APO 617 and hers via Washington, but both were delivered together. That surprised me, for normally the mail via N.Y. takes two or three times as long.
I received also the same day your cablegram of congratulations. My cable went about June 28. I assume you replied immediately. That meant over three weeks for a round trip, which is very poor. Meanwhile I haven’t seen or heard anything about cheap cable rates here. Can you actually send any such thing from New York, and if so what are the general rules and rates?
Tell Lucy Giles she has my deepest sympathy. I am truly sorry to know her husband has died.
Both from your letter and from Mary’s, I’m pleased to hear there is a little something in the way of social life for Mary in Westfield this summer.
Your hope that I am progressing with my work and that by now more men have arrived to help me, puts you in what may be called a unique position. You are the only person who cherishes that hope. None have arrived. None are coming. Not for me. I cannot understand where you picked up that illusion. I have long since been disabused of it. Rationally enough, in this part of the world where everything, including literally every mouthful of food for all the Americans (over most of whom I have not the slightest control) must come by ship from America, the importance of ships comes last. If this seems strange to you, I would suggest you read Alice in Wonderland. As a natural result, emphasis on construction goes into construction of the projects considered important into which category the project I was sent here to operate does not come. Conveniently enough, these other projects are not located on a hot and humid seacoast, where living conditions are slightly unpleasant, but are located high up in the hills well away from here, so that it results in the happy combination of permitting all the major executives of the contractor to live inland close to their important undertakings.
I doubt whether any of them have ever spent a night here since arrival, and their very infrequent visits here usually follow this schedule:
1. Leave inland by car about 9 AM.
2. Arrive here about noon, which is just in time for lunch.
3. Have lunch, over by about 1 PM.
4. Start to look at their watches, as it is desirable to start back before the afternoon heat becomes intense.
5. Business (if any) hurriedly discussed while the visitors are getting back into their cars, which at the latest should be underway by 2 PM for the hills.
This schedule (on a visit every month or so) keeps these executives closely in first hand touch with the work and the needs of this port, so that they are in an excellent position between visits by telephone from 8000 feet up to direct everything here much better than those who are handicapped by day after day contact with the problems to be solved, which close contact naturally warps the judgment of those who must live on the spot. The resulting efficiency is astounding.
I received a letter today from Mr. E. who is really trying to do something for us, and as you know, has been south trying to clear the track. If you want to know just where we stand, I suggest you drop in and talk with him, without however, going into what I have said above. So far as I can judge from his letter, Mr. E. seems to have had no luck. I do however, very much appreciate his interest and his efforts, and I wish you would tell him so.
It is quite unfortunate that a shift in duties has robbed us of our original chief, who even though he was not in our branch, at least had great interest in this project and felt its importance. He has been succeeded by another in his branch who sees only the bricks and mortar involved in construction and little of the end in view in operating it, and consequently takes little interest in what, if anything, concerns the operating force.
(Later, Sept. (sic) 30. I’m glad to see by later developments that the general still keeps both a control and a definite interest in what goes on here).
Letter #42
As usual
Aug. 14, 1942
Lucy darling:
I have an idea that I have been somewhat mixed up in my numbering, so from now on I’ll try to run a check sheet to keep track of what the number last used was.
I suppose about now you are packing up to leave Southwest Harbor if you followed your original schedule. I hope however you decided to stay till later in the month. Certainly as I look at the snapshot (taken by Gilbert Hetherington) of the view across the cove through the trees of the Argo and our picturesque fish factory beyond, nothing could break me away from there to go back to Westfield in mid-August – not if I were there. How marvelous it would be to feel the soft carpet of pine needles underfoot again instead of the damned sand about here! And to see real trees and cold water again! Not to mention you and Mary rambling along our own quiet road – instead of Eritreans, Sudanese, Arabs and God knows what else thronging the roads here. Let someone else be put somewhere east of Suez, where a man can raise a thirst! I’m tired of drinking a gallon and a half of water a day. I’ll be quite satisfied to be put somewhere east of Ellsworth (Ed: to the west of Southwest Harbor) and get along with only a glass or two.
Personally, I can see you need me badly there. I knew things wouldn’t go so well without me on the spot to fix them up. What could you expect of Farnham Butler’s hired man except to rig the outhaul wrong? And I’ll bet Gilley had trouble getting the water heaters going and Heaven knows whether anybody could stoke the furnace properly and see the thermostat worked right. Ah well, I suppose they all did the best they could to make my absence unnoticeable.
Did you have Mrs. Rice? You make no mention of her in your latest letter (July 21). I hope you did. By the time a few more of your letters arrive from there, I’ll know all about it.
Here we are in mid-August, with the sun directly overhead at noon, so that by strict mathematics we should be having our hottest weather of the summer. However, we are not. I’m sure July was worse, and perhaps even June. We’ve been getting somewhat more breeze off the sea, which has perhaps kept things a bit more livable. Now I’m told (by the English) that it is September that is going to slay us. However, I don’t believe it. I think we’ve seen the worst already and have managed to survive quite well (so far as the weather is concerned).
I sent you yesterday a Treasury check for $186, representing my Army allowance for July.
As I told you in some letters last week, I managed to get some white shorts and some white stockings while I was in Egypt, from a shop hardly a good broadjump from the Hotel Continental. So you don’t have to bother any more about getting those things.
Meanwhile, nothing has arrived here whatever except my two trunks and my suitcase, the copy of “I Have Just Begun to Fight!,” my class ring, two copies of Life and one Reader’s Digest. All other books, packages, and articles of whatever nature and by whomever sent are still (I hope) somewhere on the way and presumably may be expected roughly from four to six months after shipment. However, there is no certainty about that. I know now for a fact that the masts and sails I ordered for the two Star boats here, lie at the bottom of Mozambique Channel. So perhaps some of those other things are on the bottom also. But all of them shouldn’t be, and I’ll let you know when anything at all gets here.
I sent Mary a birthday letter, which was taken directly home by an Army colonel flying home whom I met last week in upper Egypt. I trust she got it before Aug. 29. I have received her letter containing the picture of her silver pattern. I think it is lovely.
I enclose a postcard snapshot similar to the two I sent you from Egypt last week. If those have arrived, please send this one to my mother. If not, you may keep this one. It’s not a particularly good picture, but it was the best I could get done there in a hurry between stops in the various cities I had to get to for conferences.
With love, Ned
Letter #43
Aug. 15, 1942
As usual
Lucy darling:
The first V-mail letters, about which you have been asking, arrived today – four of them. Yours were numbered 46, 48, and 52 (the last of July 14) and one from Mary dated July 10. I am enclosing one of them for your inspection, so you can see exactly what they look like on arrival. The lot came just as you see this one, unsealed and uncontained in any envelope, though I’m told some others for other people arrived folded and sealed outside.
These numbers fill some gaps in your series. Those still missing are #1, 2, 31, 36, 37, 45, and 54. The latest letter I have so far received is #56 of July 21.
The question you wanted answered in your letter of May 9, #18 is so far as I can foresee, answered as follows: I do not believe I shall stay here after the salvage work is done. I have no desire to stay after that, and I do not believe that I will be ordered to stay after that. There is certainly no reason why someone else should not carry on from that point.
As regards other matters: I already have all the white shorts and stockings I need (bought last week in our neighboring country to the west) so as you mention you will try no further till you hear again from me on this; everything is fine. Don’t do anything further.
Unfortunately the sails for our Star boats got sunk, so we’ll do no sailing for some time yet.
It is very thoughtful of you to offer to make window curtains for me, but I think it unwise. By the time you got the information, made up the curtains, shipped them, and I got them would be at least six to eight months from now, and it isn’t worth it. If I feel the urge I’ll have some made here, but I’m dubious that I ever shall.
So far as I can judge at present, the V-mail has no advantages at all at present. It has been slower than the regular mail, and its other disadvantages are obvious. At some later time, it may perhaps be better in speed, but in the meanwhile I’d suggest not using it except for an occasional test.
With love, Ned
PS To get the V-mail letter into this envelope, I had to fold it once. It came to me unfolded.
PPS The English here, who have had such a service for some time, suggest using a typewriter for V-mail letters. They say you get more on the sheet and it’s more legible when received in the reduced photostatic form. You can judge for yourself.
Letter #44
Aug. 16, 1942
As usual
Lucy darling:
I stayed up rather late last night (Saturday) playing with my short wave radio, on which I find I can get best the German stations and Italian ones, broadcasting in beautiful English what they claim to have done to the British and what their Axis partners (the Japanese) have done to the Americans in the Soloman Islands. The Italians have a broadcaster who I swear comes from Alabama, and sounds to me like a defeated candidate for senator who has moved on to Rome. When this war ends, I think along with Hitler, Mussolini and Hirohito, these renegade Englishmen and Americans who are helping our enemies on the air, should all have their necks wrung and I should be pleased to help in the process.
At any rate, along about midnight, fishing for the British Broadcasting Co. between two powerful German stations, I was surprised to get very clearly WLWO, the Crosley station in Cincinnati, which was working on a “News From Home” program. There wasn’t anything on the program which interested me particularly, since most of the home news was from towns in the middle west, but at any rate it was pleasant to hear America on the air, and now that I know American stations can be heard here, I’ll try again for some others. Unfortunately we are seven hours ahead of New York out here, so when it’s 6 PM in New York, it is 1 AM in this vicinity and that rather messes up listening unless I do my sleeping in the daytime and my listening at night.
To go from shortwave to shaving: one of the fine steel bars which cover the cutter on my Schick Electric razor has either worn through or a piece has broken out of it, with the result that it scratches my face occasionally as I shave. I can still use it (and I do) but I should like a new cutting head.
I bought this razor at Jarvis’ two or three Christmases ago, and last winter I got a new hollow ground cutting head put on it. The parts needing replacement consist of an outer head and an inner cutter (I understand these go in matched sets, although only the outer head is broken). The one I have is stamped as follows:
Stamped on one side……20
“ on the other side…..Hollow Ground
USA PATS
1721530 1747031
“ on the end….. 2M
The razor I have is a Schick Colonel Shaver, marked Colonel
7
What I want is a new head to fit that razor. I’ll install it myself. The razor did not originally have a whisker catcher, but an attachment for that purpose was fitted by Jarvis shortly after I bought it. The new head should cost about $3.
When you get the new head (it is quite small) wrap it up a bit and ship it inside an ordinary letter. Don’t make a package of it, for if it is sent that way, I won’t get it till hell (or Massawa) freezes over.
To go over again a few things I mentioned in previous letters in case some have been delayed, I received my class ring probably two weeks after you sent it. If you ever sent me a statement of what I had received in dividends or otherwise since I left, it must have been in one of the letters which is still missing. I haven’t seen anything of that nature except Dodd Mead’s royalty report which I’ve returned to you.
I received 3 V-mail letters from you and one from Mary a couple of days ago. Those were the first. Except for my two trunks and my suitcase, the copy of J. P. Jones, Jr., and my ring, no packages, books or anything else of any nature sent by anyone have yet arrived here.
I sent you a check for $186 in letter #48 of Aug. 13. Sometime around July 10 to 15 I sent you two Government checks for $200 (total) which you have not yet acknowledged. Probably it is too early to expect an answer yet.
The weather here continues warm. Out on the water it runs about 102 to 105º F daily in the shade. Ashore it is warmer. I haven’t taken any recent temperatures in the sun. However it doesn’t seem any worse than in July; perhaps a little cooler for the sea breeze appears to last somewhat longer now. I believe the humidity is also running a little less.
By separate letter, I am sending Mary an ivory bead necklace which I picked up in the Sudan, as a birthday present.
With love, Ned
The following letter was written by Ellsberg to Howard Lewis, president of his publisher Dodd, Mead. It gives a nice overview of what he had done in Massawa to that point.
Letter #44A
Aug. 16, 1944
Somewhere east of Suez
Dear Howard:
I rather owe you an apology for waiting so long to write you and my friends in Dodd, Mead. But so much has been happening since I shoved off last February that until today I hadn’t even written my mother, so you can judge you haven’t been slighted.
I got out here to find the Italians and Germans had made a first class wreck of the place, both afloat and ashore. Such a vast array of wrecks I never expected to see anywhere – the ships are literally scuttled in rows wherever you look.
We turned to when my first divers arrived and started in with practically no equipment at all except two diving rigs which had come from home. Our first attempt was on the most valuable prize of all – a sunken drydock which the Italians had scuttled by exploding seven bombs in the lower holds or pontoons, to blast seven huge holes in the bottom of the dock through any of which you might easily have driven a Fifth Avenue bus. The British had looked that dock over with their divers when first they captured this place, but an official report to their Admiralty classed salvage as not practical, which recommendation the Admiralty had approved and they had abandoned any attempt to raise it.
But we badly needed that dock here. So without any salvage equipment except what I could borrow from the British themselves in this port, I turned to on that dock with thirteen Americans and our two diving suits, and in nine days from our start, we had it fully afloat. Our British friends out here are still rubbing their eyes over that one; what the Italian naval captain who did the most devastating scuttling operation ever carried out on anything on that dock thinks about it, I’d give a lot to know.
Our second effort was on a large German merchantman scuttled to block off the approach to an important oil loading terminal; this one had all the sea valves removed as well as a large hole forward from another huge bomb, so in all I guess we had nearly thirty holes in her, large and small, to patch. Still working with antique British borrowed equipment, which continually kept breaking down on us and nearly killed us all before we got through, we had a tough time on the bottom with her. Our last five days on that job, we worked straight through with practically no sleep, (I got a total of about six hours sleep and my men no more) to bring that ship up and keep her right side up in the process. But on the Fourth of July, we got our reward when we brought her into port afloat again, with the Stars and Stripes flying proudly over her Nazi colors.
That is the score to date. Our own equipment has arrived at last and now we are working another Nazi ship.
As you know, all of my diving before has been in cold water where the problem was how to keep from freezing to death. Here it has been quite different, due to the hot water, but oddly enough we still have to wear a suit of woolen underwear every dive to keep the canvas rigs from chafing our hides off. There are a few other problems, of which prickly heat, which keeps us all wriggling like snakes, is the worst.
I’m perfectly willing to believe that this place is the last stop this side of hell, but so far we’ve managed to keep on working and I think we have now weathered the worst of the heat and the humidity. Last June it ran between 149º and 163ºF out on the drydock where we were working on repairs; I’ve never tried to take the temperature again since.
Ashore I managed to get all the sabotaged machinery going again in the Italian workshops, so now we are in fair shape to carry on what the place is intended for, and when all our American equipment gets here, we’ll have quite an establishment.
Personally, I’ve made out rather well. I’ve lost about fifteen pounds since arrival, which puts me in good fighting trim. I enclose a postcard taken last week (rather in a rush) while I was in Egypt. If I’d been here, I’d have been in a sun helmet and minus that shirt. I haven’t had a sick day since I’ve been on this station, and I’m the only officer who has been continuously attached to this place since we arrived. (The others get shuffled around to the cooler spots up in the mountains, but as we can’t put our wrecks on wheels, I have to stay where they are).
For more or less of the above, I was recommended by the Chief of the North African Mission for promotion for “most outstanding service” and last June by order of the President I was made a Captain. So strictly speaking, Commander Ellsberg has vanished officially from the scene, but if I ever get a chance to write anything again, for literary purposes I guess I’ll always remain Commander Ellsberg.
We have our troubles out here, but if I started to relate them, I guess they’d never get by the censor, who seems much interested in trying to keep up the morale of the folks back home. So I shall only say that now I have a better understanding than I ever had before of what John Paul went through when he was trying to get the men, the materials, and the ships he needed to go out and fight America’s battles. I trust I have better luck than he did in surviving the ordeal – perhaps I’ve had already, for he died at forty-five and I’m already past that by five years.
If ever I get back to the United States, I’ll know how to appreciate it. Meanwhile out here, I’m doing what I can to help put the skids under Hitler and Hirohito. It isn’t much compared to what might be accomplished here with a little assistance from back home, but I’m thankful for the chance to do even that little.
Ned Ellsberg
Letter #45
Aug. 23, 1942
As usual
Lucy darling:
I have been exceptionally busy this last week on our first ship job for which this place was designed (other than for salvage work). Interestingly enough the work was for a captain whose last job was handled at my old stomping ground by the captain whose aid you requested in getting white shorts for me (but who couldn’t find any). I am glad to see this naval base beginning to justify its name. I think we did the work (it will be finished tomorrow night) about as fast as it could have been done by my old associates and quite as well, without the ship having to lose months of valuable time from her station in going to and from the shadows of Quarters F. At any rate, we are doing it in just about half the time allowed for the work by those who sent her here. It is a particularly interesting job because it involved putting a ship into a floating drydock which was too small for the length of the ship and of insufficient capacity to lift her, for both of which reasons it looked impossible for us to handle her in our dock (that is, it looked impossible to those controlling her movements). But when it was mentioned to me on my recent visit westward that it was intended to send her some thousands of miles from here for repairs, I offered to take her on, showed how it could be done, and now we are nearly finished doing it. It is quite a neat juggling trick.
Aside from all that, I have found the weather here since I got back on August 12, somewhat more bearable than that we had in July. There has usually been somewhat more of a sea breeze, so while it may have been just as hot as usual, it didn’t seem so. At any rate, August is nearly gone, without having shriveled us all up, as was confidently predicted by those in occupancy when we got here. I rather imagine the worst is over.
In some other ways, things are looking up a bit. I have been promised several hundred helpers by our associates in the neighboring country I visited, and I think they should soon be along. And in addition I have been promised seven naval officers as assistants, also from the same source. So it may be that I shall soon have adequate support, though it makes me blush to think that not one of them will come from those who sent me out here with the promise of providing the men necessary. It will seem queer commanding both officers and men of another nation and running an American establishment without any Americans in it to speak of (except in my salvage force).
Changing the subject, I received yesterday the first package (except my ring) I have yet had delivered from home. This package was personally carried over by one of the men recently from home via ship and air. It contained three pairs of khaki shorts, three khaki shirts, three white shirts, and a dozen handkerchiefs, for all of which I am everlastingly grateful. Will you thank your mother for me particularly for the handkerchiefs.
I see these things were sent by you via J D & P on June 26. They took just eight weeks to get here. The articles you sent last May are probably still at sea somewhere (and still afloat, I hope).
I have received in the last few days the following: letters of 7/25/42 and 7/25/42 (from Mr. Beard) neither of which was numbered; V-mail cards #54 & 57; one postcard (unnumbered) of 7/20/42 bearing a good likeness of Clarence; and your letter #62 of 7/28/42. This leaves the score to date missing: #1, 2, 31, 36, 37, 45, 58, 59, 60, and 61. Of those beginning with 58, the three unnumbered items mentioned just above may constitute three. If so, let me know.
I see by your later letters, Mrs. Rice was with you again at Southwest, apparently still able to bake magnificent blueberry pies. I’ve almost forgotten what a decent pie or cake tastes like, and as for the lobster and popovers you had at Jordan Pond, they seem like vague recollections of a previous incarnation. Anyway, I’m happy to know you still can have them.
I note that Mr. Whiteside is on his way. I’ll expect him about October 15. Sorry Mrs. Whiteside couldn’t visit you in Southwest.
No doubt you are all home again by now. I hope you really did have a restful time (and evidently you had a cool one).
On Aug. 13 in my letter #48, I enclosed a check for $186.
I wrote my mother about a week ago, and enclosed one of those snapshots I had taken in Cairo.
With much love, Ned
Letter #46
Aug. 25, 1942
As usual
Lucy darling:
I received four letters from you today - #71 of Aug. 10; a letter of Apr. 3 (the last of your unnumbered series); and #1 and 2 of Apr. 5 and 7 respectively. The last three were 41/2 months on the way, apparently all the way by water via the east coast of this continent as shown by the censors’ stamps they bore. That route is no longer used for mail here, thank goodness.
I have now received 15 unnumbered letters, which may be the whole lot. (You thought there were 17). Of the numbered series, the following are still missing: #31, 36, 37, 45, 58, 59, 60, 61, and everything between 62 and 71 which has just arrived. Two unnumbered letters of 7/25/42 (one Mr. Beard’s) may be two of your numbers between 58 & 61. The dates fit.
Answering the questions in your #71 letter of Aug. 10: The package sent last May containing percolator, thermometers, etc., has not arrived. The statement above covers your question on letters received. My ring arrived in about two weeks – excellent delivery. I have received one or two copies of Life of late April about a month ago – none since. I have received one copy of Reader’s Digest (May, I think). It was either lost or borrowed before I ever opened it to read it, so I’m not sure what month it was. None since arrived. I have had a letter from Reader’s Digest, which I enclose as self-explanatory. I think I can spend my old age reading those copies of Reader’s Digest when they finally arrive.
Don’t subscribe for anything more for me out here.
I received your package of June 26 containing 3 white shirts, 3 khaki shirts, 3 khaki shorts, and a dozen handkerchiefs. It was personally delivered by the man who carried it all the way. I got some white shorts in Egypt recently. Don’t bother any more to get me any nor any white socks. No other packages of any nature nor anything else except as noted above have arrived yet.
I note you have received some letters written after July 11 referring to the two checks for $200 which had not yet come. Probably by now you’ve received them. Keep me informed. I sent you a check for $186 on Aug. 13 in letter #48. Let me know the results.
I judge from your reference in #71 of letters of congratulation just reaching you, that an Assoc. Press dispatch from Cairo was the probable cause of the letters. If you can send me that clipping (of about Aug. 6-8) from some N.Y. paper, I’ll appreciate it. The same story was apparently the subject of a British Broadcasting Corp. worldwide broadcast on Aug. 7, which I never heard. Thanks for your glowing comment on how it struck you. I feel (as always) that the inner satisfaction of knowing that something necessary has been well done is the only reward I’m ever likely to get out of all this, but it is wonderful to know it seems worthwhile to you also. I suppose I’m lucky to have received a promotion and some warm commendation from the British high command also. That’s more than usually happens. It cost plenty of terribly hard work and quite a lot of sticking it out in some hazardous situations when the easiest thing to do would have been to confess failure and get clear while the going was good. (Some others wanted to). The British out here think I do it with a magic wand, but they don’t know the heartaches, the cold chills, the headaches, and the oceans of sweat it has cost me.
However, I’m fortunate in that my health is better than when I came here, and my only real trials have been mental ones over the lack of cooperation from home, the envy and chicanery of certain civilians out here who have thrown monkey wrenches into the works, and the most contemptible intrigue imaginable by the same crowd to take over while my back was turned during my recent trip on business to the country west of here. The latter plot was so damned absurd I had no trouble squelching it flat the day I got back, but it has had a serious effect on the morale of my salvage crews which will take some time to efface.
We just finished this morning a very excellent repair job on the drydock in just half the time allowed us for it and the ship is now again afloat and ready to return to her war station. I did the job mainly with a force of English workmen who came down with the ship, but if it had not been for a handful of Americans whom I threw into it, Heaven only knows when it might have been done. The English are so handicapped by a century of trade union restrictions that they’ve lost all knowledge of how to make a job move, even in wartime on a warship. They learned on this job. The last lesson came yesterday morning when they had to beat a thick steel plate into shape against the ribs of the ship to close a hole in her, and a dozen of them stood round an hour looking at it, to inform me finally (through their own superintendent) they couldn’t do it, and it couldn’t be done. I then brought over from the other dock two American ironworkers who beat the plate into shape in an hour and a half. The English workmen now think I am a driver, but there seems to be also some little respect in their manner.
What interests me mostly in this particular episode is that I had a devil of a time keeping the leader of the two American ironworkers from being discharged and sent home as a worthless drunkard some two months ago. (He was like Dick Jones, good when he was sober, but subject occasionally to weekend drunks, when God help anyone who fell afoul of him). I managed to save his job, got his promise to quit drinking (which he has kept) and have given him an occasional pat of encouragement. You should have seen him yesterday beating hell out of that steel plate with a sledge hammer. He got it up all right, and there is one British warship that to the rest of her days will carry the evidence of Bill Cunningham’s appreciation (and the marks of his sledge hammer).
This was our first job on anything but merchantmen, and I am particularly proud of the way we turned it out. It reminded me of my somewhat younger days in the last war at the Brooklyn Navy Yard when we pulled some very good performances on battered warships, except that there I had a gang of men and equipment to back them up compared to which what we have here seems almost laughable. But we’ll make out just as well now, even without all the machinery (with a little driving) we’ll have to, or the Germans and the Japanese will drive us all off the earth.
Right now negotiations seem to be reaching a favorable point for the British to lend me a hand with a number of officers and workmen to help out here. I can see I’ll have a lovely time teaching them all how to work in wartime. I mentioned to one of the prospective new British officers that I would get this first ship done within my time, unless I was disappointed in what English workmen could do. He said, “You’ll be disappointed.”
Well, the ship went out on time (my time, not theirs).
With much love, Ned
Letter #47
August 26, 1942
As usual
Lucy darling:
Two of your letters, #67 and 69, arrived today. That leaves missing 31, 36, 37, 45, 58, 59, 60, 61, 63, 64, 65, 66, 68 and 70. (#71 came yesterday). Two unnumbered letters of July 25 may be two of the missing letters between 58 & 61.
In your letter #69, I found the two clippings from the N.Y. Times and the Herald-Tribune referring to the dock, which I asked you to send me in a letter mailed yesterday. So now you don’t have to. I see the subject got a worldwide spread, all right, between the Associated Press, the American radio, and the British Broadcasting Corporation. I wonder whether Mr. Manzi-Fe got the news of what I had done to his Italian associates.
I note the story that reached New York was practically cut in half by the censors in Cairo. There was a lot more of it originally, dealing with how we treated the Nazis for our Fourth of July celebration out here. (I do not want the Nazis to feel we are not impartial, and devote more of our efforts to the Fascists than we do to them). We all had just as much reason to feel happy over being one up on Herr Hitler as we were on Signor Mussolini.
I had a letter from J. D. & P. (Mr. Flanagan) dated Aug. 11 in which he informed me that Captain Whiteside had in Virginia (reason not stated) decided to return to California and is consequently no longer coming out. Who takes his place, I don’t know. Of course, there was a delay of three weeks there due to that change and some other troubles. His vehicle (without him) may arrive now about November.
I notice you have made no mention yet of any of the pictures I sent you about July 10-15 of our holiday celebration, including one or two of myself. Possibly the letters hadn’t arrived by Aug. 10, which is the date of your last letter (#71). Let me know exactly how many came through, and in general which they were.
Thanks for all the clippings you sent me in #67. However, for your information, I return to you the N.Y. Times News of the Week section so you may know how it looks when it gets here. The idea of sending it, however, is a good one and I’d appreciate your sending it weekly. You might compare this mutilated copy with an original (which I think you can find in the library files) to see what it was that was unsafe either for me to know, or to let out of the country.
Later
Aug. 27
Five letters came in the mail today – quite a gala occasion. They were #36, 37, 61, one unnumbered letter of Jul. 22, and one from Mary of June 23. That leaves the missing list as #31, 45, 58, 59, 60, 63, 64, 65, 66, 68 & 70. The probabilities are that your three unnumbered letters of Jul. 25 (2) and Jul. 22 are 58, 59, and 60. Is this correct? Just how #36 & 37 got hung up so long, I don’t know. Both went thru the home office in Washington, which usually gives about one month’s delivery (sometimes less).
There were numerous questions in your #36 of June 19, but I’ve answered them all several times in different letters, so I shan’t again now.
Why my promotion cable took a month to reach you and arrived after the letter carrying the same news, I don’t know and shall never be able to find out. It went via Cairo, and since I’m not there, I can’t enquire, and even if I could, I doubt I’d get any satisfaction.
I enclose a circular recently issued out here dealing with private communications. A close study of it may clear up in your mind some questions as to why I have not done this or that.
As for the cheap cable service you have often asked about, there is no cable service at all in this country. All cables must go by other routes about a thousand miles to Cairo, after which God help them. I doubt that the cheap cable service will ever reach here.
Regarding the mention in the Herald-Tribune about my diving regularly, it is slightly exaggerated. I made the first dive made out here by anybody on the sunken drydock, to start the job off. Since then I’ve dived a few times on the second job we undertook, which was a ship job (over on July 4) and a few more dives on the drydock to show the use of the underwater torch. I haven’t dived now for over two months – I haven’t time. I may do a little once in a while on other jobs for inspection, but it won’t be often. However, there is nothing to be concerned about. The water is only about a third as deep as when we worked seventeen years ago on the S-51, and it is nice and warm – no strain at all. But between all the things I have to do, I can hardly dive regularly even if I wanted to.
Referring again to mail from here, all the mail goes out exactly the same whether it is marked “Free,” bears a three cent stamp, or is so covered by air mail stamps that the address can’t be read. It all goes by air regardless to the United States, but what delays it encounters en route due to lack of transportation, slowness of censorship, or just plain bone-headedness on the part of the amateur postal service out here, have nothing whatever to do with the postage or lack of it put on the envelope. And the same is exactly true of mail sent here from the United States. You don’t get a thing for the air mail stamps you put on, and I’d advise you to quit using them and save a few cents to give to the tax collector instead. It does appear now that mail originally sent by you in Feb., March, and April simply addressed to this country, was sent out by freighters bound out this way all the way by water, and took over four months to arrive. However, mail sent now via APO, does get direct mail service and takes from 17 days to a month, depending on how it catches the planes, I suppose. The same is identically true of mail sent via the home office, which however has one advantage (unmentionable) over APO, which for some communications may make a difference. Mail sent via J. D. & P. may occasionally catch a quick delivery when they have someone coming out, but unless you are assured beforehand by their office that such is the case, you gain nothing by it and may lose. Unless there is some need to get quick delivery on something and you can check to make sure you’ll get it, I would not bother them.
That letter of July 22 which reached you Aug. 6 (presumably in Southwest Harbor) containing a check for $154.41, was sent via the naval attache’s office in the neighboring country. I judge it took from July 22 to July 27 to get to his office from here, and from July 27 to Aug. 6 to get to you from there. I was much interested to know how it was treated in transit and now I know. I’ll save the knowledge for use on some other important occasions, but it isn’t easy from here to use that route.
In your letters reaching here today, there were two more sections of the Times weekly news review, both about as badly mutilated in transit as the one I enclose.
With love, Ned
Letter #48
Aug. 31, 1942
As usual
Lucy darling:
Today was another banner day for me – I received five letters from you, two from Mary and one from Captain Rosendahl – quite a fistful!
Your letters were #63, 64 (V-mail), 65, 66, and 68. That leaves the missing letters as only #31, 45, and 70 (assuming that three unnumbered letters of Jul 23 & 25 are 58, 59 & 60 respectively).
I notice that all the letters which came today bearing dates from July 30 to Aug. 7 were via the home office, while #71 which came about a week ago was via APO. That might indicate APO was faster, though as I’ve stated before it has one disadvantage as compared to home office service.
I was happy to know you had such a pleasant time in Maine and particularly glad to hear you saw the Hales and Mrs. De Koven again. I regret myself that Mary did not have the use of the Argo, but the crew difficulty was, of course, not to be disregarded. Anyway, the tender was something.
Too bad all the accessories in our houses in Westfield and Southwest Harbor didn’t behave 100% in my absence. However, I never expected that they would – they usually need some loving attention to keep them up to par. I can only hope between Gilley in Maine and the mechanics in Westfield you manage to get reasonable service. However, half the fun I’ve ever had in having the house or the cottage and the foc’sle has been in doing things to them and in keeping all the gadgets going.
You mention you want some snapshots of myself. My camera has done well here since I learned more about using it in this brilliant sunlight, but most of my subjects would not go through for military reasons. The only picture of myself taken with it I sent you several weeks ago. However, in another batch of pictures sent about mid-July was another taken on July 4 aboard the Liebenfelswhich was a good enough candid camera shot, I thought. I also sent you a studio postcard from the city where I was interviewed during my late visit there. (I was there, including several nearby ports, about ten days).
You have often asked whether I have received a package sent last May, containing a thermometer plus other things. I haven’t, but I believe I should shortly receive them. Aboard a ship just arrived, is (according to her manifest) one case for Commander Ellsberg. Judging by her sailing date, she might well be the carrier of that package. It may be some days yet before they get to that case in one of her holds, so I’ll have to wait a while yet. You can figure out the delivery time for yourself.
Whatever was sent with Whiteside will take even longer. Whiteside, as I said in a previous letter, decided to call it a day in Norfolk and left. Who his successor will be, I don’t know, nor when the packages he was carrying will arrive. Transportation problems to here remind me of when Vasco da Gama first made the voyage via this route – the speed has not improved much since.
Meanwhile, I’m thankful that package was not traveling with the sails and masts I ordered for the Star boats here – they will never arrive.
Mary’s twenty-first birthday has come and gone. I sent her a birthday letter from Khartoum about Aug. 2, which (if it did not miscarry) should have reached her early, since it went by what should have been exceedingly fast service. I trust she received it in time. And several weeks ago I mailed her an ivory bead necklace I got in Omdurman, as being almost the only thing I could send in the mail. I hope it had better luck than the things I sent long ago from Pernambuco, which never reached you or her.
As for myself, I spent the night of Aug. 29 (Ed: Mary’s birthday) high up in the hills, where I had to sleep under three blankets to keep warm. I can, however, think of ways better than that for keeping warm the memories of Mary’s birthday. No doubt you can also.
With much love, Ned
Letter #49
Sept. 2, 1942
As usual
Lucy dearest:
Just as I started this letter this evening, three letters of yours and one from Mary arrived. Yours were the missing numbers 58, 59, and 60 of July 23, 24, 25, which I had before thought might be three unnumbered letters of about that time you sent me. All four of this evening’s letters were sent %of Mr. Dixon and evidently came over all right by special messenger, but all came several weeks later than the regular mail letters before and after them. For instance, #71 arrived about Aug. 25. In this case, I guess the special messenger was delayed in starting. I don’t know who he was. The score for undelivered letters still stands as 31, 45, and 70 – not bad now.
I also received today the package with the silver collar eagles sent by John Hale. Please thank him for me.
And finally to make the day complete, the chief mate of S.S.----- which arrived some days ago called me up to tell me that he had finally reached the spot in his after hold in which the case shown on the ship’s manifest for me, reposed, and I could get it by going over to the commercial port and seeing him personally. The reason for that request, he said, was that the case had very evidently been broken into in transit and he wanted me to see its condition before it was handled further. So with fear and trepidation as to what was stolen from that box from Lewis & Conger on which you devoted so much time and energy between them and Brooks Uniform last May, I rushed over to see him at the unloading pier. There was the box with one of the top boards gone and a carton inside torn open and partly emptied!
Before going over, I dug up your letter #25 of May 27, in which you described your adventures in getting the various items, from which letter I was able to make out an inventory. With that the chief mate and I, after removing the remainder of the coverboards, examined what was left, with the following results:
We found:
1 coffee percolator and cord, package intact
1 thermometer (200ºF) and one hygrometer, both in an intact package
1 tool kit, package intact
3 #1 cans of coffee, all OK
1 package containing the cap ornament and cap band, 2 ribbon bars complete, and 3 spare ribbons, all intact
1 envelope with 2 Schick electric razor brushes
1 1 pint thermos bottle, package intact
1 1 qt. thermos jug, “ “
and one cardboard package which had been torn open, which still contained two tins of candy (1 coffee-ets and 1 peppermint candy) but from which one or two other tins of candy had been removed.
So it was with a considerable sigh of relief the chief mate and I concluded that only a couple of tins of candy had been stolen, and not any of the more valuable items. From your letter, everything mentioned in it arrived, unbroken and OK, except the candy. The chief mate believed the box must have been broken into on the Claremont pier, since nobody could have got at it in his hold, and he personally was looking for it at the unloading. And with that I agree, since the ship did not sail till June 26, so the box must have been at Claremont practically a month before it was loaded aboard. But why anyone should have broken open the box just to steal a couple of tins of candy and stopped at that I can’t make out. Does the above show anything more missing which you failed to mention in your letter of May 27? I should doubt it, for there did not seem to be room in the box for anything more, unless it was a fourth can of coffee.
I cannot tell you how delighted I was to get these things, for I was practically certain they must have been shipped on a vessel sailing from N.Y. on June 11, which will not arrive, which I know was carrying the sails for my Star boats. (They won’t arrive either). So sure of it was I that only last Saturday I went shopping in the city up the hills and bought myself one of these tin two-cup percolators (non-electric) worth about 20 cents at any Woolworth counter, but which cost me $1.25. I’d been using it the last couple of days with indifferent results, by boiling the water first in the eight-cup electric percolator given me a month ago by the grateful skipper of another merchantman whom I cooled off in my room a couple of days (that is, the skipper, not the eight-cup percolator), and then pouring a couple of cups of boiling water into my tin acquisition to drip down over the coffee.
Now I have three coffee percolators: one an eight-cup affair I can’t use because it won’t perk with less than 4 cups of water, which I can’t afford because that uses up too much coffee at a time; my new two-cup tin monstrosity which is a damned nuisance to operate; and the third your three cup electric percolator which works perfectly on two cups of water and two spoons of coffee (I’ve tried it already) and which is a perfect beauty. I could hug and kiss you for it (not to mention other good reasons) if only you were close enough for me to get my arms around you.
The cap ornament now adorns my Sunday-go-to-meeting sun helmet and looks quite gorgeous. The hygrometer is already in service (humidity in my room now is 58%, with two air conditioners running). The temperature in my room as shown by my new thermometer (you are right about it’s looking like an overgrown fever thermometer) is 82ºF. The thermometer fills the bill exactly, as I can carry it about safely in its metal case. The tool kit is a very fine one, and I’ll have occasion to think of you gratefully every time I use it now. (Of course, I shouldn’t otherwise).
As regards the thermos bottle and the thermos jug, I haven’t the need for them now that I had last April when I asked for them, as I now have a Hotpoint electric refrigerator in my quarters which keeps everything quite cold. But if ever I get a chance to go sailing, they’ll come in handy.
With those new service ribbons (my old bar was pretty frayed) I can stick out my chest along with some English generals as having been there in the last war, and those electric razor brushes will help to keep my chinwhiskers within bounds whenever I have occasion to entertain another duke. (Sorry by the way to see that the Duke of Kent, brother to the one I recently entertained, was recently killed).
I am deeply sorry to hear of Aunt Lou’s death. She was always so lovely to me, and so unaffected in everything that I never felt otherwise than wholly at home in her house.
The daily details of your month at Southwest Harbor at The Anchorage have made me vicariously enjoy that month as if (almost) I had been there myself. I’m very glad you went, and happy to know that the weather you had (except for the rain at the start) was so fine. I’m waiting for the remaining letters (after #71 of Aug. 10, the latest received yet) to learn how your last week there went.
Since I started numbering letters again, I think it would be a good idea if you told me what numbers you have received to date (also how many unnumbered letters).
With much love, Ned
The score for packages to date is: Ring received; eagles received; John Paul, Jr. received; package of last May mentioned above received; package containing khaki shorts, shirts, etc. (three each) received; two copies Life & one Readers Digest received. Nothing else of any nature whatever received, except both trunks & suitcase.
Letter #50
Sept. 4, 1942
As usual
Lucy darling:
Just to reiterate, the package you sent me last May arrived via all water a couple of days ago. It contained the percolator, the thermometer, etc., all of which I wrote you two days ago. Thanks.
I am enclosing in this letter an Army check for $126, endorsed for deposit, which represents the major part of my Army allowance here for August. The balance for the month ($60), I have retained for current expenses.
I notice that up to Aug. 10, the date of your last letter received here (#71) you had not received my letter of July 11 containing two checks totaling $200. If by the time this letter reaches you, those checks have not arrived, please cable me and I’ll start tracing them from here. That letter was supposed to have received special handling by air direct from this country, which special handling seems only to have resulted in delaying or losing it.
On Aug. 13, in letter #48, I sent you a check for $186, which you should have received by now. That letter went by regular air mail from here. Please advise on it.
My third salvage outfit arrived here yesterday. That leaves only Whiteside’s outfit (with which Whiteside is no longer connected) yet to arrive. Unfortunately no divers arrived with this outfit and only one is supposed to be with the ex-Whiteside outfit. How I’m supposed to operate additional salvage jobs without additional divers, I can’t quite make out, and it is literally true that I have fewer divers available here today than I had late last May. Prickly heat and infections resulting, have put half a dozen of my original group in the hospital, and I haven’t received enough replacements to keep my actual diving force up to its initial strength.
The result has been that the interval since we last lifted a vessel has been longer than has elapsed without a salvage success since my first arrival here. I hope for some results again within the next couple of weeks, but unless my divers begin coming out of the hospital soon, the outlook is not too encouraging just now. Just to complete the picture, one very good diver (one of the lot still in good health) came to me today with the news that he isn’t making as much money here as he thought he would, so he had decided to quit and go home. (His pay is greater than mine). I wish I could put him in jail, but I can’t, so I guess I lose him. No argument I could use had any effect. He says he can make more in the United States, which is entirely possible, than he gets here and that settles it for him. Of course, I could make more in the United States too, if that were the only way to look at it. It is interesting to speculate on what would happen to us in this war if every American who could make more staying home than he can in the Army or the Navy abroad or at sea, should decide to go home and make as many dollars as he could while the making is good. It is truly remarkable how the dollar sign blinds some people to the consequences.
Now that September is here, the weather seems a little better. I can’t say the heat, especially at midday, seems any less, but there is more of a breeze throughout the day which makes things more bearable. I hope this lasts, as it should have a very definite effect on how much we get done hereafter.
Meanwhile, I’ve had a new and larger air conditioning unit put in my room, a 11/2 horsepower Carrier, which really does things to the temperature. For the first time since I’ve been here, the temperature in my room was knocked below 80º. Last night (according to my new thermometer) it was forced down to 76º. The result was that I had to wrap my sheet tightly around me while I slept, and began to give serious thought to wondering where in (I’ll just say “hell” at this point, for fear the censor would cut out the other name of this spot), I could get myself a blanket.
So tonight I’ve had to compromise by setting the thermostat to keep the temperature up around 82º, at which point I can sleep under a sheet only without feeling too cold. All this seems unbelievable to me, who has never seen the temperature in my room with the previous air-conditioners ever get below 86º, and with the average hovering around 90º (which used to feel relatively quite cool to me after a day outside). I never should have thought I’d be driven to making my room any warmer than the coldest temperature I could get it down to. But now it has happened. I can get too cold for comfort at least.
With love, Ned
PS I shall refer to the check enclosed in this letter in several letters to follow, and have called attention to its coming in several letters before.
Letter #51
Sept. 7, 1942
As usual
Lucy dearest:
Your letter #79 of Aug. 21 reached here today. The latest number I have before received (but it came a week before many earlier numbers) was #71 of Aug. 10. Your #79 came via APO as did #71. I have an idea that service is uniformly the fastest. I would suggest you send no letters at all via JDP unless they notify you they have somebody coming over, and even then on past experience it is dubious they will beat APO. As for the home office, I am quite sure APO beats it regularly on delivery. Nothing has been cut out of any of your APO letters for months (this does not apply to the clippings enclosed, however, but that is quite a minor matter compared with quick delivery).
You will note a gap of eight numbers between #71 and 79. I believe these were probably sent via JDP or home office. Is this so?
I sent Mary a birthday letter from Khartoum on Aug. 3 which was supposed to have received the fastest of all possible air services. To date I have seen no mention of it, either from you or Mary. (Mary’s last letter received was Aug. 12). Has it arrived at all, and if so when? These special services for delivery may be merely illusions.
Yesterday I received at last “The Moon is Down,” the April 13 copy of Life, and the April Reader’s Digest, all all the way by water (and slow freighter) as indicated by the censor’s stamps, nearly five months on the way.
I’m glad to note you are sticking to oil heat, even if you have to be careful of the quantity used. I may say that if the humidity is kept up, less heat is necessary for comfort. See that the humidifier in my study is kept working (in the winter time) even if a plumber is occasionally required to clean the scale off the joints so it works freely. You will find that bobbling the float up and down every few days with a ruler is a great help in keeping it from sticking and failing to feed. Also it will pay you to keep the humidifier pan in the living room radiator (the big one) filled up, with perhaps some pans of water on top the other radiators. Don’t bother with trying to fill up the hanging pans behind the radiators. They are so nearly worthless as not to warrant the extreme difficulty necessary to get water into them.
Later. Sept. 9, 1942
Three letters from you arrived today - #72, 73, and 74, all via the home office, confirming the surmise I had about APO now being quickest. #74 via home office arrived two days after #79 sent via APO, though written a week before it.
The missing letters are still #31, 45, and 70, plus 75, 76, 77, and 78.
Thanks for the Aug. 9 News of the Week, with my picture. Not odd at all that issue came through without a single deletion, as compared with the one I sent back to you which was all cut to pieces. It (the Aug. 9 issue) came out via home office, which accounts for its completeness. Perhaps others should be sent the same way for the same reason. Don’t waste airmail stamps on your letters however. They get nothing whatever in manner or speed of delivery, no matter how your mail is addressed to me.
I am somewhat irritated by Mike’s lack of common sense and finesse, as exhibited by what he writes to Mary. I certainly agree with you it doesn’t show a desirable temperament, and I’m rather sure that trait would grow more aggravating on closer contact, rather than less. But for the present, I have nothing to say to Mary. I believe she’ll see the point herself, soon.
By the way, I note the Aug. 17 issue of Time gave me a little space, plus a good picture and for once, an undistorted relation of something I’d done. Shades of Ralph Ingersoll, what’s come over it?
I note all the checks sent up to recently, you have received. In addition to those already acknowledged, I’ve sent you in letter #48 of Aug. 13 a check for $186, and in #57 of Sept. 4, another check for $126.
In case some previous letters are delayed, I’ve received the initial package via JDP of shorts and shirts. I don’t need any white shorts or white socks any more; I got some in Egypt. The case of last May arrived over a week ago with the coffee percolator and the other things. The silver eagles have arrived. “The Moon is Down” finally arrived a couple of days ago. (I see that’s mentioned on the 1stpage of this letter). All other packages not previously acknowledged are still to come.
I’m very busy now. I have two salvage jobs well under way, and hope to get two more going tomorrow. In addition we have a man-o-war up on our dock plus all the usual international labor relations in my lap. I may soon get a couple of hundred limey mechanics (provided Rommel doesn’t fall back or get pushed back far enough to quit threatening the nearest naval base to him now). And even seven British naval officers for assistants. I’ll have a grand time running an American naval base with everything but Americans. However, so long as I’m in command, it’ll be an American naval base, even if I’m the only American here. The British know that and don’t mind – my reputation with their C in C is ace high. However, the JDP high command (high up in the hills, I mean) don’t like it or me a little bit. Apparently I interfere with the even tenor of life up there by insisting that they do some of the things they’re being paid plenty to do, and do them in time. I think I’m a disturbing element in their lives, and it would give them great pleasure to put the skids under me. They have already tried to put over one stunt to relieve me of my salvage command while I was away in Egypt, but when I got back, I was able to squelch that one very thoroughly. Funny business for a gang of civilians to be engaged in in wartime. This is really an exciting life with palace intrigues going on behind my back and a lot of scuttled ships and damaged warships urgently needing repairs staring me in the face. If I come through all this with a whole official skin, I’ll have to be good.
With love, Ned
Letter #52
September 15, 1942
As usual
Lucy darling:
At 3:30 AM this morning we duplicated our success of last May with the large Italian drydock, by lifting the second and smaller of the two docks which were scuttled here when this place was taken. This task took sixteen days, mainly because I could assign only two divers and a small working force to the job.
The damages were about the same as to the large dock – five compartments out of six in this dock were blasted open by bombs. We’ll probably soon find the sixth unexploded bomb in the undamaged hold.
This dock, like its larger brother, was given up officially by our British friends as being hopeless from the salvage angle.
We had our first tragedy in salvage yesterday in the lifting of this dock. Two days ago (Sunday) we floated up one side of the dock, with the other side still on the bottom, and the dock, of course, heavily listed to the submerged side. Under these conditions, I had several British and American mechanics working inside a compartment on the high side, repairing some leaks in the hold. About four o’clock yesterday afternoon, the submerged side of the dock started to float up, but it came up unevenly, with the result that the unbalance tilted the floating side till the water poured over the deck, flooded down the hatches, and in no time at all the whole dock sank down again, disappearing completely. Apparently everyone got clear, till a hasty check showed three mechanics missing. At that time, the deck of the compartment they had been working in was nine feet underwater, with water pouring down the open hatch and some air blowing out it at the same time as the compartment flooded.
There being no diver dressed at the time, nor any time to dress one till it was too late to do the trapped men any good, I jumped overboard and managed to get down to the hatch through which the water was rushing. I couldn’t see anything, but I could feel two men jammed there in the small hatch with the inrushing water pressing the door closed on them. By then they were both limp and unconscious.
I succeeded in getting one arm of one of the men and by bracing myself against the barnacle crusted hatch, dragged him out against the current and came up with him, where he was hauled out.
In a similar manner, I got down again and dragged out the second man and brought him up, thus clearing the door.
On my third time down, I found inside the hatch the third mechanic, still conscious and trying to fight his way out and up, now that the exit was no longer blocked by his two companions. I got hold of him and pulled him through also, and came up with him.
When I got up the last time, the first two men were stretched out in boats, being worked over for resuscitation from drowning, both limp as rags. The third man didn’t need it. The boats were rushed ashore with all three, however, still being given first aid, while I stayed with the sunken dock.
In less than an hour, the second man up was revived and he is now in the hospital recuperating, along with number three. But the first man I dragged up, in spite of being worked on for seven hours, never revived. He showed a faint heartbeat, throughout that period, but at 11 PM that finally ceased. A post-mortem showed, however, that he had not drowned. Unfortunately, on him, the first to reach the hatch, the door had swung shut as he was trying to get through and the swinging door, impelled by a heavy torrent of water pouring down, had caught him across the chest, crushing it partly, knocking him unconscious, and leaving him jammed in the hatchway, blocking the only exit for the men behind him.
I came out of it all right, save for a lot of deep barnacle cuts all up and down my left thigh and leg where apparently, I braced myself while heaving on the unconscious men. Aside from that, I had most of my shirt torn off my back by men dragging me up each time I came up with somebody. My cuts were all treated shortly on the job, and today they seem to be healing nicely, with no infections.
We turned to again immediately (once the injured men were gone ashore) on our now twice sunken dock. By about 10 PM, we had refloated the side which had once been afloat, and as I said above by 3:30 AM we managed to get the other side to lift so that the whole dock came safely up.
Later, Sept. 18
I had intended to add something further a few days ago to this letter, but I’ve had no time before.
The two men who survived are now perfectly all right. Armstrong, the one who died, was, thank God, not married.
By now we have the stern of our dock fully afloat and the bow fairly high, but it will take several more days to bring the bow up to a more normal waterline.
I’ve been quite busy between that dock, three other salvage jobs we are working on besides, and our regular work. Early tomorrow we are docking our third man-o-war, thus justifying our existence here.
I have received recently the following letters – 72, 73, 74, 75, 80, 83, and 84. (I may have previously reported some of these). Those still missing are 31, 45, 70, 76, 77, 78, 81 and 82.
With love, Ned (over)
PS I received a batch of 7 issues of Life all together a couple of days ago.
Letter #53
Sept. 20, 1942
In the air
Lucy dearest:
I took off this morning in an army plane from up in the hills, bound for another conference (same place as last one) over some details of the contracts and the living arrangements for the new working force to be transferred to my station. It seems certain now that I am to get several hundred men, seven British naval officers, and a clerical staff to help me out. How we need them!
So now we’re flying with the mountains to the left and the shores of the Red Sea just visible to the right. It’s even a little chilly in the plane, though I well know what it’s like down on the hot sands below us.
We’ve had a hectic past week. As I’ve told you in the letter before this one (which will however take a different route from this, which goes out via Cairo) we’ve raised the second drydock that the Italians scuttled in our harbor. It was just as badly blasted by bombs, and being sunk in deeper water, was a harder job to work on and to lift. Besides all which, I could only put on it less than half the divers and salvage men I used on the first one. So this job (on a dock that also according to the British couldn’t be salvaged) took us sixteen days to get afloat, instead of the nine days we spent on its larger sister.
As I outlined more fully in my letter before, we had our first salvage tragedy on that dock. While it was in a partly afloat condition, the remaining part came up wrong end first, with the result that the balance of the part afloat was destroyed and the whole dock almost immediately sank to the bottom again, taking with it three men who were trapped by the inrushing water in one of the compartments inside the dock.
Since something had to be done in a hurry to save them, I went overboard, uniform and all, and managed to get down to the submerged hatch over that compartment, where I found two unconscious men jammed in the hatch. One at a time I dragged them free and up, and on a final descent I dragged the third man up, still conscious. But one of the first two up we were never able to revive even after seven continuous hours of artificial respiration and he died, to my great distress.
As regards the dock itself, about four hours after the accident, we had refloated the first part, and by 3:30 AM, we succeeded in getting the whole dock off the bottom and afloat. Right now we’re engaged in patching leaks and getting it higher out of the water.
You might tell Howard Lewis that I now know that that Movado waterproof watch Dodd Mead gave me, is really waterproof. It went overboard with me three times in rapid succession in a fair depth of water (nine feet) and stayed under each time while I groped around in that submerged hatch. Yet it is still running perfectly now with nothing since done to it, and no sign of any distress.
I didn’t come out of it quite as scatheless as my watch. I had half my shirt torn off my back by people in boats grabbing me each time I came up with somebody, lost one shoulder mark, and had my left thigh and leg fairly well gashed by the barnacles on the hatch while I braced myself against it to drag the men out. The shirt is a total loss, a pair of shoulder marks is ruined, but I’m glad to say that not a single gash (all treated soon afterward with mercurochrome and later with iodine) showed the least sign of any infection, and all are healing beautifully, so that I wasn’t forced to leave work even for a minute.
Aside from the remaining work on this second dock, I have three salvage ships working now on three other wrecks, so that we are finally getting along with our work on a fair scale. Whether Whiteside’s ship (I don’t think Whiteside’s with it any more) arrives before December, I much doubt. In about another month, I can judge better what our rate of progress will be.
I received two more letters from you yesterday, #76 and 77, both via Washington and about a month en route. APO seems definitely faster.
My missing list is now 31, 45, 70 (I think), 78, 81, and 82. The highest number yet received is #84 which reached here Sept.12, via APO, 15 days on the way.
I believe #31, which by one of your letters was stated to have been sent via J.D.& P., has definitely been lost. I guess it went astray in the hands of whoever was carrying it. There is still a little hope for 45, and the others (more recent) should soon be along.
And now we are coming down for a landing in Cairo after a very smooth 7 hour flight. I hope I do not have to stay here more than a couple of days. We have a cruiser on our dock which I’m trying to rush out, and that on top of all else makes absence just now undesirable.
With love, Ned
PS I am enclosing a Navy Treasury check for $130.
PPS I love you lots.
Letter #54
Sept. 23, 1942
Lucy darling:
I’m still at headquarters, though I hope to get away to return to my station early tomorrow.
I came on here by air for a conference, the main object being to persuade the general to let us act as our own contractors in connection with the new English working force we are to get, and not force us to accept JDP as their employing contractors, thus forcing JDP on us permanently. I’m glad to say the general acceded, though previously he had taken the opposite view so my mission on this visit was successful. At least with our new employees, I’m not going to have to struggle with JDP as to who is running the job. And it may be an entering wedge to straighten the situation out elsewhere in our work.
But unfortunately with all that finished in a few hours on Monday, I’m still marooned here (Wednesday) in Cairo. I was supposed to have left yesterday by air to return, but the plane got in late and didn’t take off. Today I was supposed to leave this morning in another plane, but it developed spark plug trouble on the ground in one engine, so its flight was put off till the engine could be overhauled, which is promised for early tomorrow.
Meanwhile I’m anchored here with two days lost I could badly need on my station, and there’s nothing I can do here. The museums are closed, I’ve seen the pyramids sufficiently for the present, and I can’t wander off very far, waiting near a telephone for plane news. So that’s that.
We had an air raid alarm last night. Plenty of searchlights searched the skies, but there were no bombs, no AA fire, and no nothing. All clear sounded after about an hour.
I sent you a Treasury check for $130 in letter #60 (Ed: #53 above) of Sept. 20. That letter is, I’m told, going out in the navy mailbag from here, but I’m afraid it won’t get started till Sept. 26.
I checked up on the pay I’m entitled to as a captain out here under the new pay bill, and it seems to be as follows:
Monthly
Pay $466.67
Quarters allowance 120
Subsistence allowance 42
Foreign service pay 33.33
Total, $662 per month or $7944 per year
Out of the above, I’m sending you a present allotment of $590, and the insurance allotments equal $40 more, leaving about $32 here on the books monthly. I had intended to make your allotment $600 or $620 when the news of the pay bill became effective here (which it now is) but on further thought, I felt I’d better leave the $32 per month here in case I needed it.
In addition to all the above from the Navy, I’m in receipt of a $6 per diem allowance from the Army while on this job, which comes to $180 a month; $2190 per year. So that the total of all my Navy and Army pay and allowances is at the rate of $842 a month or $10134 a year.
Out of this, I need here at the present time about $40 a month for a mess bill, and perhaps $30 a month for incidentals and clothes. (I don’t wear much clothes, and you’ve furnished most of them).
I’ll send you the rest, aside from the allotment, more or less regularly monthly, being about $140 a month.
You want to know what I’d like as a Christmas present? I’d appreciate a dozen real silk undershirts and half a dozen drawers, to be sent (to the extent of half a dozen undershirts only) one or two at a time in first class letters, via APO (no air mail stamps). I’ll get those by Christmas. The rest can be sent in a package which I think I’ll get by Easter.
Other than that, I don’t think there’s anything I need for a Christmas present, except the end of the war.
Occasionally I do want to do something in the way of a gift to someone out here, and what they always say they’d like is one of my books. Consequently, that I may do a little Xmas giving on my own (even out of season) would you please have Dodd, Mead ship me two copies each of On the Bottom, Hell on Ice, and Captain Paul.
Sept. 24, Thursday
We’re in the air again and making good progress south. We got off at 6:30 AM, this time with no delays, and now (about 10:30 AM) we’re going down the Red Sea coast. As I think I’ve said before, the water of the Red Sea is unbelievably blue, and the delicate shades it passes through from deep to light on the fringes of the coral reefs, would put a butterfly’s wing to shame. Every blue you ever dreamt of shades off one into another, iridescent, gorgeous, and shimmering like a halo about the shores of the Red Sea, and then for good measure over shallow patches of water inshore the reefs, the same symphony of color is played on green till the colors fairly intoxicate you. The poets just wasted their time rhapsodizing over the Mediterranean. For a real show, they should have come here and they would have had good reason to have warmed up to their subject in more ways than one.
I have been receiving the News of the Week in Review in about three weeks via APO and in from three to four via home office. I would advise your sending it by regular mail (no air mail stamps, they’re useless in expediting) via home office as it comes that way intact which is not the case the other way.
I’m sorry to hear that Mrs. de Hoven has failed so much, but at her age, I’m afraid it must be expected now. In case you should see her in New York, or write her, please tell her of my continued admiration for her work and that not seeing her again this summer was one of my regrets at being away.
By the way, would you please send me the complete financial page from the Times, preferably a Sunday or Monday edition. Send that via home office. I’d like to get an idea of what’s happened, not having seen one since last February.
About converting your furnace from oil to coal, don’t do it, and don’t let any one persuade you to. In case of a real pinch on oil, go to whoever is oil administrator for our district and suggest to him I think you’re entitled to a reasonable share with regard to anyone else, and that if there must be conversions, he let you alone and start on the homes where there are still husbands at home to tend furnaces and shovel ashes. That will be little enough to require of them as their share of the war effort.
I thought that “A Ballade to the Weather Man” which you sent me showed the right idea on the part of the balladeer – he wasn’t going to complain at home so long as others at war were far worse off.
Give Monie my regards and my best wishes for Mal. I have been pondering why it is that of all those of our age more or less, Mal and I seem to have been the only two who felt the call of duty strongly enough to have been willing to leave our homes and our families to help out, instead of staying right where we were to help by doing “important war work.” Perhaps it was because we were the two most pugnacious characters in town, as our association on the school board showed us and everybody else, but I think that can be only a small part of the reasons. At any rate my regard for Mal (always high, even as an antagonist) has jumped a lot and I’d like to have him know it. Tell Monie to tell Mal for me, that now we’ve both got our shoulders behind the wheel pushing in the same direction. Mr. Hitler may as well start looking around for a safe neutral country into which to flee.
Talking about changing the insurance on the station wagon to plain fire and theft since it is stored, the same should be done about the insurance for the Argo – retroactively for this past summer, if it has not already been done. Lawrence Robinson handled that insurance, and since the boat was not put in the water, the policy cost, starting July 1, should have been much less when the policy was renewed July 1.
12:30 PM
We’ve now left the seacoast and are flying inland over the mountains headed for the Eritrean capital. The air is much bumpier now.
As regards prickly heat and ointments therefore, I’m all over prickly heat now for this year at least, so I don’t need any ointments. I doubt that any ointment does any good out here, but I’ll save them (when they come, none have yet) for contingencies. I believe air-conditioning is the only help. The doctors here state every standard remedy has been tried out here but they’ve all fizzled in the face of continuous sweat and all night heat.
I note that in sending it, it went in a package to JDP. May I say that on the whole, their mail service is poor, though they may do something with small packages by giving them to someone flying out. But on the whole, if you have anything small enough to send that could go in a first class letter or small package with first class postage (not air mail stamps) it’s best to send it that way via APO and give JDP the go by.
Howard Lewis’s suggestion about deferring other royalties looks sensible to me. If you have not already decided to do so, I think there is still time for you to get in touch with him and have the fall royalties deferred (unless you badly need the money this fall, which I should doubt).
And now, (1:30 PM) we are nearing our destination. We’re over the airport and in a few minutes we’ll be down.
With much love, my darling, Ned
February 26, 1942
At Sea
Darling:
We have been getting along since I saw you, but rather slowly. The vessel wasn’t really ready so far as lifeboats were concerned, so we spent a few days before departure getting lifeboats in order, and training our passengers and crew on how to lower and handle them in a heavy sea. We are good at boat drill now.
When we did leave, it was only to steam a day or so for another stop to calibrate our degaussing system against magnetic mines.
Finally we sailed out through the same capes that 31 years ago I passed through on my youngster cruise.
Up to then we had very cold weather but moderate sea. Within a day we were in warmer water and well out on the deep sea, as I had persuaded our skipper the major dangers lay along the coast. We saw few ships (none at all after our first day out) and are I think well out of all sub zones for the present. We heard several radio reports of ships being sunk off Florida, and attacks on Aruba and Trinidad. I kept the ship clear of the coast, and I’m sure we’ll be directed well clear of all tropical dangers.
We should shortly make port (a safe one) to refuel and get our orders for our next leg.
We had a very bad storm for two days. The ship behaved well, but many of our passengers went under. I was fortunate enough not to miss a meal, which my sailing of last summer may have contributed to.
So far our closest contact with subs was a radio message early in the morning the day after we left the coast, stating the ship sending was being chased by a sub about 50 miles from us. As we heard nothing further, we presume she got away.
The vessel is not unduly crowded. She has about 25% above normal passengers aboard. The food I can only say is plain but wholesome. I think the chief steward is a washout on menus, and presumably on his record could get a job at Hollins (Ed: Hollins College in VA where Mary Ellsberg graduated).
I have been doing some navigating the last few days. As we should make a landfall in a few hours, I’ll have some proof of my navigation. I’m imitating my young hero in “Captain Paul,” as I should shortly be looking at the selfsame castle where Captain Paul brought him in the “Santissima Trinidad” to give up his command as a pirate skipper, and from which they sailed away in the “Two Friends.” (Ed: This refers to John Paul Jones).
There are a lot of censorship rules about dates, places, ship’s names, and routes, as a result of which not so much may be mentioned. My letters are not censored aboard, but I am bound to follow the rules.
I have been well, and busy with boat drills, instructing passengers in handling boats. I have also been brushing up on my nav, and studying the diving manual.
Judging from our progress so far, I believe our voyage to our ultimate port will take the longer time I once outlined to you, rather than the shorter. I believe we will step along now with stops only for refueling, but even so our route may be circuitous.
I see I am second in rank aboard, the general you may have noted in port being my only senior. The field officers (that is, majors and above) dine together, so I’m at his table.
The weather has warmed so much, I’ve been wearing khaki for three days now, and since we are now in the tropics, I anticipate even less will feel pleasant before long.
A little later.
Well, we picked up our landfall. On my position, the ship was nearer to her true position than by any of the ship’s officers’ positions. So it seems that though I have not navigated since 1916, I can still do a fair job. (Ed: Ellsberg was #1 in his class in navigation). In fact, I feel about as elated as Tom Folger was when he came in and picked up (under Captain Paul’s tutelage) this very same place.
We are proceeding in now, and will be permitted ashore until late tonight. This should go off from here (by airmail if there is any).
Still a little later.
We are now making fast to the dock. As the post office will shortly close and I have to get stamps ashore, I’ll have to finish this. If I can, I’ll write again from here before we love. (I meant to say leave, but I see I had something else subconsciously on my mind).
With much love my dear, Ned
Letter #2
February 27, 1942
In port
Darling:
This is letter #2. #1 went off by air mail this afternoon and this will go by regular mail the same night.
I’ve been ashore. This town reminds me very much of Las Palmas in general appearance, except everyone here seems to be selling lottery tickets.
It’s beautifully warm and sticky. Wearing only a khaki shirt, I came in after a few hours ashore with it thoroughly soaked.
If we stay here tomorrow, I may go ashore again, but I think I’ve seen nearly enough in one visit.
I learned a few items since leaving. One was that the Comptroller General decided that uniform allowance ($100) was payable to officers in my status, even if it was wartime. If you don’t get it by the time you get this letter, I would suggest you write the Bu. of S&A (I think their letter was left on my desk), referring to that letter and asking when payment will be made.
A second item was that Congress had raised the pay of officers in the military service on foreign service, 10%. I presume this includes the Navy. I’ll find out when I get to my destination. As usual, I suppose the increase (if any) will be in pay only, not in allowances, and may mean about $500 a year (maybe).
I wrote Mary this afternoon, but somewhat more briefly. You might pass along most of the news, such as it is, to her.
I doubt that our stay here will be long, as we are fueling tonight. What our next destination is, I suppose we’ll learn only after we sail. I can only say our itinerary has been changed from the original one. I presume our next leg will be a long tropical hop.
I sent you a brief cable from ashore an hour ago. After reading the censorship rules about what I couldn’t include, that was, I found nearly all I could say – “Well and busy.” I am well and busy and very much in love with you, my dear.
Ned
P.S. I see no harm now in advising the Westfield Leader somewhat as follows:
“Commander Edward Ellsberg, U.S.N.R. (be sure they include the “R”)
who was promoted again to his former rank of Commander shortly after reenrolling (for Heaven’s sake, see they don’t say “reenlisting”) in the
Navy for active service, has now gone overseas for duty.”
It is not necessary for them to know or to state where, and I think some such statement will help to clarify matters among our acquaintances and friends in Westfield.
Letter # 3
April 10, 1942 (post marked)
March 5, 1942 (written)
Still en route
Lucy darling:
We have been a week at sea today since leaving our last port. On the whole the weather has been surprising. We started practically at the edge of the tropics and tomorrow morning we will cross the Equator, but it has been pleasantly temperate at sea, with no hot days. And that in spite of the fact that the sun is higher overhead than it ever gets in Westfield in mid-summer. It must be the tradewinds, which blow steadily here, are tempering our climate. At any rate, instead of baking at sea, we are having really remarkable weather, with beautifully deep blue water and some really heavenly evenings under the stars and the moon that make it a crying shame to spend alone. No question, for those who are good sailors, this trip would make the ideal honeymoon. (And I think we are both good sailors).
I regret to say that I’d hardly recommend the ship itself for the voyage, and still less, her officers and crew. I think this voyage all around is the damnedest I have ever been on.
Part of the trouble lies in the fact the vessel is not operated by the Navy nor by the government – she is simply a merchantman on which the government has bought all the passenger space and furnished the passengers. Consequently she is manned and operated by her owners, the Agwi Co. (the Atlantic, Gulf, and West Indies Co.), and so far as I can judge, they are doing a first class job of gypping the government, and the passengers.
The service is terrible and the menu reminds one of what might seem appropriate to a gang of laborers building a railroad in winter – frankfurters and cabbage, corned beef & cabbage, beef stew, baked ham – more or less in rotation twice a day with soggy potatoes, thoroughly awash spinach, and lots of carrots. And this in the tropics!
Frankly I don’t eat much of it and get along nicely, but it is a damned waste of the government’s money and an imposition on the passengers.
There have been complaints galore, and the Chief Steward is (under Army advice) going now to try to devise a more sensible menu, though he is much handicapped by the lack of variety in the provisions given him in New York.
Aside from the above, the crew appears surly, inefficient, and unwilling to work. This, the ship's officers assert, is a result of the C.I.O. union which controls the crew. It is certainly obvious that the ship’s officers do not control the crew. As a result the dining room service resembles a lumber camp, and the decks never get cleaned. The latter got so bad, the passengers are washing down decks themselves. The crew apparently claims they can’t do it in their regular 8 hour day, and want overtime if they tackle the job.
Taking it all in all, I should say this voyage between Agwi officials, ship’s officers, and crew present the American merchant marine in a very sad light.
Fortunately, we have an unusual passenger list aboard, perfectly capable of doing everything from navigating the ship to washing the dishes and quite ready to take over and run the ship if necessary. As a fact, since the vessel is on a military mission in wartime, the ship’s officers have been warned that if necessary exactly thatwill be done.
Friday, March 6
We have seen very little traffic since the start of this leg of our voyage, not over three ships in seven days, and we sheered away from all of them. Yesterday afternoon, however, when a little north of the Equator, we sighted two warships on the westerly horizon and they both started for us. Considering our location, I never had any particular doubts as to their nationality. In about thirty minutes they both overhauled us and signaled us to stop for identification. The destroyer (one of our large destroyer leaders) came fairly close alongside covering us with all her guns, while the cruisers (one of our light cruiser class) lay about a mile off, similarly aiming at us.
We passed inspection, of course, so the destroyer signaled us to proceed, with a parting “Good luck.”
At 4 AM this morning, we crossed the Equator. Consequently, at 10 AM, we had the traditional ceremony of initiation into Neptune’s kingdom of all those who had not previously crossed, (including me).
Neptune’s Court was quite something, with Amphitrik’s breasts (made of two large glass balls, green to starboard and red to port) giving her quite a startling feminine appearance. The neophytes were shaved with a wooden razor, lathered with God knows what, and washed clean of all earthly taints in lots of salt water. Quite an effective ceremony. So now I’m a shellback.
About all I have to do to complete my marine education is to round the Horn. We had a heavy tropical rain this afternoon.
Saturday, March 7
Another gorgeous day at sea – marvelous blue water, balmy breezes and a clear sky. At noon the sun was practically vertically overhead but it has not been hot.
The Southern Cross is now fairly well above the horizon at night and we have sunk the North Star. However, the Southern Cross has not much to commend it for beauty, being neither very brilliant nor a very good cross.
Sunday, March 8
We are heading now for our port at the end of our second leg (and longest one). 2700 miles since leaving our last port. This next port is in the country Isabel Rockwell recently graced with her presence, but much north of where she stayed. (all the above to avoid mentioning the name of the port, which probably, will be nevertheless postmarked on this envelope (Ed: it was not). It is the port which originally we were scheduled to make in this country, and our last before we shove off for our final seaport.
Today is again a marvelous day, with a slight sea only, a clearcut horizon, and everything blue overhead as well as round about in the water.
If we get in early enough, this letter should be posted this evening. We should make port about 6 PM, and may possibly get ashore tonight. About one day, I judge, will be our stop.
For the present, that is all about what is happening to me. I wonder how everything is going at home and how you are. I trust since my departure you have been able to rest somewhat and settle down into a less nerve-racking state than when I was scheduled to shove off every other day.
It is too bad we were not better advised as to our itinerary, for then I might have had an airmail letter waiting me in our pending port. As it is, I suppose I have to wait till I get where we left the sheiks awaiting our return.
Later Sunday
We are now off the port.
Much love, Ned
Letter #4
March 10, 1942
Sweetheart:
Dropping all pretense since I now know that all mail going out of here is postmarked, we are in Pernambuco.
We arrived late Sunday afternoon but did not actually get alongside a dock and disembark until Monday.
I found Pernambuco a far pleasanter place than our last port – much cleaner, far more modern, and, oddly enough, cooler.
We arrived here on what we were told were the hottest days of their summer, but found the place reasonably comfortable.
The usual South American architecture is here, with most of the buildings stucco or cement in pastel shades. There is nothing startling in Pernambuco in the way of historical places and the major cathedral seems unusually gingerbready inside.
They do have some modern hotels and various good restaurants, in which it was a relief to go for a change from the idiotic menu of this ship.
We had two days here really – Monday and Tuesday. We should have fueled Monday and been on our way then, but like everything connected with this blundering cruise, it appears the owners had made no definite arrangements to fuel her here, so the day was lost while various cables fled back and forth to the U.S. about the oil. Today that was arranged and we finished oiling the early part of the afternoon and might have sailed this evening if our skipper in a childish fit had not decided to hold the ship till morning. He has the most irrational fears, and I’ll be well pleased to see the last of him, his inefficient crew, his owners, and his Alice in Wonderland method of trying to run a ship – all of which should have come to pass before you receive this letter.
We should be about eight days on our next leg.
With much love, Ned
P.S. I mailed you a small souvenir from here today. E.E.
Letter #5
March 17, 1942
Lucy dearest:
We are about 2/3 of the way along on the last leg of our sea voyage – by Friday night we should make our African port. From our first day out on this leg, we have been running eastward just 21/2 degrees south of the Equator. For practically six days the Equator has been right on our port beam with our bow due east and the weather has been really remarkable – blue skies, blue water, flying fish, a phosphorescent wake at night, burning stars – and no moon.
This last is especially appreciated, as frankly I feel much better when we can run at night totally blacked out and unilluminated by moonlight. This is the general area where the Zamzam and the Robin Moor were sunk by raiders last year, and it’s just as well not to be visible at night at all. As for U-boats, this appears to be an unlikely spot for their activities, as I imagine they are unlikely to get so far away from Dakar where probably they refuel.
We still keep an active watch day and night at the guns – if we ever sight anything hostile we should be able to put up quite a scrap, though against torpedoes, guns aren’t worth much as the U-boats fire nowadays while submerged.
It is amazing how out of the world we are while at sea on this ship. We never get any radio news reports, for the ship’s radio set is kept constantly on the emergency SOS receiving wavelength and consequently is never tuned in on any long or short wave broadcasts. The use of all other radio receiving sets (portables) is strictly prohibited, as such sets themselves send out electrical waves while receiving, which a U-boat can pick up with a direction finder.
So we run along at about the speed of the old time sailing ships (11.5 knots) and know just as little about what is happening.
The friction between passengers and captain on this ship has increased if anything. I doubt whether the skipper of this ship has ever been on the deep sea before – he has spent the last 16 years anyway in the Merchants and Miners Line running up and down the coast between Miami, Baltimore, and Boston, where the second mate assures me, no one ever took a sight to his knowledge for seven years, and he didn’t even have a sextant.
Thursday, March 19
We have been heading northeast since yesterday afternoon, pointed at last for our last port. Judging from our position at noon today, we should make it by late afternoon tomorrow, as we are only 346 miles away.
We are now inside the Gulf of Guinea, which once was the center of the slave trade. The weather has warmed up, being now about 90°, and as the breeze is practically astern, we are getting little relative wind and the heat is more noticeable. However, it is still reasonably comfortable in the shade. That we have made such a long voyage in the tropics and been really cool until today is sufficient cause for thanks even if it now gets hot.
The skipper for some reason has become afraid of air attack, now that we are closer in, and requested of General Scott that the military lookout be doubled during the night. I volunteered and consequently stood a watch from midnight till dawn atop the pilothouse, but sighted nothing at all except a lovely array of stars which of themselves repaid the effort and the loss of sleep.
We are now getting concerned as to what will be the transportation situation out of port and overland to Cairo. Supposedly planes should take us out and according to our information in New York, I should shortly get out by plane. I certainly hope so, for I imagine we will find this port a damned hot place – just north of the Equator with the sun just getting into north declination and consequently starting summer there day after tomorrow by being practically overhead every day.
It seems a little unbelievable but we will have traveled about 6900 miles by a somewhat circuitous route when we arrive tomorrow – thirty-two days on the sea. And there is about 3000 miles more to go by air before arriving at Cairo and another thousand to Massawa.
Friday, March 20
In port at last!
We made a beautiful landfall at 2 PM today, coming in from the deep sea to hit the entrance to the harbor squarely on the nose. I got up at 3:30 this morning and got some star sights to fix our position exactly while still 129 miles at sea, and from that position (as palmed off on the Captain by the third mate) we changed course so that we hit this entrance exactly.
The African coast here has a beautiful stretch of beach and so far looks very inviting, with palm trees, lovely homes, a yacht club, and what other appurtenances of English colonial life you’ve read about.
We steamed some miles up the river to the port itself, arriving off our berth at 3 PM. The tugs are now engaged in pushing us alongside.
As a grim reminder of what’s going on, just at the harbor entrance were the two masts of a ship protruding from the water – just the tips of her two masts with some shrouds showing and nothing else. She struck a mine and was sunk there at the very end of her voyage.
Too bad I haven’t one of my salvage ships here. We could go right to work on her.
I suppose by tonight I may have some information about my departure for Cairo. I’ll write about that as soon as I learn.
With much love, my darling, Ned
Letter #6
March 21, 1942
Lucy darling:
We arrived safely at our last seaport Friday. To my surprise, efficient arrangements were made here on our arrival and I am going out this (Saturday) morning on the first plane to the city where Mary was invited to come back for her honeymoon. I should be there by Monday night (March -–censored).
I don’t know how long I’ll be there before moving on to my ultimate station.
I arrived here after the cable office closed last night. I’m leaving direct from the ship without a chance to make the one hour trip to the cable office this morning. I’m trying to make arrangements with another officer to send one for me, for I haven’t much hope of actual accomplishment. So if you don’t get a cable, you’ll know at least every effort was made to send one. And the same may apply to future cases. Don’t worry.
With love, Ned
P.S. We are now about to shove off.
Saturday morning.
Letter #7
March 22, 1942
Sunday
En route by air
Lucy darling:
We got away by air yesterday morning (Saturday) from our disembarkation port. I went off in the first plane with General …….. and the ranking Army officers.
I may say I left the S.S.--------- with no regrets. That we got in safely was with no thanks to her skipper, who, thank God, says he is going to retire after this trip. He should never have left his coasting and gone to sea. (Pardon the blot – we have just finished climbing a few thousand feet over the desert, and it has affected my pen.)
We were cleared coming into port by the British seamen in the port, who seemed glad to see us, and as we passed the Governor’s mansion, the guard was turned out in our honor – four bare-footed blacks who stood most rigidly at “Present Arms.”
I saw very little of the port itself – getting ashore only after dark for the first decent meal in a month at the Hotel Grande (there’s one in every foreign city). Our last night on the ship was hot and humid. It was a pleasure to leave.
We took off by plane – all of us officers except one passenger, a Hindoo whom we picked up there in the port. He had just come by air via clipper from the ……., and we learned to our astonishment that this Hindoo, who was a dead ringer in appearance, age, and manner, for Mahatma Gandhi, had been with one of our lieutenants aboard a clipper bound west (the Hindoo for India) when they pulled into Hawaii the day the bombs fell, and the clipper ended its voyage then and there while the Hindoo wept. Apparently he was now going home the other way round the world, and as he hardly weighed 80 lbs. complete, they took him aboard our plane as involving practically no extra weight. Like the late lamented Chamberlain, he traveled firmly attached to an umbrella (though it’s drier than Hades around here) and a cane.
The plane, which had been stranding in the sun over an hour before we boarded it, was hotter than an oven inside, and before we took off, we were all wringing wet with perspiration. The pilot promptly went up to 9000 feet, at which elevation, it was cold enough so my shipmates started putting on their overcoats. I first stripped down to nothing and changed even my undershirt (which I hung up to dry) before I followed suit.
We moved along……and when we stopped for lunch it was …. miles inside the coast, at, what surprised me, was a town of perhaps a million people with all the domiciles huge apartment houses built of mud and resembling very much the Indian pueblos of the Southwest. And never have I seen the blacks so utterly black – so much so in fact they seemed to have a bluish tinge.
We had lunch at the officers’ mess of the air force (guess whose) and I managed from one of them to get a little news of what’s going on in the world. The place was hot (temperature 105° in the shade) but dry.
On our take-off, we stood inland again till late afternoon, with somewhat bumpier riding which gave me a headache (eye-strain, I think) and made some of the other passengers air sick.
We came down in the early evening for the night. (They do no night flying on this route). There was a town around but we stayed at the air company’s station outside of it, and slept outside under the stars in beds with real mattresses screened individually under mosquito nets (no mosquitoes, however). We had a grand dinner – spinach soup, creamed, fried chicken, roast beef………….and real apple pie with cheese! …….cooked and nicely served. Shades of the S.S……. How we fell on that dinner!
It grew dark quite early and I turned in at 8 PM under the Equatorial stars. It was already cool, and shortly I had to pull the blanket over me. I slept like a rock till 4:30 AM – the beds on our late ship had mattresses like rocks, (pardon the repetition), but they didn’t encourage sleep. After breakfast (pancakes and real maple sirup) we all gathered at a bus in the early twilight for our trip back to the airport. We counted noses to be sure all hands were there, but our Hindoo was missing. However, that did not seem to bother our bus driver who said it was OK to shove off without him – Mahatma Gandhi was staying there on business. All of which seemed odd, but we departed for the plane once more.
After boarding it, with the door shut, before the take-off the pilot informed us Gandhi would go no further – late the night before……….which they promptly did, and searched his baggage. What they found there I don’t know, but beneath the ferrules on the ends of both his cane and his umbrella, they found closely rolled up strips of paper with messages and in a little medicine box, some more in German. So there on the edge of the desert we left him – weeping worse, I’ll bet, than when his plane in Honolulu failed to carry him further along toward India and sedition.
Sunday
We took off just at sunrise and since have been flying mostly over desert country – nothing green whatever, with the earth looking dry and burned with only this continent’s version of sage-brush and desert trees. A little after the take-off with the sun well up, the pilot flew lower (at about 800 feet) so we could see the scenery. We saw a couple of lions loping through the brush, some half dozen ostriches, crossed a river with a few crocodiles, (the river seemed out of place, for Heaven knows where the water comes from) saw a few gazelles, and plenty of fine dry riverbeds all of sand.
We are now back at about 5000 feet and flying smoothly along going east with the southern edge of the desert spread out below us flat as a pancake.
We saw plenty of native villages once we got clear of the green belt near the coast – all the huts made circular of mud walls topped with a conical thatch and each little village set in a circular wall - to keep the animals out, I suppose. The blacks are black here, as well as tall, erect and with the most marvelous sets of teeth which positively glisten when they open their mouths. And the usual costume seems to be a white flour sack with three holes cut in it for the wearer’s head and his arms, though there are plenty of natives with long white (that is, once upon a time) togas. And every burden is carried on the head. The pilot told us he gave a black woman a note to carry into town. She put the slip of paper on her head, put a stone on it to hold it down, and off she went! You see a few fezzes, but usually everyone is bareheaded.
This letter goes to the pilot of our plane, who when we land for lunch in more or less the middle of this continent, promises to turn it over to one of the air ferry command pilots who’ll take it back home.
We are now flying over terrain which is beginning to be mountainous – our plane at about 7000 feet and the mountains so far, a few thousand feet high rising out of sandy desert, with the ridges treeless and quite rugged.
And now we are crossing a mountain range rising from 7000 to 9000 feet, with the peaks quite jagged, burned very brown, and no vegetation in sight. (No snow, either, they all look too hot for that.) We are at about 8000 feet, with the air quite bumpy and the plane bouncing around in a lively fashion. Whoever invented that one about riding on air had obviously never been up in a plane when the air currents were rising off hot mountain peaks.
And now we are mostly over with the desert stretching out again on either side – hot, yellow, and barren. Even the Mojave desert had much on this. (The air is still bumpy).
And now we are out in another country (which in a way includes our present destination of tomorrow night), and we are about to land for lunch.
With much love, Ned
Letter #8
March 23, 1942
Monday
En route by air
Lucy dearest:
We are still underway for our immediate land destination, where I hope I shall in a few hours now find some letters from you. It seems (and is) a long time since I heard anything at all from you and Mary – the longest period by far since 1917.
We spent last …….. near which Chinese Gordon died and Earl Kitchener earned his title. We got in rather late, so it was dark by the time we were able to visit the city. The major attraction for me was a statue of Chinese Gordon astride, not a horse, but a camel – the first equestrian statue I ever saw which might claim any real novelty. As examined by flashlight (the one Ed Smith gave me) it stood boldly out against the night sky, a really magnificent bronze.
As regards the rest, what I could see of the city was not much. It seemed modern enough in its way, with street cars, a cinema showing Jean Arthur in “The Devil & Miss Jones” and a cathedral which (even closed) seemed quite impressive outside. As a change from the ….there was alongside the church….canteen run by the ….where, believe it or not, …..milk shakes! Good ones, too. …..influence, I think, of America…stationed in this region.
Aft…was nothing else open but a ….which had a performance very….of one we saw years ago in….at 11 PM the light went out,…..we departed for our quarters….miles outside the town, in what, I am told, was a girl’s college before the war. We slept in one of the ex-dormitories. They must have had the girls living on a high spiritual plane in that college, for the beds (cots) had rope for springs and the pillows consisted of short cylindrical rolls packed hard with straw which gave me a pain alternately in each ear as I rolled from side to side.
………is the ultimate in deserts – a wide spread ocean of hot sands glistening beneath the sun all yellow and red with occasional outcrops of barren rock rising here and there through the sands like little islands in the sea. Away it stretches in all directions for thousands of miles, with dust clouds drifting lazily along far below us. Where we are, at…………………with not the slightest sign………………kind on them. And we………….any sort of animal life since……….we parted from the river……sand in waves………
flowing down the……….. like glaciers…….. blown so high that……mountain tops are…
completely buried in it to… I can well believe that nowhere on earth or in the sea or air can one find an area so absolutely devoid of any form of life whatever – no birds, no animals, no men, no vegetation – just burning sand and blackened rock.
Later
We arrived in the early afternoon to be met by personnel from the Army headquarters. Oddly enough I was then assigned to the Hotel Continental where rooms had been reserved for us, and I swear I have a room directly opposite the one we occupied back in 1936 when we were here before.
And now things are starting to move fast. I have an invitation to dinner with the general commanding for tomorrow night and I suppose I’ll be moving on in a day or so.
Much love, Ned
P.S. I found one letter from you (date Feb. 24) and one from Mary (date Feb. 20) awaiting me.
I suggest you number your letters.
Letter #9
March 24, 1942
In Egypt
Darling:
Here I am back where we once all were together, even to the same hotel, and how I wish it were so again!
I have been busy today reporting, getting my pay accounts taken care of (I’m now on both Army and Navy payrolls), and seeing to a few other official matters. So I haven’t done any sightseeing at all, not yet at any rate.
I now know that I am leaving here Friday by air for my final destination, with probably an intermediate stop for a day or so in that higher and cooler city which will be our summer resort. They tell me they have a very nice house on the shore picked out for my residence and think I should be comfortable there. I trust so.
The weather here is delightful – as a matter of fact, I’m wearing blues today and feeling quite at home in them.
I understand that after a few weeks on my job, I am to be ordered to the city where Matt maintains his official residence, there to spend a few days getting acquainted with the fellow members of my service there and their problems, so that on my return to my own station they’ll know me and I’ll know them.
Several things have occurred in a financial way. I see that my per diem allowance here which will be $6 per diem and quarters, or $10 a day without them, should certainly cover my local needs. Consequently, I requested a change in my allotment home from $425, which it now should be, to $540 which it should become with the payment made you on May 1, provided of course the revised form gets to the appropriate bureau by April 20, which is by no means certain. If it doesn't the increased allotment should start the first of the following month.
I am now informed also that Congress has authorized an increase in pay for those on foreign service, which amount to 10% on base pay, equaling about $40 monthly. When that officially reaches the finance officer here, I’ll add that also to my allotment home.
March 26, Thursday
You can use your own judgment about what to do with the extra money, as to investing it when enough has accumulated or using all or part of it for current expenses.
I am also enclosing a Treasury Department form which gives you power to endorse and collect Treasury checks made out in my name. This may prove of some use to you. If used, the checks should be signed
“Mrs. Lucy Buck Ellsberg,
attorney”
You might see the bank about this before you use it. The original form should be mailed by you immediately on receipt to the Treasury Dept., Treasurer, U.S. Accounting Division and the duplicate kept by you for reference when needed.
I am enclosing also two Treasury checks totaling $353, one for my reimbursement for traveling (per diem) and one for my pay up to my arrival here. Please deposit them.
I sent you a cable (or radio) Tuesday about my arrival, which the Marconi office said would be delivered within 48 hours. I am also informed the Army people cabled a general notice to the mission headquarters requesting notice of arrival be sent to the homes of those in my party. You may get two notices.
For whatever reason, I found here a new notice about mail addresses for the members of this Mission. I come in the area indicated in the last paragraph, APO 815, %Postmaster, etc.
I had dinner Tuesday night with General Maxwell and a small party, including the American Naval Attaché. Pleasant time, with a long ride back alongside the Nile with the moon shining over it. Maxwell impresses me very favorably.
Yesterday I met Brigadier General Adler, second in the Mission, who heads its air corps activities. If I’m not mistaken, during peace time he owns and heads the New York Times.
Today, if I can get my things pulled together, I’ll try to get a few hours for a look at what’s around Cairo.
With love, Ned
Letter #10
March 29, 1942
Sunday
Egypt
Lucy dear:
Just a line to let you know I am leaving here early tomorrow morning by air for…..via……This time I’m going in a British plane. I should be in……Tuesday.
Tonight I went out to look again at the Pyramids by moonlight, with some regrets for the lack of the company I had the last time I saw them so. Both the Pyramids and the Sphinx looked lovely beneath the Egyptian moon.
I’ll write more fully from…….
With love, Ned
Letter #11
April 2, 1942
Thursday
Lucy darling:
I am at last at my journey’s end. Having arrived here, Tuesday, March 31, just six weeks after embarking from home.
I came over the mountains by plane from …………….. flying at 11000 feet the latter part of the way to clear some really rugged (and completely barren) mountains. We landed at …………. last Monday afternoon, which city, at an elevation of 7500 feet, I found quite cool, quite modern (even modernistic), and rather green. ………….is headquarters for ……..and no doubt even………..summer, will be pleasantly………..
Tuesday I was driven down by auto to…………about 70 miles away. The road is quite an engineering marvel, dropping 7000 feet in 30 miles with some breath-taking switchbacks. Mussolini built it for his Ethiopian campaign, ………….via………….being the main entrance to Haile Selassie’s domain, and his engineers did a grand………..job - guarding all the curves just about as well as was done on the road up Cadillac (Ed: Bar Harbor, ME), and maybe better.
So Tuesday, about the middle of the morning I arrived at long last to get my first view of my station. Frankly, I was surprised. The location of…..(don’t look too closely at the)……lovely, with the…….all blue and green sparkling…….background and a cool breeze blowing off the water over the naval base.
………..domiciled temporarily at the naval station in a very modern officers’ quarters building right on the water’s edge – quite a pleasant room with a …….beautiful ocean view, and best of all, a breeze (usually).
I should say that right now we are having what would be June weather at home – I have long since discarded a coat and the uniform is strictly khaki shirts.
In……I laid in one of those pith helmets without which no tropical tale or movie is complete and now that is my standard headgear. It comes well down over my neck in back, which I find is very necessary, and is light and comfortable besides.
To complete my tropical setting, I now also have a houseboy, one Ahmed Hussein, who is an inky black Sudanese (not to be confused with American negroes who were west African). Now Ahmed and I completely don’t understand each other, since he talks Arabic and I don’t. I am however, getting pretty good at pantomime, and perhaps he’ll pick up some English. Meanwhile he makes my bed, shines my shoes, sees my laundry gets sent, and shines up my automobile (how he loves to shine that car). I should have mentioned that I have a new 1942 (aren’t you jealous!) Chevrolet sedan assigned me here.
There is a British naval captain (retired) in charge of the British naval station here, with a fair sized staff of British officers. They have taken over what……………………… ……………………………………………….
I went out yesterday in a launch to survey my salvage job for the first time. This should certainly be a salvage man’s paradise, for the wrecks are laid out in neat rows (as many as seven ships in line in one row) with all kinds of salvage jobs to suit all tastes. There are ships barely submerged with their masts and stacks upright, and others flat on their sides, partly or wholly submerged. I find there are several sizable ships sunk off the port which were not even previously listed, and then there are sunken drydocks, sunken lighters and plenty else.
We haven’t started any actual salvage work, since the first salvage ships won’t be here for a month yet, but I hope when some divers arrive to start submerged inspections in a few weeks.
Meanwhile I wonder what’s happened to the mail service. I have received a total of exactly one letter from you and one from Mary (dates Feb. 20 & Feb. 24) which I found in……..and nothing here at all.
You might try sending a letter via the U.S.M.N.A.M. office in Washington simultaneously with one via that trick address in the New York post office. The Washington letters are supposed to come by air service to Africa (you don’t have to put airmail stamps on them). Why it should take more than two weeks, I can’t imagine, unless the New York (and regular mail) post office letters are put aboard slow tubs like the………You might inquire at the New York post office as to how they forward letters; also whether if you put a transatlanticairmail stamp on, would they actually get transatlantic air service and air service across Africa to…..& then……(Mail certainly goes by air from…….to here, via……..
Meanwhile I should like to have the following items boxed up for ocean shipment to me here. The box can be turned over to Johnson, Drake & Piper in New York for shipment to me:
The small tool kit in a black leather case in my bureau drawer at home. (Or a better kit which you might purchase if convenient).
An unbreakable thermos bottle, either a quart or a pint, if such things are still available.
A regular thermos bottle, if unbreakable ones are not available.
A thermos jug, if it seems such a thing can stand the trip. (About 1 pint size).
……electric coffee percolator. (About a two cup size). I’m getting more than fed up with the damned boiled to death continental coffee they serve here (and the awful boiled milk that goes with it. I’ll make my own and drink it black).
About 3 one lb cans of sealed Maxwell House coffee.
One hygrometer (or wet and dry bulb humidity indicator, similar generally to what Ed Smith has and which I once borrowed. Do not send the hygrometer I left in my study.
One thermometer capable of reading to not less than 132° F.
Two small brushes of the kind used to clean electric razors. (Jarvis should have these).
One Navy cap device in gold and silver plate. These are now made completely of metal, (not embroidered on a black cap band as formerly) and should be available in military uniform shops such as the All-Bilt Uniform Co. on Nassau St., New York; Brooks Uniform Co., 43rd(?) St. & Sixth Ave.; and others. I want this to put on the front of my pith helmet.
Two sets of service ribbons, made up on bars suitable for use on white or khaki uniforms. Each set to consist of the following three ribbons:
Navy (not Army) Distinguished Service Medal.
Navy Mexican Campaign Badge
Victory (or World War) Medal
In addition to the two bars made up, enough ribbon in addition to recover each bar when the ribbons on it wear out.
One ordinary, garden variety type of whiskbroom for brushing clothes.
Friday, April 3
I drove to…….this morning for a conference. It’s a lovely drive of about 21/2 hours, and cool most of the way……..is a queer town just now, mostly Italian, with Italian officers in full uniform (on parole) all over the streets, all the shops run by Italians, and Italian traffic cops directing traffic. It all looks very amicable, and on the surface as little…..a captured city as might be imagined. The one difficulty with it is that the shops have next to nothing to sell. (………is worse) so if one wants something, one gets it from home or goes without.
With much love, Ned
Letter #12
April 16, 1942
(Ed: This letter is heavily censored and it appears the bulk of it is missing).
………merely hot and reasonably…….freely. We are all starting to take salt tablets, which apparently have been found exceedingly helpful in hot places like blast furnaces in steel mills where the heat prostrations of workmen have been radically reduced by their use. Up to the present moment I have been very well and not particularly bothered by the heat. I find a sun helmet a highly practical headgear all day long, however. The usual daily temperature is now about 85° to 90° F in the shade. I understand we haven’t seen anything yet.
I spent last Saturday night…….where I had to sleep under blankets……quite an altitude.
Meanwhile our rest camp at………altitude……..is coming along, and should be available in about a month.
I found the two Star class racing sloops here for which I ordered sails in New York. The hulls need plenty of work as the paint is all gone; I hope to have them ready when the sails get here. After that, the ……..Yacht Club will be organized and we’ll start our summer series of boat races – with two entries. Tell Gerald Foster (Ed: an illustrator who illustrated some of Ellsberg’s works and did an etching of small sloops racing that is owned by Ted Pollard) if he wants a job out here, I’ll hire him and he can crew in one of the sloops. However, I think we’ll have no lack of candidates for crew. (Ed: the rest of the letter is censored).
Letter #13
April 19, 1942
Sunday
Darling:
Your letter of March 7 arrived Friday morning and I had meant to answer it that night only when evening came we had a tropical hurricane that nearly blew……..away. It rained in buckets and the wind blew so hard it took the roof entirely off our office building, soaked all our plans and papers, and left the roads roundabout the buildings looking as if the place had been heavily bombed, from all the debris from roofs. Of course we lost all the lights and power, and in the officers’ mess where I had gone for dinner you would think it was raining right through the roof. To cap all, it actually hailed – big hailstones, too. I guess it must have blown about 100 miles an hour while it lasted, which was for two hours.
Nobody got hurt though, and the next morning we managed to clean up and get our powerhouse going again so we looked reasonably respectable. I reacquisitioned all the roofing material in town, and the mechanics are all busy reroofing now. Fortunately none of our machinery was damaged and when we get new roofs on, everything will be all right again.
They say they haven’t had a storm like this in thirty years, so if it’s thirty to the next one, we’ll all be gone from here before we see the like. Which will be perfectly all right with me.
I did take my Westfield check book with me. The only stubs in it are #3875, spoiled; 3876, P.R.R. for $310.25; 3877, P.R.R. for $7.62; and 3878, Coll. Int. Rev. for $264.81. That’s all. They have all been deducted from your check book balance. I do not expect I’ll draw any more.
I’m glad your accounting worked out correctly. Mine usually required some search for errors before it balanced.
Your talking about spring in the air reminds me that we don’t have such a season here. Our April temperature is quite equable – it is remarkably steady, day or night, between 86° and 90°. But the humidity is high always. I don’t know what, having no hygrometer. However, between a sun helmet, salt tablets, and plenty of water, I haven’t minded the heat especially yet. What it will feel like when it gets above 100° regularly, remains to be seen.
We are busy as usual, repairing smashed Italian machinery and making fair progress, which should shortly improve with more men arriving.
……..has its points. It is really lovely looking out over the…….about noontime when there is usually a breeze blowing in from the ocean, while along the coastline are mountains about 3000 feet high and visible farther back are long ridges of peaks rising some 13000 feet. And all along the sea are Arab Dows under sail, which make you think you are watching a regatta in progress.
So far as I can see, there is no objection now to telling any of our friends where I am. The…………………………………………………in any way.
You might tell Ed Smith his gift of a flashlight has proved very useful. I used it in the ship blackouts, in Cairo likewise, and now I sleep with it under my pillow just in case.
If it’s all over with Mike, I have no regrets.
By the way, if you have not shipped the things I asked for, you might throw in a single slice Toastmaster.
Life is in a way a gay affair around here, even though there are no amusements. We employ Eritreans (some form of negro), Italians who are prisoners of war, and Americans. And we have our problems with all of them. The Eritreans are a shiftless lot, working under the………………… work at all, which is seldom, the Italians do a so-so job, most of them, though some seem to realize how lucky they are to get paid at all, and try to show it in their work; and the Americans are really working very hard, only some of them on Saturday night are inclined to get soused and smack the local MPs (who are British soldiers) and create international problems for me to solve, on which, being Sunday, I have been working all day.
…………now, it being 11 PM to bed.
With much love, Ned
Letter #14
April 30, 1942
Massawa
Lucy darling:
Your letter of Mar. 26 arrived a few days ago, just thirty days on the way.
About the cables, I sent one from San Juan; one (I believe I may be wrong on this) from Pernambuco; one from Lagos; one from Cairo; and finally another (probably also marked Cairo) announcing my arrival here. How many were ever delivered? You have only mentioned the 1st one from Cairo and none of those preceding it.
Thanks for the subscriptions to Life, the Reader’s Digest, and Newsweek. That will be quite sufficient. I don’t care for the New Yorker.
Thanks for the news on Ed & Sally. I’m sure Ed will do more good with Bethlehem than in Wall Street.
Sorry you said some time ago you couldn’t get a fourth tire retreaded for the LaSalle. I would suggest that if you still can’t get it, you tell Leo to put two good treads on the rear tires, and use as the front tires a pair of (recently) unretreaded tires that match each other, using perhaps your present spare and a match to it from the collection of tires in the basement.
As usual we are very busy here, but I can already begin to see results, which is heartening. However, my ships are still on the way, so the wrecks are undisturbed as yet.
We’ve had a lot of high-ranking British visitors about whom I’ve had to show over the place. If a few more come, I’ll begin to feel like a barker in a sideshow.
It’s hot as usual, but not bad yet. Average daily temperature, about 93°; nightly average, about 90°. It’s not the heat, it’s the humidity.
Yesterday I had a room air conditioner put in my room, and it went to work. It reduced the room temperature only about 4°, to say 88°, but it certainly did things to the humidity. The drip from the cooling coil is so large, that a pint of water is being removed from the air in my room every forty minutes. Meanwhile the room itself feels decidedly cool, and last night for the first time, since all the doors and windows were kept shut, I sleptwithout a mosquito net canopy over my bed. Which was in itself a vast improvement, for it is necessary to use so fine a mesh here that being enclosed in a mosquito net is like being shut up inside a cabinet, so far as air circulation is concerned.
The air conditioner I am trying now is a York window type machine. We also have a more powerful machine, a Westinghouse floor cabinet model, which I’ll try in a day or two. It’s bigger and should do an even better job. Meanwhile, blessings on the air conditioner man. I woke up this morning not covered with perspiration, for the first time since reaching Massawa. (I hadn’t even been using pajamas lately, but last night I wore them and even slept under a sheet!)
With love, Ned
Letter #15
Massawa
May 4, 1942
Lucy darling:
Your letter (#4) of Apr. 12 arrived today, the fastest delivery yet. Perhaps it was speeded along by your recollections (and mine) of the day long ago when I dropped my ring in the soup.
And speaking of that ring, I wonder what luck you may have had with Bailey, Banks and Biddle (Ed: Philadelphia jewelers) about getting me a duplicate? I think it would be of some real service here, where symbols seem to have more than ordinary importance. If you get it, better be sure it comes out via the diplomatic mail pouch through Washington, accompanied by a separate letter the same way and another via regular air mail advising me of its dispatch, so if anything goes wrong with the ring parcel, I can proceed to trace it back.
Meanwhile, if it’s not too much trouble, I could use the following:
3 pairs of khaki shorts, size 32 waist and not over 22 inches long from waist to end of leg. (I’ve shrunk somewhat about the stomach in the heat out here, and none of my trousers fit anymore. Thank God, I haven’t lost anything anywhere else, however).
6 pairs of white shorts, same sizes. These should be of some material similar to that used in white uniforms.
1 doz. white shirts, the open neck type, where the collar folds back in front, with collars attached. I have not been able to wear a single white shirt I have, since all have separate collars, and that type is quite impossible here. No one ever wears a necktie with any kind of shirt (it’s all open throat exposure for comfort) and without a necktie a separate collar is impossible for looks, let alone its other drawbacks. So I haven’t worn whites of any kind at all here yet – always khaki – though whites would go well on some occasions. The white shirts should be of some plain material and plain weave that will stand the scrubbing well – nothing fancy wanted.
1 doz. pairs of khaki socks for wear with shorts – the kind of socks that run up just under your knees. These should be of light weight material (but not thin silk). Lisle or light weight wool is all right, but I don’t want any heavy weights. Size of shoe, #7; length of socks from bottom of heel to top of fold under knee as worn, about 15 inches, and not over 16 inches.
1 doz. pairs of white socks for wear with white shorts. All the comment above about khaki applies to these also.
4 pairs of khaki trousers, waist 32, length of trouser leg from crotch to heel, 29 inches.
½ doz. khaki shirts, regulation uniform for Navy, size 151/2, sleeve 31 or 32 (it doesn’t matter since I have the sleeves cut off at the elbow here).
You can get all the above khaki things at the All Bilt Uniform Co., just off Broadway on Nassau St. (or Fulton or thereabouts, east of Broadway a few doors, second floor). You may also get the white shorts there and maybe the socks too.
1 doz. white handkerchiefs.
I imagine all the above had best go by parcel post via the N.Y. post office, though it might be well to check with Johnson, Drake & Piper to see whether they have a ship going which might get it here sooner.
It is next to impossible to buy any clothes here or I wouldn’t bother you with all the above.
We are getting along with our work here, though under some difficulties due to lack of personnel so far. It is a pleasure to see new things going into operation almost daily, however, and particularly the machinery the Italians thought they had sabotaged so thoroughly as to render it forever useless. It would give Mussolini a sharp pain if he could only see all the machinery of his we have so far restored to service in spite of the sledge hammers the Italians here wielded on it just before the place was captured. Already we have a young navy yard going just on rehabilitated Italian equipment.
We had a few more generals visit us today, and they left much impressed.
So far the heat hasn’t bothered us too much, though the outside humidity is running 92% tonight and the temperature outside somewhere about the same Fahrenheit. I now have another air conditioner (a Westinghouse) model FC-091 which is somewhat larger than the York machine I first tried. This one looks like a rather large radio cabinet and does a better job. I would suggest your getting one installed in the front of our living room if you are going to be there any part of June, and never mind the cost – it’s worth it. What surprises me about it however, is how beautifully cool this room feels, even though the thermometer insidethe room assures me the temperature inside is all of 86° F! It’s the reduction in humidity that does the trick – that’s down to 65% as against about 92% outside. But if anyone had ever told me I’d feel cool and comfortable in a room at 86° F, I’d have thought them crazy. As Mary puts it, I should be boiled, but I’m not.
So far I’ve had poor luck with my camera – all the shots turned out so over-exposed they wouldn’t even print. I’ve learned now the sun is so bright here the camera shutter must be stopped down almost closed, or no picture. I’ll see if the next batch doesn’t do better. Meanwhile, an exposure meter of some type might be a help. If you can get a simple one, you might toss it into the box along with the khaki shorts.
I’ve played bridge a few times with some British naval officers here, but so far I have not held a decent hand. It’s a relaxation however, and there’s always hope the next hand will really be something.
I suppose by the time this gets home, it will be June. I should have liked to send you something for June 1 (Ed: their anniversary), but there’s just nothing so far I’ve seen but what would be a waste of postage to send on, so I must wait till I get back to Cairo again, and meanwhile send you only my whole hearted love for you and nothing else.
Affectionately, Ned
Letter #16
May 12, 1942
Massawa
Lucy dearest:
The package with “I Have Just Begun to Fight” (Ed: his latest book) came last night. It makes a fine looking book and the illustrations are excellent. Congratulate Gerald (Ed: Foster, the illustrator) for me. And now, for his sake at least, I hope it sells well. Let me know what the advance sale and their figures to date on it are.
I received your letter of Feb. 28 a couple of days ago and several days after your letter of April 12. Its comments on Captain Paul, 3rd, are not quite a shock to me. I hardly really believed D.M. (Ed: Dodd, Mead, his publisher) & Co. would go through with that book.
Speaking of packages, however, I may say that a package containing such prosaic things as socks for shorts, for instance, would have given me a bigger thrill.
Matters are beginning to look alive round here and today my three ring circus opens up with performers in every ring. The shops here I have had going for some time. May 8 we inaugurated our drydock by a successful docking and now the dock is busy with one ship following practically on the stern of another through that dock. We have received a congratulatory radio from the British Commander-in-Chief, Mediterranean Fleet, on that.
Today the third and last of the rings opens up with a troupe of divers, absolutely fresh from the United States, presenting a spectacle never before witnessed in any arena, least of all an African one.
So from now on life here should have never a dull moment. (It hasn’t had yet, anyway). I wish you might be here to see it, not to mention me.
With love, my darling, Ned
Letter #17
May 20, 1944
Lucy darling:
Today was rather a red letter day for me around here.
To start with, one of my salvage masters and five divers arrived eleven days ago and I turned to with them to salvage an unusually important craft sunk here by the Italians, who blew seven huge holes in her bottom with high explosives. The British, whose divers examined her last year, had officially abandoned her as unsalvageable.
I started on her as our first venture, and today, ten days after our start, we had her up from the bottom and afloat again, ready in a few days to start repair work on her in our own shops.
So now where a few days ago in the harbor there was nothing, she now rides at anchor, to the very great astonishment of all of our British friends, and over her waves the Stars and Stripes.
To make the day perfect, General Maxwell, head of the North African Mission, came down from Cairo to inspect our naval base, accompanied by the British general commanding in Egypt, the British general commanding Eritrea, and an assorted lot of colonels, both British and American. So we were able to stage quite a show for them, with our drydock housing a large ship, our salvaged vessel up from the deep, fresh in a thick coating of oysters and barnacles, and our ships all running on machinery the Italians thought they had thoroughly sabotaged.
Everything went off beautifully. For the first time, we had hoisted over our naval base the American flag, and I have never felt prouder of it than when this morning (after a very brief speech by me) it was hoisted over our highest building.
Then the visiting brass hats were escorted over the base and taken out in a boat to inspect our exhibits afloat, all of which made quite an impression. On the way back, the British general commanding, who was certainly deeply impressed by what he had seen, told me,
“Commander, I know of no one who is doing as much to help win the
war as you!”
That is laying it on a bit thick, I’ll admit, but it was a pleasant compliment anyway, and our accomplishment on our first salvage job has created quite a sensation around here. As an added cause of amazement, we have been getting ships in and out of our drydock so fast the British have had trouble furnishing ships fast enough for us.
As a final gracious touch to the day, I was invited at lunch to sit at the head of the table with generals on either side and Heaven only knows how much allied army gold lace backing them up down both sides of a long table. So by and large, the Massawa Naval Base had quite a gala day.
Changing the subject somewhat, I was more than gratified to receive a cable the other day from Irita Van Doren & Ogden Reid, with the news of “I Have Just Begun to Fight” having received the Herald Tribune’s Children’s Book Award. That’s grand! And they stated you had represented me at their celebration. More power to Captain Paul, senior and junior. I am especially happy for Gerald’s sake, for I feel his illustrations must have been a powerful factor in getting the award.
I received a lovely letter from Mary with some news of her vacation (dated Apr. 13) today. When you get this, college will long be over. I hope you both go to Maine, at least for part of the summer. It would please me very much if you did, and I could almost feel as if I were enjoying the Maine breezes myself then.
It’s getting hotter here, but so far it hasn’t bothered me, and I can sleep beautifully in my air conditioned room, so I feel fine. I am down to about 150 lbs. Now, and it has all come off the waistline, so none of my trousers fit any more, and I have quite a figure, a model for Apollo almost now.
We are fitting out another building for quarters, into which we’ll move in a couple of weeks, where I’ll have a private kitchenette, replete with refrigerator, electric stove, and whatnot else (provided the things I asked for from the U.S. ever get here). And quite a grand room, with two air conditioners in it!
With much love, Ned
Letter #18
May 30, 1942
Massawa
Lucy darling:
This letter should be mailed in the United States by Colonel Claterbos, who is returning home by ship from here because of the recurrence of a former heart ailment. He has very kindly consented to take a letter for you, so you should have this by about July 20.
As your letter of May 13, delivered here May 25, stated you had as yet received nothing at all from me since I left Cairo, I may here repeat a few things to make sure you know them.
The mail system from the United States is fair, with most letters coming here in a month, though some take twice that. But the mail from here to the U.S. seems to be terribly slow.
So to cover the situation:
First, I really am well. In spite of everything that has been said of this place, much of which is true, the heat doesn’t bother me; the various diseases, mostly tropical, can be dodged by proper care, which we have; and I don’t drink, which is an avoidance of the cause why most white men disintegrate in the tropics.
Second, I’m busy, so I don’t have time to cogitate on how hot and humid it is, and so worry myself ill over that.
I have plenty to do. We have taken a naval plant which the Italians thought they had thoroughly wrecked, and we have that plant rehabilitated now and running today, so the Massawa Naval Base is in operating condition now instead of having to wait for American machinery, none of which has yet arrived. The Base is as good now as the Italians ever had it; when our new equipment arrives, we’ll have a navy yard that would be a credit to any yard in the U.S.
We have a drydock which the British brought down from the Persian Gulf and turned over to us. I’m running that on American principles, and I think it is the busiest dock in all the world. We’ve had it in operation since May 9. In that time (20 days) we have docked 12 large ships, better than an average of one every two days which was the goal set, though it seemed impossible of achievement with the untrained crew and the miserable native labor I had to work with. But we have beaten our quota, and have run the British ragged trying to send ships here fast enough to keep the dock occupied.
Finally our salvage work has started. On May 10, the first salvage master and five divers arrived by passenger ship from the U.S. We had only two diving suits and no other salvage gear at all, as none of our salvage ships had then arrived.
Salvage operations started therefore on a shoestring. For our first task, I picked out a sunken drydock, because of all types of floating craft today, drydocks are the most valuable and are literally priceless. This dock (larger than the one we are operating) was sunk by the Italians by exploding TNT bombs in the hull and blowing seven huge holes in the bottom sections, through which gashes you could drive a 5 ton truck.
The British had made a diving examination of this dock a year ago when they occupied Massawa, and had officially gone on record as saying the dock was beyond salvage. Possibly it was, with all those holes in it. But nevertheless, we tackled it with our trifling salvage crew and absurd equipment. Naturally I had to use somewhat unconventional methods.
As is usual, all the experts far and near, stood around and laughed. Wheeler, chief of the British Mediterranean Salvage Forces, bet another officer we couldn’t do it. But in nine days from the day we started, that drydock was afloat again, and it is still a nine days wonder around here! Now we are repairing it.
The North African Mission has done lots all over Africa, but nothing it has done has attracted as much attention as that dock.
To me it is a particular satisfaction as showing that I may be nearly seventeen years older than when I tackled the S-51, but I find I have all the energy I had then in running a job plus a great deal more knowledge.
The repercussions of that first salvage success have been considerable. I had quite a carefully built up reputation here before I arrived, which I had some fears I could never live up to, but now the British look on me with some awe, and the funniest thing of all is the enthusiasm which the Italians here have greeted the raising of the dock they sank, because it tickles them to see the Americans do something the British said they couldn’t do.
To go along, the first concrete result was that General Maxwell came here from Cairo with a galaxy of British generals to have a look, and he immediately sent a cable to the United States, a copy of which I enclose as furnished me by Col. Chickering.
(Ed: this is the text of the cable):
USMNAM CAIRO
FOR SAMS
USMNAM ASMARA US/228 5/21/42
SEND FOLLOWING RADIO TO WASHINGTON
QUOTE COMMANDER EDWARD ELLSBERG IS
PERFORMING MOST OUTSTANDING SERVICE WITH
THIS MISSION STOP HE HAS
REHABILITATED A BADLY SABOTAGED MACHINE
SHOP AND PUT IT IN
OPERATION IS DRYDOCKING A SHIP
FOR SCRAPING AND PAINTING ON
A SCHEDULE OF ONE EVERY
TWO DAYS AND HAS RAISED
A SUNKEN DRYDOCK WHICH OTHER
EXPERTS SAID COULD NOT BE
SALVAGED STOP HIS RANK OF
COMMANDER IS BY NO MEANS
COMMENSURATE WITH HIS ABILITIES RESPONSIBILITIES
AND THE RELATIONSHIPS HE MUST
MAINTAIN WITH SENIOR BRITISH OFFICERS
STOP REQUEST THAT NAVY DEPARTMENT
BE ADVISED OF FOREGOING AND
URGED TO PROMOTE HIM TO
CAPTAIN WITHOUT DELAY UNQUOTE FROM
MAXWELL SIGNED CHICKERING
0500/21 GMT
(Ed: A cover memo was attached):
U.S. Military North African Mission
Asmara Service Command
Routing Slip (dated May 22 1942)
“General Maxwell desired that this copy of radiogram be furnished you.
We all join in the chorus. WEC (Ed: Ellsberg wrote – this is Colonel Chickering)
(Ed: In addition to the above cable, the following letter was included in Ellsberg’s letter to his wife):
Copy of letter by Major General B.O. Hutchison, General Officer, Commanding Troops
In Sudan
H.Q. Troops
in Sudan
20th May
My dear General Maxwell:
On the conclusion of my visit to Massawa, I should like you to know how much I was impressed by the excellent work being done by Comdr. Ellsberg.
I was delighted to see the initiative with which he was tackling the difficult jobs which others had been unable to do.
He is certainly doing a first class job towards winning the war.
Yours very sincerely,
/s/ B.O. Hutchison
A true copy:
/s/ H. Kunzler
1st. Lt., A.U.S.
Adjt. USMNAM
201-Ellsberg, Edward (OFF) Wrapper Ind. HK/kc
Headquarters, United States Military North African Mission, Cairo, Egypt.
May 24, 1942. TO: Commander Edward Ellsberg, United States Navy, c/o
Commanding Officer, United States Military North African Mission, Eritrea
Service Command, Asmara, Eritrea.
Copies of the attached letter have been furnished the Commanding Officer, United States Military North African Mission, Eritrea Service Command, Asmara, Eritrea, and the Bureau of Navigation, United States Navy, Washington, D.C.
By command of Major General MAXWELL
/s/ H. KUNZLER
H. KUNZLER
1st Lt., A.U.S.
Adjutant
1 Incl
Incl 1 – copy of letter from
Maj. Gen. B.O. Hutchison,
5/20/42
(Ed: Ellsberg penned at the bottom):
This just came in today. I see General Hutchison went farther than just telling me orally what he thought, though in writing he was somewhat conservative. Ned
What action the Navy Department may take on General Maxwell’s recommendation to promote me to Captain “without delay” I do not know. Whether I get it or whether I don’t will bother me little, after that accolade from the Chief of the Mission of being the only officer here to be recommended for promotion for “most outstanding service.”
And the General Commanding the British forces in Egypt, who accompanied Maxwell, told me “you are doing more to win the war than any man I know,” which compliment may be a little extravagant, but without question he meant it.
And in addition I have received also a radio from Vice Admiral Halifax, R.N. commanding the British forces in the Red Sea, which also I enclose. (He is F.O.R.S., who sent the dispatch, that meaning Flag Officer Red Sea).
(Ed: In a Naval Message came the following):
TO: NOi/c Massawa FROM: F.O.I.R.S.
Please convey may (sic) congratulations to Commander ELLSBERG
U.S.N. on his success in raising the floating dock.
1220B/28/5.
NOIC NLO Cmdr ELLSBERG BAO C.O. LOG.
W/T CODE B TOR 1858z/28/5/42. GR 30 A.D. F.
(Ed: in Ellsberg’s hand: From Vice Adm. Halifax RN)
But all is not roses here. I have my troubles with the usual quota of damned fools, American and British, who forget there is a war on and obstruct instead of cooperating. So far I have rolled over them, sometimes by force, sometimes by diplomacy (of which latter I am better acquainted with than formerly) and then the labor I have to work with would drive anyone into an asylum. There are so far very few Americans. I work with English, British colonials, Italian prisoners of war, Maltese, Hindoos, Persians, Egyptians, Sudanese, Somalis, and Eritreans, which last are absolutely the world’s most worthless laborers.
I have kicked the English out of the habit of taking most of the afternoon off for tea, and I have even managed to get something in the way of work out of the Eritrean natives, both of which achievements should be ranked as minor miracles. But I long for the day when all the American mechanics promised me arrive here, and I can work with men who know their jobs. But whether that day will ever come I am beginning to doubt, because our own Navy Department is now insisting the British furnish the mechanics instead of our doing it, and I am afraid Britain is stretched so thin she just can’t. Meanwhile I don’t get the mechanics I desperately need, either from America or Britain, while Washington and London argue by cable as to who should furnish them, and I am left to make bricks without straw. However, a fair quality of brick is being turned out even so, but it could be better, and that makes me sick to contemplate.
To change the subject to something pleasanter. A few days ago, two people arrived from New York, one by ship and air, one by air direct, and God be praised, I received five letters from you all at once, the latest dated May 12, being #21. How can I say what a heavenly joy that was! I live now only for two things – one, to do what I may to help win this war, and the other, to come home again to Mary and you. And now for a while when letters must be our only tie, they mean so much!
I was intensely gratified at receiving the Herald-Tribune’s cable over the Children’s Book Award. May it mean more power to John Paul Jones in firing America! And I may say, as never before I understand now as I struggle with a medley of indifferent nationalities and scant equipment, what Paul Jones suffered in the fitting out and taking to sea for a victorious action of the worthless crew and rotten ship he had cajoled from the King of France.
As regards matters financial, I think I am entitled to something of a pay increase for foreign service, and as soon as I can get it arranged in Cairo, where my accounts are carried, I may be able to increase my allotment to you by about $40 a month. This will take several months. Meanwhile, I am in need of only a small part of the special subsistence and quarters allowance which is paid me here, and if the transfer arrangements can be made, I can soon start sending you perhaps $200 a month more out of that.
I believe that in spite of reduced dividends and radically increased taxes, we can pay all of Mary’s expenses in college without selling anything of hers, and I am sure that if good management can accomplish anything, you’ll succeed in doing that.
I am sorry to hear that gas rationing has made you decide not to go to Maine. At this distance, I can not suggest any means by which enough gasoline might be saved up for the trip, or otherwise obtained, but if it can be done by hook or crook (or even by train) I hope you and Mary can get up there if only for a month. I should almost feel as if I were enjoying the Maine breezes myself if only I knew that you were there.
I have mentioned air-conditioning in one of the letters which by now I hope you have received. If you must stay in Westfield any part of the summer, forget economy for once and get one for the living room, and not too small a one, either. I suggest a Westinghouse Mobilaire, model FC-091, which is what I have here, and which is doing a marvelous job here under tough temperature and humidity conditions. And perhaps a second unit upstairs in our bedroom would also be worthwhile. Never mind the cost!
I am shortly moving into new quarters here in a building left by the Italians which we are fitting out as officers’ quarters. I get a grand room, about 25 by 15 feet, with my own kitchenette, refrigerator, electric grill, and whatnot, and a private shower and toilet, all with two air conditioners! Don’t worry about my ability to keep comfortable and sleep in that. But to furnish the kitchenette I wrote you a month ago asking for some knick-nacks like a Toastmaster, a small coffee percolator, and some Thermos bottles, plus a miscellaneous assortment of clothes and other thing which are practically unobtainable here.
Please order the ring from Bailey Banks and Biddle, even if it does cost around $70. It’ll be worth it as a war souvenir afterwards, and meanwhile it will be useful.
My thanks to Gerald for what his illustrations did in helping “I Have Just Begun to Fight!” win the book award.
It is evident some of your letters telling of your mother’s pneumonia haven’t arrived yet. I’m happy to know she is now convalescing.
I haven’t received yet anything from my own mother. I believe it best if you suggest she send her letters to you and you forward them inside another envelope which you know is properly addressed.
So far I have received in your numbered series, letters #3, 4, 7, 9, 18, 19, 20, 21, and before you started numbering letters of Feb. 24, 28, Mar. 4, 7, and 26th. The others must be following diverse routes and ships over the globe, bus should someday arrive here.
Via a British naval officer who had to go to Cairo yesterday, I sent a message to be cabled you from Cairo for our twenty-fourth anniversary. I hope it got by the censor and was delivered in time. There is no cable service from here, and it takes a week apparently to get a message from here to Cairo, with no knowing what happens to it then.
I got up at three o’clock in the morning to write this, and it’s now six AM and I must get ready to take the first of my three daily baths and then get to work. Colonel Claterbos’ ship should take not over six weeks for the trip from here and delivery of this letter at least should be assured. (Ed: Unfortunately it was not postmarked from Washington until Sept. 16th).
With very much love, my darling, Ned
(Ed: the following note from Claterbos tells the story of the letter):
Trinidad, BWI
9/5/42
Dear Mrs. Ellsberg:
Your husband gave me this to mail when I reached the U.S. Its present condition is due to a dunking in the Caribbean when my ship was torpedoed.
I hope to call you when I can get up to New York – I want to tell you what a swell job Capt. E has done.
Sincerely,
Louis J. Claterbos
Col., C.E., USA
Letter #19
June 2, 1942
Massawa
Lucy darling:
This letter will be taken to America by Mr. Embury of J. D. & P. who is here only for a brief inspection trip and should be back in New York by June 15. He came out here from N.Y. leaving there about May 15, and brought me a message that you had heard nothing from me since I arrived in Eritrea.
That is unfortunately due to what must be a terrible mail service to the United States since I’ve written often. The letters should start to arrive soon, if they haven’t already. I have received in one batch 5 letters from you dated from May 9 to May 12, which came out by a J. D.& P man who flew over.
But aside from that:
First, I am well now and have been since I arrived here. I see no reason yet why I shouldn’t continue so. The weather is hot and humid and will probably get much hotter, but it doesn’t bother me. I have an air-conditioned room in which I can sleep very comfortably, and next week I move into a larger one which is even better for size and comfort.
Second, I’m very busy and outdoors most of the time. As a result, I have lost my incipient bay window altogether, and I am down to about 150 lbs. My figure is the best I’ve had since my midshipmen days.
Third, I’ve had quite a grand time with important brass hats from both the American and the British army and navy passing through here to be shown what we’ve done. It’s interesting to watch their eyes pop out at what’s happened in the Massawa naval base.
Fourth, I’ve had extraordinary luck here. The Italians thought they had completely sabotaged all the shops by smashing the machinery, and I came out from New York hoping that by next December when new machinery arrived from America, I could get going. Instead of that, one look when I got here convinced me we could refit the Italian machinery, which we have done already. The result is every Italian shop is already running again with the smashed machinery repaired and doing as good a job as the Italians ever did. So the Naval Base is operating now instead of next December.
Fifth, the British sent down a drydock from Persia which we are operating on a scale to make one dizzy; and it has the British, who are groggy now trying to get ships here fast enough to keep our dock occupied. Thirteen ships have been docked by us in 24 days.
Sixth, there is salvage. I had no divers at all until May 10, when a salvage master and five divers arrived by passenger ship. We had only two diving suits and nothing else, as no salvage ships had then arrived. I borrowed some air compressors, and we went to work, choosing as our first task a large Italian floating drydock as that was far more valuable, if recovered, than any ship could be.
The Italian naval captain (who is in jail here) who sank her by exploding 7 TNT bombs in her hold, blasting out 7 holes big enough to drive a truck through in her bottom, had bragged to his British captors what a grand job he had done as that dock could now never be raised. The British salvage experts, after an examination of those 7 holes, agreed with him and officially abandoned the dock as unsalvageable. When he heard we were tackling it, the Chief of the British Mediterranean Salvage Squadron bet another officer we couldn’t do it.
To make a long story short, nine days after we had started on that drydock, it was afloat again, with its blasted holes exposed ready for repair work to begin (which it has). That has been a nine days wonder around here, and well it might be.
So as a salvage expert, I’m vindicated. The laudatory comments that have rained in on my head for that job might well have turned it completely, except that the S-51 job already had done whatever might be accomplished on my ego along those lines.
Briefly, both the British general and the admiral commanding in North Africa have sent their congratulations, General Maxwell of our Mission has been here to look, and all the lesser fry have joined in the chorus.
Now as a practical result, General Maxwell has cabled the Navy Department recommending that without delay, I be promoted to Captain “for most outstanding achievement.” Whether the Navy Department will act “without delay” or will even act at all, remains to be seen, but I don’t much care. I’ve always liked the title of Commander, and I don’t think I’ve done it any harm. And I’ve earned the only accolade in foreign service that General Maxwell has given anyone, so whether I ever get the promotion or not, I have the inner satisfaction of knowing I’ve done a good job, and the knowledge that those higher-up on this station know it also.
Meanwhile, it is a personal gratification to confirm to myself that I haven’t slipped back in any way since the day seventeen years ago, when full of youthful energy and armed with youthful ignorance of the difficulties, I set out to salvage the S-51. I may be older now, and this climate isn’t exactly the bracing air we had off Block Island, but if ever a salvage job was done with neatness and dispatch and no errors on a supposedly hopeless wreck, it was on this scuttled Italian drydock.
So now I feel all right. The war can go on and I know I haven’t ossified so far either mentally or physically so that I can’t do my bit.
We are of course, having plenty of difficulties. The heat is no joke. Neither are the English, who are so damned slow when I want any men or materials in a hurry. Then most of the men promised me from the United States for my Naval Base haven’t come nor have they even been hired in the United States, while Washington and London squabble by cable over who should furnish them, when it was all agreed before I left that we should. But I haven’t the men. And I must work with a conglomerate of nationalities instead that would be a good match to Paul Jones’ crew on the Bon Homme Richard. My force consists of a few American supervisors backed up by Italian prisoners of war, Hindoos, Persians, Somalis, Sudanese, Maltese, Arabs, Ethiopians, Egyptians, and some Englishmen. The American flag floats over this Naval Base (which daily gladdens my heart when I look up at it) but I wish to God America would do something for us in the way of men as well as in the way of the machinery which she is sending us. From its location, this Massawa Naval Base can be an important factor in our own naval strategy in the Indian Ocean and the western Pacific, as well as being all important as a main base for the British Mediterranean Fleet.
Meanwhile, I do the best I can with what men (regardless of their race) that I can lay my hands on, and so far all who have seen have agreed that we have done well and far beyond any expectations.
I am writing more fully via Colonel Claterbos, who is shortly going home by ship and will carry another letter.
With love, Ned
P.S. Yesterday was our 24th anniversary. I sent you a cable, which I hope arrived.
P.P.S. In spite of gas rationing, I hope you and Mary find some way to go to Maine for a while.
Letter #20
June 2, 1942
Massawa
Lucy dearest:
I have just received your June 1 cable here. I sent you one via Cairo on May 28, which I hope arrived by June 1.
This letter goes by regular post from here and I hope arrives not too late. I have heard from a Mr. Embury of J. D. & P., who left New York by air about May 15, that up to then you had received not a single letter from me since I reached Massawa in late March. That is a beautiful tribute to what inefficient mail service and (perhaps) too efficient censors can do to hold up the mail. I have written plenty of letters in that time.
Meanwhile, briefly I can say that I am well now and have been continuously so since my arrival. I’m very busy with all the different things I have to do and I have been startingly successful on my first underseas job which was completed in an amazingly short time.
So here all is well so far as my work is concerned.
I hope you and Mary get up to Maine for at least part of the summer in spite of gas rationing. Please order my ring.
With love, Ned
Letter #21
June 8, 1942
Massawa
Lucy darling:
The mail came in bunches this week. I received your letter of Mar. 13, and also in one batch your letters sent via the Home Office USMNAM as follows: #5 of 4/14, #8 of 4/20, #10 of 4/23, #12 of 4/28, #14 of 5/1, #15 of 5/3, #16 of 5/7, and #17 of 5/8. That meant eight letters in one day, covering a period of nearly a month. Apparently the Army letters were forwarded from the U.S. all at once, but not till quite a lot of mail had stacked up.
The last word I had as embodied in your letters of about May 9 to 12, #18, 19, 20 and 21, showed you had not yet received any letters from here, which was also the information given me orally by the J. D. & P. man who flew over at that time. He is now on his way back with a message for you, which you should receive a long time before the arrival of this letter. In addition to that, an Army officer returning to the U.S. shortly (presumably by ship) will also have a little more information for you when he gets back to New York.
Meanwhile I am head over heels in work as usual. Our drydock has turned in a magnificent performance of ships docked for its first month, which ends today. My salvage forces are active (such as are here already) and we are well started on a second wreck. Also my dockyard shops are quite busy.
As regards other things, particularly financial, my expenses here are slight – nothing for quarters, only a moderate amount for a mess bill, and next to nothing for anything else, principally because there is nothing here that money can buy. I could use a number of articles of which I have long ago written you, and which by now I hope you have word.
I mentioned in my June 1 cable that my ring should be ordered, but how it should be sent I can’t say. The best way is to keep in touch with J. D. & P. and when they are sending someone by air to Eritrea, have him take it. But if no such bearer seems available, the next best bet is to send it via the Mission home office in Washington.
As regards this, I understand a certain vessel – (come to think of it she would have sailed long before you get this, so forget my half-spoken thought of that route).
The multitudinous articles I wanted can best be sent by J. D. & P. on whatever ship they send out next.
I have not yet received any copies either of Life or the Reader’s Digest, to which you subscribed for me. I would judge that over two months must elapse at least for their transmission.
I am happy to note your mother is convalescing well from her pneumonia and has presumably already visited you. Give her my love.
There seems to be a lot of miscellaneous misinformation going about concerning this country and its setup, such as you refer to from Raymond Clapper in his published articles. It is true that a large and expensive rest camp has been built in the hills some 40 miles from here at an elevation of 3500 feet, with the expectation that everyone would leave here each evening to sleep there and return in the morning to work. But it takes an hour and a half each way for the journey over a terribly hot intervening plain and then up a mountain highway full of sharp switchbacks. The problem of transporting several thousand men in buses daily over that road is quite insoluble, and I think myself the men would be completely knocked out by the daily journey, not to mention that the accident rate would undoubtedly be high. (There have been plenty of accidents to our trucks already over that road). So far no attempt has been made for daily commuting, and I doubt that it ever will be. The rest camp may be used by giving the men in batches a few days each month in the hills, but the dream of leaving Massawa nightly to the night watchmen is out. As for myself, I never expect to use the rest camp and I think it is going to be a washout, (and an expensive one). I rely more on air-conditioning the sleeping quarters here for everyone, which we will do when our equipment arrives. Meanwhile, I wouldn’t trade my air-conditioned room at night for all the rest camps in Ghinda.
It is getting quite hot, but between drinking huge quantities of water daily (between two and three gallons) and taking salt tablets with each quart, I don’t find the heat oppressive, though I work often out in the sun. It is interesting to find my shirt (when I dry it) frequently streaked with salt left there by sweat.
It’s hot. We are working now under the sun on repairing the blasted steel plates of the drydock we recently salvaged. Down on that dock floor, in spite of the fact it is well out on the water in the bay, there is little breeze but plenty of direct sunlight. I took a thermometer out there the other day. Laid on the wood keel blocks, at about the level where our heads are, the temperature that thermometer registered in the sun was 149° F. Of course that’s in the sun, but so are the workmen. The same thermometer laid on the steel plates of the dock floor, read 163° F. The steel we work with or on, gets too hot to handle without gloves.
My normal costume is shorts, a sun helmet, and half-sleeved shirts – all khaki, of course.
Inside the shops, where the men are shaded, it’s not so bad, though our blacksmiths have a tough time over their forges.
But all in all, so far we have managed to work steadily in spite of the heat and the humidity, and I think we can keep on through the summer. We are fairly well used to the heat and it doesn’t bother us much, though I notice that our Asmara crowd when they visit here (which is not frequently) get out of this place after about a two hour stay and it’s difficult to keep a single one here over night. They cause us plenty of trouble though, for the main office is in Asmara and attempts to direct many operations here without anybody ever staying in Massawa long enough to find out what anything is about. I fully realize now how Franklin, Washington, Adams and their associates finally decided to risk a war rather than submit further to remote control of their affairs by absentee landlords. And the telephone communication is so terrible that making a call to Asmara literally usually takes an hour for a call to get through and leaves one mentally washed up for the day and nearly fit for the nut house before it’s over. A force of American telephone men are working on the problem, but till they shoot half the Italian operators and put the rest in a concentration camp, I hope for little improvement.
I have a few other minor irritations. The chief of our mission cabled the Navy Department to send out seven naval officers as my assistants, and heaven knows I could use them. The answer he got by cable was that none would be sent. Apparently the Navy Department regards us as a step-child on the ground this is an “area of British responsibility.” Maybe it is, but we still fight here under the American flag, regardless of whose area of responsibility this is. At any rate, I’ll have to get along with a couple of Army lieutenants as assistants and some civilians (if I can ever get the civilians). Meanwhile I work with a heterogeneous mixture of all nationalities and get by mainly because the British and the colonial brass hats who have visited here have been so impressed by what the Americans here have done that they have lent me the hand that Washington refuses to extend. But if I only had more Americans, I could do a vastly better job. This is a American navy yard in the same sense that the Bon Homme Richard was an American warship – it has an American skipper and a few American lieutenants but as for the rest it doesn’t assay one American in every hundred. And yet we make it go and even the British regard it as an American establishment.
With love, Ned
Letter #22
June 13, 1942
Lucy darling:
Your letters #22, 23 & 24 (the last May 24) arrived here today, together with one of Mary’s of May 18. This is especially rapid delivery. I notice they all came via Amseg, which must be livening up its mail service very considerably. I suggest you send all your letters that way except when you can catch an air passenger at J. D. & P.
I am glad to see that my………letter of Apr. 2nd finally arrived by May 15. The others ought to follow with some regularity now. As regards sending my letters by air mail, I don’t think I can do anything about it. We can’t get any stamps of any nature here, and besides I think the mail all goes out the same way regardless of how the sender intends it shall go. It all goes by air from here to……….and after that, nobody seems to be able to find out what happens to it.
I sent you a message by Mr. Embury of J. D. & P., who should be back in New York by air about June 15. If you hear nothing from him by the time you get this, you might enquire at his office about it.
As regards Ahmed Hussen, whom you seem to fear as a possible rival, I regret to say he is no more around here. He was fired about 10 days ago for complaining to me he had never been paid and when I came to check up why not, I found he was on the payroll under another name and drawing just twice as much pay as he was supposed to get. Now I have another boy who is completely hopeless. I haven’t bothered to find out his name.
Thanks for sending me the clipping about Richard Hawes. As you probably remember, I managed to get him commissioned an Ensign after the S-51. I always knew he was a good man and he has proved it. But I’m sorry to know the Japanese have got their hands on him. Regarding the clipping, don’t hesitate to send more. I have not seen an American newspaper since the day I sailed.
I am glad to know we have some porch furniture at last which is satisfactory. It will be particularly useful this summer.
It just occurs to me (if you get this letter before October) that one way for you and Mary to get to Maine and still have a car there to drive, is to go by train and ship the station wagon the same way. You ought to get gasoline enough up there to get you around for the……things and you can make the telephone and Jackson’s save you from having to use gasoline for groceries. Or you might hire a car up there, which should not be difficult.
Sorry about the Argo (Ed: Ellsberg’s 27’ gaff-rigged A class sloop). I would give lots to have her here, with the whole Red Sea at my front door and Arab Dows sailing all over the place and I with no sailboat at all! I had hoped to fix up a couple of Star boats the Italians left when they evacuated, but my men are so few I can’t take them off essential war work to repair those boats. However, I still have hopes, and next December should be just as good a sailing season as this June.
Lovely hot weather we’re having. I hardly think 150° F we’re having where we work on our salvaged drydock can be beaten many places. But it is like many things you hear about – it sounds worse than it really is. So far we haven’t had a heat prostration case. Of course the story goes that this is nothing to what we’ll get in July and August, but I don’t believe it. It can’t get much hotter nor more humid. And we shade most of the spots where we have to work repairing the huge holes the Italians blasted in the steel plating so we get along. I understand this is about the time Massawa used to shut up shop and go to the hills, but we expect to keep right on working through. Wars aren’t won by taking four hours off in the middle of the day for a siesta, nor by closing up shop for a couple of months in the summer time.
Later June 21
This letter was somewhat interrupted by moving day. We have been converting a building the Italians used to use as an office building, into quarters for our officers, and we finally got it done so we could move in last Sunday night.
I now have a large room, 16 by 20 ft, with a private bath and a kitchenette attached. (That is, I will have a kitchenette when the refrigerator arrives next week, and I can manage to cabbage an electric grill somewhere and when that coffee percolator and toaster you are sending finally arrive. By the way, that reminds me that the trunk shipped after I left has not yet arrived, but may get here early in July. Maybe.) I have twoWestinghouse air conditioners in this room, but they are having a tough time. Imagine feeling cool in a room where the temperature is 88° F, as it is here this minute. Outside it is 102° F in the shade. I suppose it’s the reduction in humidity as usual.
I really have quite a pleasant setup this time, with something of a view over our harbor and the Red Sea (we are not as close to the water as we were before). If only I could get an interior decorator in, I might make something really restful of the place, but I’ll have to do what I can myself between other work. As it is, there isn’t a curtain in the place, nor any pictures for the walls, which gives it a rather bare appearance in spite of some fairly decent furniture (all made in Eritrea).
But I can sleep here comfortably with no mosquito nets, and that makes a big difference. And speaking of mosquitoes, there are less here day or night than in Maine, and very few flies.
Colonel Claterbos, who was the district engineer, sailed here for home two days ago. Apparently an old heart trouble recurred, and he couldn’t stand the gaff, though his headquarters were not here but in Asmara. He should be home about the later part of August, and I mention him only because he is carrying a message for you which I wrote some weeks ago when he first expected to sail, but didn’t. It will probably seem quite stale when you get it.
The captain of the ship the colonel sailed on presented me with a radio set. It is a Pilot portable, about the size of Mary’s, except it has a cloth cover. Just now I am struggling to get an antennae wire long enough to get reasonable reception with it, for we are thousands of miles from most stations, and the reception here isn’t so hot, even if the weather is. Of course, short wave is all I can get on it, though it will take the long wave stations also. Imagine living only twenty miles from WJZ again and not worrying over reception!
Meanwhile, in spite of the heat and all the irritations of squabbling over a terrible telephone line with some civilians in Asmara who won’t come to Massawa because it’s too hot but still try to poke their noses into our engineering work, I manage to keep very well. I may go crazy here over the idiocies and interferences I have to combat, but the climate will certainly never put me away. And I just have an idea I can outlast those remote control directors, in spite of their cool Asmara climate.
Our surgeon (Capt. Plummer of the Army medical corps) continually keeps an eagle eye on me and constantly asks after my health. He says he gets so many inquiries from Colonel Chickering and from Cairo about how I’m standing it (I’m the one person they have no relief for) that he told me he thinks that if I got sick, he’d get a court-martial.
Our major work goes along very satisfactorily. I expect to celebrate the Fourth of July here by lifting another ship on which the crew of my first salvage ship have been working for a couple of weeks. (Most of our salvage force has not yet arrived).
The three snapshots you enclosed are lovely, and your smile in them is wonderful. I have the one taken through the car door on my desk and it seems as I look at it that I’m looking directly into your eyes! Darling, if only you could be here, Massawa could be Heaven!
Ned
P.S. Your letter of Feb 26 just arrived 6/20/42. Your letters #1, 2, 6 and 11 have not yet arrived.
Letter #23
June 24, 1942
Massawa
Lucy darling:
Yesterday I received a cable from the War Department dated June 19, announcing that I had been appointed by the President to the rank of Captain. This was the action taken as a result of General Maxwell’s cable of May 21 requesting I be promoted “without delay” for “most outstanding service.” Considering the slowness of communications, even by cable, it appears that Washington did act expeditiously on his recommendation.
So now I am a Captain in the Navy. That I received the promotion not in the regular order or simply because it was the turn of my class, makes it doubly gratifying. Every one here, American and British, has been most hearty in their congratulations, and even the British telephone operator (a seaman whom I have never seen) when I made my first phone call today, instead of getting my number for me immediately, took occasion to tell me first over the phone how pleased he was to see my work rewarded.
I have worked here, but no harder than on any other task. Still, either I’ve been luckier than usual or my judgment is better, for the results seem to have shown up sooner and perhaps against a war background have stood out more. At any rate, seeing that I had to come back in the Service only six months ago as a lieutenant commander, I have moved along quite handsomely.
There is no longer any particular need (I think I said this before) of keeping my whereabouts or what I am doing a secret from anybody. There is nothing particularly confidential about what the North African Mission is here for nor what its personnel is or is engaged in.
My salvage fleet should very shortly be considerably augmented and then we should be able to get to work on quite a grand scale. As it is, even with trifling forces we have pulled one near miracle on our first salvage job, and I expect that very shortly a large German ship that the Nazis blasted a huge hole in and scuttled here, will be floating again with the Stars and Stripes waving over her. Which job will be done by a tiny salvage ship smaller than a New York harbor tug, which came 12,000 miles to get here under the skipper I hired on the beach at Santa Barbara, assisted by a crew totaling only 14 men including the captain. The docking of that salvaged ship I hope to make our Fourth of July celebration.
It will interest you to know that in connection with my promotion I had to take another physical examination, which opportunity our medical officer seized on with alacrity as apparently he was itching to find out what effect my activities had had on my blood pressure, which I have an idea he expected to find sky high. Last January, on my last Navy examination, it was 105. Yesterday it was 100. (Ed: Ellsberg had such low blood pressure that often he was reexamined by the Navy doctors who couldn’t believe the results; he stated that if stress or some aggravating situation raised his blood pressure it “only went up to normal”). I don’t know just what that proves, but anyway not what he was afraid of. As for the rest of me, everything was OK, so I passed with no difficulty.
It is getting somewhat hotter and muggier around here, with our first sandstorm thrown in day before yesterday for good measure. The sandstorms are what is supposed to make a summer here really different. We’ll see.
I’m sending you a cable which should get off from Cairo next Saturday (June 27) as otherwise the major news in this letter wouldn’t reach you till the summer is fairly well over (that is, in the United States).
And I expect also in the next few days to send you a Treasury check for around $600, covering my Army allowances here for about two months (check enclosed with this letter). You can use it as you think best. In addition, I have something coming to me from my Navy pay since last March above the allotments made you, which sums I have never drawn. Those accounts are in Cairo, and as soon as I can get in touch with the paymaster there, I’ll try to get a check for that and forward it also. In the meantime, I have about $180 in the bank (Barclay’s) here, which will keep me going for a while yet, seeing that willy-nilly, I never get a chance to spend much here, much as I should like to buy some things but they just don’t exist around here.
June 25, 1942
The mail just came in, bringing your letter #29 of June 2, sent via J D & P, plus a letter from Mary sent the same way, dated June 5. Fast work.
I heard today that an Army officer, Major O’Neal is flying back to U.S. within a week, and he has promised to carry this letter for me, my second chance to get real air service back. (The first was via Mr. Embury of J D & P who should have arrived in U.S. about June 15).
Lest it wasn’t mentioned elsewhere, I got your June 1 cable on June 2, the same day you got mine.
As regards salvage, we have already salvaged a large Italian drydock, which was the main cause of my promotion. The ship we hope to raise soon is the ex-German Liebenfels, on which my solitary salvage ship so far, the Intent, is now working. When my other three ships get here, we should be able to make quite a dent in this job.
Glad you ordered my ring.
Sorry to hear about the passing of the Com. & So. dividend. That means the omission of a lot of money. Queer, because they should have a huge power demand, but I suppose labor & taxes have swallowed all their income. I’ll try to send all the money I can from here to make up. Meanwhile, I strongly advise against selling anything to meet expenses, yours or Mary’s. If necessary, quit buying bonds.
As regards my income taxes, please do nothing whatever about rendering any returns for me for 1943 to the Government. Of course, my payments for the rest of this year must be made, but as regards next year and the payments on it, let the Government look to me, not to you both for the returns and the cash. All I’ll want on that is a statement of what my receipts were in the U.S. on dividends (if any) and from other American sources. These can be sent me about next November or December. I’m not sure that I’m liable for any income taxes in the U.S. on my Navy pay since I left the country, but at any rate, I’ll investigate all that myself. Don’t you bother over it, and if there are any inquiries about my taxes at all, refer all inquiries to me via the regular mail channels.
As regards the old gas heater you long for, it is still in our basement, and if you want to use it to save oil, just call on the gas company to put in an additional meter for it (it requires a separate meter from the gas stove to avoid trouble) and have the plumber hook it up again. It costs somewhat more to run than an oil heater, but if saving oil is a factor, go ahead. Meanwhile of course, it is certainly advisable to keep your oil tank filled.
As regards Farnham Butler and the Argo, I did pay a considerable part of the bill last winter. Look in my desk for the Southwest Harbor Folder or something similar. You’ll find in it the bills with a note regarding payments made, and our stub books of last winter will furnish the information if nothing else does.
Thanks for getting me the things from Lewis & Conger. My refrigerator arrived today, so all I need now to get along in comfort is what’s coming from the U.S.
As I said before, I don’t go to the mountains either weekends or daily. It’s more comfortable to stay in Massawa and bask in the light of the air conditioners. (I have a 16x20 room in a new building now, with twoair conditioners, a kitchenette, and a private bath). You’ll learn more of this when the regular mail reaches you about next August.
I hope Mary gets some rest this summer. Both of you will do me the greatest favor if you go to Maine by train (ship the station wagon up by freight if you must, or otherwise by rail or express) and get where it’s cool. I rather imagine you can get enough gas up there to get about as much as is necessary.
Later
I went up to Asmara this afternoon when I heard O’Neal might leave tomorrow to give him this. He isn’t going for a week, but another Army officer who is flying to Cairo early tomorrow will possibly take it with him and get it sent from there by real air mail. I’ll try. Let me know if it reached you quickly and when.
With love, Ned
Ed: When Ellsberg wrote his name on the envelope he at first wrote “Cmdr”, then crossed it out and wrote “Captain”.
Letter #24
June 27, 1942
Massawa
Lucy darling:
A couple of days ago I had an opportunity to send you a letter which I think will really go air mail. The colonel in command of the Mission air base here was flying to Cairo and offered to take a letter which he guaranteed he could see would go by air from there. So I sent one, dated June 25, in which I enclosed a check (Treasury) for $600, being all my Army allowances for some time back, together with some news of what has been happening to me here.
If you fail to receive that letter, or if it comes without the check enclosed, better cable me and I’ll start to trace what happened to it from this end.
There is some possibility that another air corps officer from Eritrea may fly back home himself on some mission before the coming week is out. If he gets sent (which is not now certain) he offers to take this letter, which may therefore also get through quickly.
Meanwhile I have sent to Cairo to the navy paymaster handling my accounts there, asking for a check for what is due me since late March. That should cover perhaps another one or two hundred dollars, which I will forward when received. The 10% increase for foreign service went through all right, but I don’t think I have collected any of it. I’m not sure, since I increased my allotment just before leaving Cairo and I have never had a statement since. I can’t say whether the increased allotment included that or not. I’m asking for a detailed statement of my Navy pay account so I’ll know where I’m at.
As I mentioned in the airmail letter of June 25, I have been promoted to Captain. Whether the promotion amounts financially to anything or not, I don’t know yet. There was a limit of $7200 on a Captain or Commander’s total of pay plus allowances (Navy) and as I was receiving within three or four hundred dollars of that as a Commander, the maximum increase I could get by the promotion would be that sum, unless they have lifted the limit or removed the limitation altogether. I should, I suppose, soon learn that from Cairo. John Hale can also tell you. I haven’t any Navy pay table here, and I can’t get one. And what Congress may have done to it since I left U.S., I am completely ignorant of.
It is getting damned hot and humid here. The last week, I might just as well have soaked my clothes in a bucket of warm water before putting them on, because a few minutes after going out they were all wringing wet anyway. I have certainly learned that everything is relative, for I feel comfortable enough in my room (air-conditioned) where nevertheless the temperature at this moment (11 PM) is 90° F. and the humidity is 60%. You can imagine what it is outside, where there is no air-conditioning. But back home under those conditions I should feel, like Mary, “boiled,” even in my room.
Like most others here, I have a mild case of prickly heat, which with me is on my arms only. Lots of the men have it all over. It’s a result, I suppose, of being continually bathed in perspiration. They say in about ten days you get over it, but I don’t know. You might consult Jarvis on what’s good for it and send me a can of some powder or other. I’ll get it by Christmas I suppose, since my trunk shipped last February, presumably just after I sailed, hasn’t arrived yet.
And you might throw in some of my assorted collection of cigarette lighters. It’s a nuisance trying to keep matches dry here. (Ed: Ellsberg told his wife that he smoked only four packs a day, when in reality he smoked eight. He didn’t want her to get worried!).
I had quite a time decking myself out in four stripes when I got promoted. Blues were no problem, since I never wear them, but I did have to change my shoulder marks, which are about the only insignia of rank worn around here with khaki. No gold lace is available hereabouts, so I solved the problem by stripping a gold stripe off my old broadcloth coat and sewing it on as the top stripe of my shoulder marks. And I’m having one blue serge coat fixed up against next winter when I may perhaps wear it, by taking the stripes off another and older serge coat I have, to add to the sleeves on my newer coat. I think that will about take care of the situation, except that with a khaki shirt, one is supposed to wear the insignia of his rank on the collar. I had some miniature silver leaves, for a Commander, but now I should have some miniature solver eagles (metal) for pinning on the khaki shirt collar. Of course there aren’t any around here. Would you mind getting me a pair? I think that wrapped in a little tissue paper, they would go in a letter. The All-Bilt Uniform Co., 147 Fulton Street, N.Y., should have them. Be sure they are miniatures for a Navy khaki shirt – the Army ones for their shirts are larger, I believe.
By the way, while you are in that vicinity, please drop in on Jos. Friedlander Co., 8 Maiden Lane, and order me a pair of glasses. I dropped my old tortoise shell ones with the new lenses I got last January, overboard from a boat while going out to our salvaged drydock. According to Dr. Childer’s prescription of Jan. 10, 1942, the lenses for both eyes are identical, calling for spherical + 1.50 for both eyes, with apparently no other corrections. As measured on the new pair of glasses I got from Friedlander last January at the same time I had new lenses put in my old tortoise shell frames, the outside width of the glasses is just 5 inches from bow to bow, the clearance between the nose clips is 11/16 of an inch, and the bows are 4 1/8 inches long from the glasses to the point where they start to curve to go around the ears.
There is no startling emergency in getting me new glasses, since I still have one new pair, and the old lenses out of my lost tortoise shell frames, which I might have mounted here and use in a pinch in case I lost my second pair. I’m quite all right unless I lose them, and even then I’ll not be wholly without something at least useable for reading.
Speaking of glasses, I never really got any test on the Polaroids Carl Fuller gave me. I dropped them and smashed them within a week of getting here. Then I got a pair of Calobars, which cost $8 here (the only kind available) and in three days I dropped and smashed them also. That meant $8 more for another pair, which I still have. Then shortly thereafter a diving foreman got here with a pair of another kind of sun glasses which Kandel (Ed: Charles Kandel, president of Craftsweld, the company which made Ellsberg’s underwater cutting torch) sent me as a present, and ever since I’ve used them. They are more comfortable than the Calobars.
Sun glasses are a necessity here, since they must be put on the moment one steps outdoors. Tell Carl I’m sorry I never had his long enough to find out much about them here.
In your letter of Feb 26, recently received, there was an enclosure from Rose, on which she noted that the censor on reading it would think either she was crazy or he was. Who is crazy, I knew before I left Westfield, but the censor never had the problem put up to him as that letter, mailed direct, unlike others mailed similarly since, bore no censor’s stamp.
It now appears that the best way to send mail (except when J. D. & P. lets you know somebody is flying out) is to send it via the Home Office of the North African Mission. Those apparently come through now in three to four weeks without either being delayed or molested by anybody. I recommend against any further use of ……..% Postmaster, N.Y., as those letters seem to get all the delays of censorship…..God knows what other delays in transmission. I understand there are thousands of sacks of such mail awaiting inspection before forwarding from N.Y., and then they come all the way by water which I believe is not the case of those sent via the Mission headquarters. (A late bulletin says they come by air, but that is doubtful).
We had a funny experience a few weeks ago. The drydock we recently salvaged had eight separate compartments in its lower hull, in seven of which holes big enough to drive a 10 ton truck through, had been blasted by the……when they scuttled the dock. (That was why, after the English divers who first looked it over, gave the job up as hopeless when they saw those holes). But the eighth compartment had no hole in it. Feeling sure the…..had not intentionally slighted that compartment, when we had the dock up we looked through the hold in that compartment, and sure enough, there was an unexploded bomb with the fuse still attached, which for some reason had failed to explode with the others. So we heaved it up on deck (it weighed 200 lbs.) and turned it over to the British explosive experts to dispose of. They took it about 5 miles out of……to touch it off.
Now it so happened that the Royal Naval Base alongside us had just received a new air raid siren which at 5:30 PM they turned on for a test. Just a few minutes after their siren had shrieked out, the bomb (in spite of being…….water) went off with a concussion that shook….. as if it had been in the main street. I was just entering our messhall at the moment, only to see every……cook and waiter come flying out, heads up looking for the bombing plane the siren had apparently given warning of, and streaking for the nearest air raid shelter. It took some time to convince them there was no connection, so dinner could go on.
July 8
The officer who was to fly home carrying this letter never made the trip, so this didn’t go as scheduled. However, I still hope I can get it sent through direct.
A lot has happened since June 27 when I started this letter. We were then engaged in finishing up our underwater work on the scuttled….Liebenfels, with the hope that shortly we would be ready to try lifting her. (Ed: the censors cut out about 1/3 of a page)…..hulk was well out of water,…..started. We had no equipment of our own (it hasn’t arrived yet) so we were using pumps borrowed from the British, which pumps were antiquated in the last war. The damned pumps kept breaking down on us, so we found ourselves time after time with a waterlogged ship on our hands…..rapidly leaking back and no pumps running to hold it down.
For four days straight, night and day with next to no sleep for anybody,…..those leaks, only on the fourth night to have the ship listed 21° to port and on the point of capsizing with not a pump then working. Our last hope was in getting a broken down pump in the bottom of the engine room running again, which was a tough place to work between the heat, a terrible humidity down there, and the list of the ship which was so bad that it was impossible to stand on the deck without hanging on to something to avoid sliding into the bilges.
We got the pump running, and reduced the list enough so that on the Fourth of July, we celebrated by towing the…. (Ed: Liebenfels) from the spot where she was scuttled, some seven miles around to our naval base, with the biggest Stars and Stripes our salvage ship owned floating proudly at the masthead of the…..over the Nazi banner. (Ed: according to Ellsberg, this was the first time the American flag had flown over captured German territory in the war. This flag is in the possession of Ted Pollard) And on July 5 we drydocked her, where now she lies, safely salvaged at last and under repair – a fine big ship to help carry the men and the arms which are going to scuttle Mr. Adolph Hitler’s hopes.
(Ed: the last 1/3 of this page is gone).
With love, Ned
P.S. when we got her up, we found a nice big bomb in the…unexploded.
P.P.S. My trunk has arrived at last.
Letter #25
July 9, 1942
Massawa
Lucy darling:
My trunk arrived finally a couple of days ago. I found a note in it which you said you supposed I’d get it about Easter. Easter, however, is so far back, I can hardly remember it. I am happy to have the trunk, nevertheless, and I have it all unpacked now.
I was delighted to find in it the two pictures you sent – one of you on the divan beneath your portrait, and the other of my study. Both give me acute nostalgia as I gaze at them alongside my desk here.
Piggy and sister (Ed: two very small china dolls that were Mary’s favorites) also arrived safely and now repose before me also, very appropriate salvage mascots which seem as effective now as when Mary as a baby sent them to help Daddy salvage the S-51.
The ship these things came on had an unduly prolonged voyage due to several breakdowns en route, caused, I am assured by some of our men on her, by completely incompetent officers. I can well believe it.
We are getting close to mid-July but I can’t say heat conditions are any worse than a month ago. When this intolerable heat is going to get here that makes it impossible to work, I can’t say, but I just suspect it is here already only we don’t know it and keep on working anyway. It is hot however, and I have a lovely case of prickly heat over my arms and chest. It gets better in the evenings when I’m in my air-cooled room, and worse in the daytime when I’m all bathed in sweat. It should go, they tell me after ten days, but I think I’ve had it that long already.
My case was somewhat aggravated by the six days I spent out on our salvage ship when we were lifting the German ship we have just salvaged. We had a tough time with her, as I’ve told you in the letter just preceding this one, but there was still some romance in it. The first night, while we were busily engaged in trying to get her off the bottom, with her stern just lifted but her bow still in the mud, made a wonderful picture. It was hot, of course, but with a full moon lighting the scene, the naked, sweating men on deck positively glistened under the beam of our searchlight as they struggled on the lines heaving pumps about the flooded holds. The glow of the moon on the Red Sea, the brilliant stars overhead, and the waterlogged hull of that ex-German Liebenfels gradually lifting from her cradle on the ocean floor would have made a movie scene of which Hollywood could well be proud.
Well, the Liebenfels is in the drydock now; the moon has vanished and the scene has faded into a memory only, but the prickly heat remains to remind me of five days and nights bathed in sweat and mud. My shoes became so stiff with salt I could hardly get them on or off, and as a last aggravation, when the ship finally took a 21° list and the deck sloped so much one could hardly walk on it, those damned shoes rubbed a hole in my ankle whenever I walked aft because of the unnatural angle at which they were forced into my foot. I think I’ll remember the Liebenfels a long time.
One of the men got a wonderful snapshot of the Stars and Stripes floating over the Nazi flag on July 4 as we towed the Liebenfels in to dock her – the best Fourth of July celebration I’ve had in years. I’ve been promised a copy of that snapshot as soon as it can be reprinted and I’ll send it to you.
We manage to keep quite busy here. The hectic hours of raising a ship are over for the moment but now comes the not so hectic but quite as trying business of repairing her with a ridiculously inadequate navy yard force while Washington and London kick back and forth the question of whose responsibility it is to furnish the men and meanwhile nobody furnishes them. How any one can be so blind as not to see that no where else in the world will a few hundred workmen yield such a quick and rich reward in tonnage restored to service afloat, is beyond me. And yet Washington turns itself inside out to provide thousands of shipyard workers on new construction of ships when a hundredth part of them could get our salvaged ships repaired in a tenth the time it takes to build new ones. General Maxwell has turned himself inside out also trying to get the matter settled properly, but so far, no luck.
Yours in disgust, Ned
P.S. In a letter following this, I am enclosing the government checks totaling $200. Let me know if that letter shows up without the checks.
P.P.S. I enclose two photographs just arrived, showing one way of celebrating the Fourth of July. Excuse the mending.
Letter #26
June is crossed out & EE writes “It must be July”
July 15, 1942
Same place as usual
At the top of this letter Ellsberg wrote: “This letter has two checks for $200 enclosed.”
Lucy darling:
The present score on your letters is that #1, 2, 25, 26, 27, 28, 31, 32, 33, 34, 36, and 37 have not yet arrived. #6 came yesterday and #11 today.
The last letter I received was #38 of June 26, which came yesterday, quite rapid transmission. It came of course, via Johnson, Drake, as did #30 and 35, all together. And together with them arrived the package with my class ring, which I am now wearing and which feels very natural on my finger again. It is lovely, I like the monogrammed seal, and I’m ever so grateful to you for all the trouble in getting it. It came through in a remarkably short time. I’m much obligated to Mr. Dixon and to Mr. Flanagan for all their assistance in forwarding both it and the letters.
I see you must have received the letter carried by special messenger, though you make no direct mention of its receipt, that perhaps being in one of the missing letters between #30 and #38, which I have. I judge so since you mention my recommendation for promotion, which was in the letter so forwarded.
As regards sending messages that way, I have by every chance I’ve heard of, but that particular person was the only one I’ve heard of who went back by air. You must remember most of those people go from Asmara or Cairo, both of which are none too close to this place, so my chances of keeping track of people flying back and forth are exceptionally poor. Another letter has gone by a person going home by ship, who may get there by late August.
As regards air mail (as I’ve said before) all mail from here is supposed to go by air from here all the way to the U.S. I believe it does, too, when it goes at all, regardless of air mail stamps or lack of them, except that when it comes into Miami, I believe it stays a month or two while the censors examine it. I can see no other reason for the truly atrocious delays in delivery which have occurred.
It is useless for you to put airmail stamps on mail coming here. None that ever goes through APO815 ever goes by air, regardless of the stamps. I think that travels by ship and takes two or three months in transit. Mail via Dixon’s office really goes by air when it catches some one going out, and I believe everything sent via the Mission’s home office also goes by air from there. As I’ve said before, I think I’d give up APO815 for the present.
(Ed: Written across the preceding three paragraphs EE wrote “This letter has two checks for $200 enclosed.”)
I suppose you know by now, if you ever got my cable of late June, that I was promoted to Captain, as you surmised from Mr. E’s letter to you from Washington. So far as I can see, the promotion means little in the way of pay, about $300 a year at most, as I was already receiving nearly the limit of pay for a captain as a commander. While my pay should now (exclusive of the 10% for foreign service be about $7600 a year for pay and allowances) a captain is limited (exclusive of about $560 a year for foreign service) to $7200 for regular pay and allowances and I was already getting something over $6900 for that as a commander.
At any rate, my total now should be about $7760, including foreign service pay of 10%. When and if I can get the papers arranged through the somewhat disorganized Cairo office, I’ll increase my allotment to around $600. This will probably take some months yet.
Meanwhile, I enclose in this letter two government checks totaling $200, one, #59-589 for $140, and one, #223083, for $60. Inform me immediately that you have them, and twice as immediately if either or both are missing from this letter.
(Ed: As noted above, EE wrote across the last three paragraphs “This letter has two checks for $200 enclosed.”)
I sent you about June 26, in a letter presumably mailed by air from Cairo, another government check for $600. Let me know also if you got that one. It went supposedly in a government mail bag.
As regards money for Mary’s senior year expenses, I am decidedly opposed to borrowing anything on life insurance policies for anything short of avoiding actual starvation. My one experience with that back in 1921 will last me for this lifetime. If you run short for Mary’s expenses, you may sell all the Government bonds we own first (including the cessation of any new purchases). After that you may take whatever I have in the savings bank, including the money from the Herald-Tribune prize.
I judge from your letter of June 26 (#38) that some of my letters have finally started to arrive. You might comment in some detail as to how the censor has been treating them. Yours have come through with only one excision so far, in a letter in which you mentioned a letter from me from……., and the censor cut out the name of the place, thereby preventing Mr. Hitler from getting the one last bit of information he needed to round out his plans for conquering America.
(Ed: As noted above, EE wrote across the last three paragraphs “This letter has two checks for $200 enclosed.”)
I’m glad to see you finally received the list of clothing articles I asked for last April. With a little luck, I may receive the things you sent by Christmas. My trunk arrived about 10 days ago, having been some three months (nearly four) in transit.
What you can’t get in the way of white shorts, I suppose some day I can have made here. They are not very important. I wear khaki almost exclusively. And the same goes for the white socks to go with the shorts – if I ever get to some of the places a little more civilized than here, I may be able to buy some.
Never mind the exposure meter for the camera. I can get some expert advice here which should fix the matter, and the meter isn’t worth $25 to me. What Clara sent me was a rangefinder for the camera.
In addition to the checks, I am enclosing some photographs. One shows Captain Brown (Ed: Edison Brown), whom I went across the continent to hire and then had to chase up the coast to Santa Barbara finally to make contact with. Alongside him is me; both of us are in our working salvage uniforms. This picture was taken on July 3 on the deck of our salvage ship. The reason for the smiles on both our faces is that we had just lifted from the bottom a large ship scuttled by our German friends, the superstructure of which shows somewhat to the left of Brown’s head. Why Brown looks more messed up than I, I can’t understand. I hadn’t had a bath for five days, and look at my shoes, which were so stiff from mud and salt water, I could hardly get them on. (They were once my most expensive pair of black Florsheim’s, but that job finished them forever). (I suppose it’s one ship, one pair of shoes.)
The next picture was taken last May 20, when I was entertaining a galaxy of generals (mostly British) just after the conclusion of our first salvage success. (That made me a captain).
In two other pictures (taken the same day) you can find me with the same group on the pier and in a boat on our way out to examine our newly risen drydock.
The other pictures, labeled A, B, C, D, E, and F are various views in the life of a certain German ship which decided to come up from the bottom, barnacles and all, with some of the pictures showing the cataracts of water pouring from her during her rise.
The best picture of the lot I haven’t a print of yet myself, but I hope to get it soon and send it to you. That one, taken on the Fourth of July during the voyage of the ship from where she came up around to our dock, shows the American flag flying beautifully out over the Nazi ensign at the masthead of Mr. Hitler’s late ship. There are a total of ten (10) count ‘em, ten – pictures enclosed with this letter.
I have not yet received a single copy of Life or the Reader’s Digest, and I doubt that I ever will. You might as well cancel the subscriptions and get your money back (if you can) or part of it.
I haven’t received Clara’s book “The Moon is down.”
I am happy to know Mary is home now with you. I only wish I were too.
With much love, Ned
Letter #27
July 16, 1942
As usual
Lucy dearest:
I sent you two letters today which I think will go by different routes. One, dated July 16, I believe will actually go through by air, since I am assured by an air corps officer that he’ll see it gets on a direct plane from this country. That letter contains two checks, one for $140 and one for $60. Both are treasury checks, sent unendorsed. Let me know immediately if you get them, and also immediately if you don’t get them by the time this letter arrives. Also, about June 26, I sent you via supposedly air mail another letter carrying a treasury check for $600. Let me know also the fate of that one, if by the time you get this you have not received that check.
The letter of this morning (July 16) carrying the two checks for $200 also included ten snapshots showing a few marine seascapes of a ship which recently under the urgings of our salvage pumps decided to part company with the ocean floor. Included in the ten were also about four snapshots showing me at work and as escort for an assorted lot of British generals last May. Let me know if any of that lot fail to arrive.
In the second letter (dated July 9) I sent you today, which included some observations on the difficulties of working without men, were included two Fourth of July snapshots showing how we celebrated the holiday on the waterfront hereabouts. Let me know also if that letter arrived with its two pictures and how it fared in conveying to you my comparisons of how much our government has learned since John Paul Jones received the wholehearted cooperation of the country for which he was fighting. That letter went by regular mail from here.
Lest the other letters miscarry or be delayed in transit, I repeat here that my ring arrived July 14, together with your letter #38 of June 26, which came through in remarkably fast time thanks to a fair wind from Mr. Dixon.
I may also mention by way of repetition that if you run short of money for Mary’s college expenses, you may sell all of the Government bonds we have and quit buying others, but don’t try to borrow on my life insurance. I’m set against that.
In your letter #6 of April 16, which apparently lost 12 days while awaiting censorship, after which the censors removed the clipping from the Herald Tribune about the project in this country and substituted the enclosed notice, which from its date shows the delay in censorship. It rather makes me laugh, as the whole newspaper arrives occasionally whenever a ship comes in. (Ed: Printed on the notice: The enclosure in this communication has been extracted as its transmission is not permitted. It was dated April 28, 1942. Ellsberg wrote the following to his censor on the slip: “To the censor: This notice does not refer to any enclosures in this letter. E.E.” And: “This refers to a clipping from Herald Tribune on this project, which you mention in your letter dated April 16. E.E.”)
The whole performance convinces me that the worst way to send mail is via APO 815, as that letter took almost exactly three months to arrive.
There were enclosed in your letter #6 the two statements of Dodd, Mead, which I am returning to you herewith. The major thing I note from the report is that “Spanish Ingots” still acts as if it had a couple of millstones round its neck. Please file these reports with the others in the bottom drawer of my desk.
As regards the voyage, which in that letter you mention as sounding like a nightmare, and trusted was not typical of our merchant marine, I can assure you I now know it was not typical. From the stories I have heard of other ships since and what I have seen of their officers and crews here, I can assure you I traveled on a beautifully disciplined and unusually well managed ship, with officers and crew considerably above average. Draw your own conclusions.
In your letter #30 of June 5 which came recently, you mention again shipping the things I asked for on April 2. Thanks, but I don’t need any soap – I can get plenty here. You want to know what you might send that I might enjoy to vary my diet? Well, I’ll tell you, but you can’t send them. I’d care most for a jar of cream and an orange! Milk and cream are non-existent in this country, and the canned kinds give me a pain, so I drink my coffee black. There are a few million goats all over the hills here, but I haven’t descended to goat’s milk yet. Literally goats seem to be the major animal here for all purposes, and by contract, I must furnish a gang of Persians I have on my drydock one goat every five days. Some Sudanese I had working in the carpenter shop began to park their goats for their Sunday dinners alongside the office building and then slaughter and roast them right there, till I declared a moratorium on goats inside the limits of this naval base. Now the place smells somewhat less goatey.
As for oranges, we get no fresh fruit here at all. The country doesn’t grow any, and the transmission of Palestine oranges, which are marvelous is stopped by the Egyptian government which shows its independence by refusing to allow the transmission through their territory, to encourage the consumption of Egyptian oranges which are uneatable.
We are reduced to canned fruit juices for breakfast, which are not bad, except that the supply seems to run to an undue proportion of prune juice, which I detest. I had thought all the prune juice in the world had gone to Nantucket, judging by the number of decorated prune juice bottles we saw there, but I was wrong. The supply seems still to hang on. I see no remedy, unless you can send me a cow and an orange tree.
As regards your financial problem, I do not advise selling any of the Commonwealth & Southern, nor so far as I can judge from here, any other stock. I think every corporation is going to catch it in the neck on taxes and labor costs, and I can see no great gain in trying to switch from one to another. There is little to be done there except grin and bear it, with an occasional gnashing of your teeth as you observe how the government soaks those who have saved and invested their money, and passes more lightly over the labor profiteers who are drawing huge wages out of staying home and holding up the country on overtime demands.
There may be one ray of light in this tax situation. Check up yourself in New York at the tax bureau in the Federal Building (or ask Ed Smith to do it for you) on whether I as an American citizen domiciled here for more than six months this year, am liable for any American tax on my salary earned abroad. So far as I can judge, I am not, but I’d like to know what the income tax authorities say on the subject. If, as I believe is correct, I am not, then our tax situation for next year will be somewhat ameliorated. I will of course, be liable for taxes on the money paid me in dividends and in royalties by Dodd, Mead, but that is no part of the question to be put – my tax liability on my salary earned abroad is all I want to know about. I may say that whether most or all of the money is remitted to the United States has no bearing on the question and is not to be introduced into any discussion on the matter.
In regard to what you state about rumors about the government forcing people with two cars to sell one of them, kindly remember that you do not own two cars. I happen to own a car and if I don’t want to sell it till I come home, that’s my business. And if you don’t want to sell the car you own, that is your business. And the same goes for the spare tires I have for my car. Don’t in any misguided moment let anyone have, buy, steal, or confiscate my spare tires. Refer them to me.
And if I were you, I wouldn’t sell the station wagon, though it is possible you might find it advisable to lay one car up and save the insurance and license cost on it. I leave that to your judgment.
So far I’ve been well and I see no reason why I shouldn’t continue so. I’ve reduced my figure to quite healthy proportions, get lots of exercise out in the glorious sunshine and the open air, and have nothing whatever to worry about except everybody’s troubles on this station. If Bill Cunningham on a Saturday night goes to town, gets drunk, and lays out 10 M.P.s trying to put him in the jug, when they get him there finally, I’m the one who is called up to get Bill out of jail. (This actually happened). If Doc Kimble, diver, doesn’t think the ventilation in the corner of the barracks where he sleeps suits him, the problem comes to me. If Bill Reed is envious because Higgins, another superintendent rides in a sedan while he is furnished only a station wagon, I have to soothe Reed’s feelings. If the paymaster makes a mistake in Buck Scougale’s pay, it’s my headaches (and the damned paymaster makes a hundred mistakes every payday, affecting Buck Scougale, Mohamed Ali, Antonio Bertolotti, and a varied assortment of Hindoos, Persians, Sudanese, and God knows what other nationalities). This is quite an exciting life, and oddly enough, the least of my worries is the job I came out to do – the salvage problem. However, in spite of the climate, of the enemy, of the League of Nations on my hands, of the British, of the Americans, and of far-off Washington, I’m well and I’m going to stay that way. I have two very good reasons for it.
With love to them both, Ned
P. S. I’ve just been weighed, and I find I weigh 149 pounds, which is a good fighting weight and I feel very combative. I haven’t had a sick day since I arrived on this station.
Letter #28
July 17, 1942
Lucy darling:
I long since lost track of my numbers and haven’t used any for some time, but now I’ll start again with #40, which might be about correct. (Ed: It is actually #28.)
To cover briefly a few things said before in recent letters, I sent you two checks for $200 total two days ago; enclosed 10 snapshots in the same letter; and by a different route on the same day sent another letter with two other snapshots of our Fourth of July celebration which consisted of bringing into port a salvaged German ship. Let me know how all this reached you.
I received my class ring three days ago, in case my other acknowledgements get hung up. Many thanks.
In connection with miscellaneous matters, I guess I don’t need an exposure meter for my camera. I stopped the lens way down on my second attempt on a roll of film here, and the pictures all came out all right. Too much sun here for ordinary settings, I now see. Unfortunately the pictures were all of our salvage work on the drydock, so I can’t send them. I’ll now try to get some more personal pictures which I can send.
“Captain Paul” still follows me up, even here. On the same day last week two letters arrived, one from a gentleman in Rochester and the other from the captain of a cruiser with the Pacific fleet, both telling me how much “Captain Paul” meant to them.
I now have a shortwave radio set I purchased from a British naval officer detached overnight from here three weeks ago to go to the eastern Mediterranean. I parted with $60 to get it. It works well enough, but I’m beginning to wonder why I did it. It’s a good shortwave set even though I can’t get any American stations here. The trouble with it is that the air around here is full of German and even Japanese stations broadcasting in English on how happy all the occupied countries are over the civilization Germany and Japan have brought them. It’s not worth $60 to me to hear that rot. I can get London regularly well enough too, but London and the British Broadcasting Co. are a poor substitute for American station programs. Incidentally, it makes me grin somewhat to listen at this moment to a program from London on how Britain is straining every nerve to provide ships, ships, ships, and try to square that up with the fact that they have here as a salvage officer supposed to be raising a ship in the middle harbor, a gentleman who wears a monocle, knows less about salvage than Mary does, and is no more a seaman than Mike Gallo. He carries on his salvage work from the comfortable elevation of 8000 feet some 70 miles north of here where it certainly is cool but a little remote from the harbor where the ship was scuttled. No wonder his salvage crew, which started months before we did, hasn’t lifted anything yet but their eyebrows. Every nerve is certainly being strained in providing ships in this instance, including mine when I contemplate the spectacle.
About my smoking, which you inquire about in your letter #35 of June 18, I have resumed smoking some months ago, there being little else to do around here by way of distraction from business. However, I’m not in need of any cigarettes. We’re rationed on them, but as long as the ration is a package a day, it’s no hardship. However, as I asked some weeks ago, if you can send me a few of my assorted cigarette lighters, it will help. Matches are scarce, and after a box of matches has been an hour or two in my pocket, it gets so soaked in sweat it’s impossible to strike a light.
About Mr. Ickes and his advice to convert your oil burner to coal, I’d leave that to Mr. Ickes and those who have janitors. Don’t you follow it. I don’t mind shoveling coal myself, but I object strongly to your having to do it. If you think there is any question of your getting enough oil, let me know immediately and I’ll write personally to some of my old associates in Tide Water, who owe me something, to see that you get enough.
As regards my trunks, etc., everything sent before or after I sailed has arrived, though my second trunk took about four months on the way.
As regards the book Clara sent, it hasn’t showed up, nor have either of the magazines you subscribed to for me. You might as well cancel the subscriptions.
I’m sorry you cannot rent the cottage or charter the boat, but I hardly thought you ever could. Don’t be too concerned yet about getting the money for Mary’s college expenses. Somehow I remember the $200 for the Herald Tribune award. You can take that first. I don’t know any better way to use it. Then you can sell off all our government bonds and quit buying others. And I should be able to increase my allotment to about $600 a month as soon as the necessary papers can be prepared (which may be some months yet). I’ll collect the difference in a check here and send that along some time late this summer, so you can figure on a total allotment of $600 a month from July 1 on, though you may not get it all till somewhat later.
You want to know how soon we can clean up our salvage work? I’ll know better by early September, when I can see the whole salvage fleet at work. But the answer really lies in an unbelievable situation regarding the men for the operation of this base, which situation Mr. Dixon can explain to you. I can’t go into it in a letter. I have a better understanding now of “Captain Paul’s” feelings than I had when I wrote the book.
Regarding the things you say you bought for me, short sleeves on the white shirts are what I want. White shorts seem to be very rare nowadays. There are none available here, except made to order when you furnish your own cloth, and that seems unobtainable. Possibly the best bet would be for you to send me cloth enough (same as for white uniforms) for about 4 pairs and I’ll have them made up here. If they have to be made, that is the safest bet. If I ever get to Cairo, I might get some there.
I’ve never heard here about any cheap cable service you refer to. What is it?
With love, Ned
Letter #29
Saturday night
July 18, 1942
Lucy darling:
I’ve had some freer evenings this last week, being the lulls between the storms of salvage work, and I’ve managed to write some four different letters, which I suppose will reach you months apart.
Today has been quite a hot day, the worst this month. It seems rather ironical that the one thing that (if it exists) the doctors might have done for us in this place, they overlooked completely. I was inoculated for smallpox, typhoid, tetanus, yellow fever, typhus, cholera and I think a couple of other things, but the one thing that would have done me or anyone else here any good would have been an inoculation for prickly heat. Not a man I have has gone to the hospital for any of the tropical diseases that were supposed to lay us away here, but nearly a quarter of my salvage gang has been shipped up the hill to the hospital on account of prickly heat and infections they’ve contracted as a result. I have it over both arms and on my back, but I’ve managed to keep free of any infections. It makes you look as if your skin were a good grade of scotch pebble grain leather, and it itches as if you had just had a haircut and all the hair had slipped down your back under your shirt. Our doctor here says he knows no treatment for it. The ordinary treatment, powder, is no good here, for the continual sweat washes the powder right off and you can’t keep your skin dry. I suppose the reason I’ve made out better than my men is that I at least sleep in an air-conditioned room where I can cool off at night and keep dry, while they can’t for we haven’t yet received air conditioners enough to go round the men’s barracks.
Switching the subject rather abruptly, I believe that if you don’t urgently need the money, you request Dodd, Mead to hold up payment of the royalties due on John Paul, Jr. (Ed: “I Have Just Begun to Fight”), until I get home next year. I have an idea you’ll need the money more in 1943, when there are no new books published, and besides it will have a desirable effect in a certain other direction, both in your case and in mine. Since (aside from any allotment) I have sent you a total of $800 ($600 in one letter June 26 and $200 early this week) recently, that should take care of any deficit in Mary’s income for college expenses, and I’ll probably be able to send a few hundred more before the year is out.
As I’ve said in several other letters, based on my experience with the delays, I advise you to give up APO 815 for mail and send everything via J D & P or thru the home office in Washington. Either one of those ways goes far faster.
And you might as well quit using air mail stamps. No matter how you address a letter, they get you nothing whatever in delivery. And don’t address any letters % J D & P and then add APO 815 which means a couple of months delivery at the best and four months at the worst.
As I’ve requested before, you might give me an idea on how my letters have been scissored, and so far as the numbered series goes, how many you’ve received and which numbers are missing. And as regards checks, please let me know what you’ve received, being specific as to dates sent and received and amounts. (This refers to every check you’ve ever received from out here.)
If you know anything about it, I’d like to know how Harry and Will (Ed: his brothers) have been holding up in their promised payments to my mother.
The three snapshots you sent me a few weeks ago (taken by Mary Adams’ friend) are some of the loveliest pictures of you I’ve ever had. I keep them on my desk in front of me in my room, and I seem to have you smiling lovingly on me all evening, which is little enough, but still something in this situation.
I am enclosing a copy of the Eritrean Daily News which is the only newspaper in this country. We do not get much news, everything in English on the front page being contained in only seven stories, which to cover the field range from the Russian battlefront to a social note about one of the King’s brothers.
It is interesting to note that the paper is published in both English and Italian. I have an idea the paper is published more for the information of the Italian population than for that of either English or American sojourners.
On the whole the paper seems to present the news, good or bad, in a fairly unbiased manner, so far as I can judge by comparing its stories with the radio broadcasts from London and Berlin. But compared to the New York Times, the amount of coverage we get is very little and I doubt if with such limited space available, anything but an English newspaper would devote even seven lines to the goings and comings of a duke, and then reprint it in Italian to make sure all hands get it.
With love, Ned
Letter #30
As usual
July 22, 1942
Lucy darling:
I sent you recently (supposedly by air from headquarters city of this organization) a letter dated about June 26 containing a check for $600. And on July 11 (presumably also by air from near here) two checks, one for $140 and one for $60 (totaling $200). Please let me know when you received these. (Use several different letters).
In this letter I enclose a check for $154.41. This cleans up my pay accounts here to July 1. When I can, which will take several months, I shall try to get the papers through to increase my allotment to $600 from $540. Let me know also in several different letters when you get this check. This particular letter goes by the regular mail service from here, and I am interested in knowing whether its delivery time differs any from that of the two letters mentioned above for which I went to considerable trouble to get supposedly special service and fast delivery. Also I’d like to know whether in any other particular whatever, this letter appears to have received different treatment than the other two.
As usual, I am well; as usual, the weather is very hot and very humid; and, as usual, I suppose it will be hotter in the next few weeks when the sun, going south, gets directly overhead in this latitude.
I saw today my first American newspaper since I left home – a copy of the World-Telegram for May 6 which one of the ships touching here left. Two and a half months old now, but it was nevertheless refreshing to read it, trash and all, including My Day. By the headlines, Corregidor has just fallen. By an inside story, I find that General Motors, some governmental alphabetic agency, and its C.I.O. employees (G.M.’s, that is) are squabbling over whether the company shall be forced to pay double time for Sunday work. My God! I wonder whether the thousands of brave Americans who fought to the end at Corregidor demanded double pay of General Wainwright for fighting on Sundays?
With love, Ned
Letter #31
As usual
July 27, 1942
Lucy dearest:
I was overjoyed to receive 6 letters from you today and one from Mary!
Your letters were #25 of May 27, #26, 27, 32, 33, and 34, the last dated June 16. Mary’s was May 26.
So far I’ve received nine of your letters before numbering began, dated Feb. 21, 24, 26, 28, Mar. 4, 7, 10, 13, and 26. The first numbered letter is #3 of Apr. 10. You state you sent about 17 letters before numbering began. You will note quite a gap between Mar. 13 and 26, and between Mar. 26 and Apr. 10. I suppose the missing nine letters fell into those two spots. What happened to them? Ships sunk? Or just delayed? I don’t know, but the letters may yet turn up.
Of your numbered letters, the following have so far been received (including those mentioned above: #3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27 (of June 1), 29 (of June 2), 30, 32, 33, 34, 35, 38 (only one) and 40. It may be there was no #28, and no #39, but of the two numbered 38 only one has yet arrived. Your #40, the latest I have, was dated June 28 and received July 22. The numbers underlined were all received today.
I admire your pertinacity in sticking it out at Brooks Uniform till they produced the right kind of ribbons for my ribbon bars, and I’m much obliged to you for all the things you ordered sent from Lewis & Conger. Also for the various articles of clothing I asked you to get. But when they may arrive here, I have no idea. It took 110 days en route for my second trunk. And I judge those packages may take as long, though perhaps what goes with Captain Whiteside may come sooner.
My ring came very quickly some weeks ago, apparently by direct air messenger.
I note from your letters of late May that you visited the Navy Yard for data on a story. Good luck to you with it. But I believe the conditions they imposed are rather foolish, but there is unlikely to be the slightest difficulty over it. But I think you should get D.M.’s (Ed: Dodd, Mead) acceptance of your MS before you ever submit it for the Commandant’s O.K.
I shall be anxious to hear what Dr. Salvati has to say about Mary’s throat. I hope now she’s home and resting (?), it may have improved.
Please let me know by date & number (if any) of every letter you have ever received since I first reached this station. Also generally how they have been maltreated in transit, and which one’s worst. Also be specific as to checks received in these letters (all checks).
As regards the strange delays in transit, the long interval between my first letter from here (received by you May 15) and the next one to arrive it wasn’t due to the fact that frequent letters weren’t written. What held them all up so long, I don’t know. Perhaps you know now. And it wasn’t the airmail stamps or lack of them. All mail goes out of here by air, regardless of stamps or lack of them. The delays must have occurred in the U.S. due to mail piling up before an inadequate staff of censors to look them over promptly. And it is wholly useless to put airmail stamps on letters coming out here. They all come the same way, regardless. An Army captain showed me two letters he got today, one with 56 cents in airmail stamps on it and the other with a 3 cent stamp. Both left the U.S. together and arrived here in the same delivery, about four weeks en route. The airmail stamp counts for nothing except inside the U.S., and there it is worthless for letters coming here.
Your concern over the gas hot water heater in a way amuses me. Out here we don’t have Hot and Cold water faucets. There is only one faucet over every washbowl, and only one valve for a shower bath. It doesn’t make any difference what kind of water you want, you always get the same kind – HOT. And that without any heater on the line at all. Right now the water runs so hot out of the shower bath that it is just about all the body can bear to stand under it. It’s all done with the sun beating down on the ground outside where the water pipes are buried. Quite economical, really. Out here it would cost money to get cold, not hot, water.
Seriously, however, though this will get to you too late for any value this summer, if the oil problem is a major one for next year, there is still that instantaneous gas heater in our basement which might be hooked up again by the plumber. It requires, however, a separate gas meter from the gas stove. This is imperative for safety reasons.
If I haven’t mentioned it before, your cable of congratulations on my promotion got here July 22 (by mail from Khartoum). I enclose is as a curiosity. (Ed: cable was enclosed).
I may say here that I am still well. Nothing physical bothers me as a result of this hot climate, except the prickly heat we all suffer from, and that is a mess. My back, and parts of my legs and arms look like Scotch grain leather, and the damned things feel as if you were stuck full of fine prickles from prickly pears or some kind of nettles. My case is not so bad as most out here, for in spite of a constant bath in sweat all day, I can at least in the evening retire to a cool room, air-conditioned (temperature from 86° F. to 90° F.) where the prickling subsides and nearly disappears by morning while I sleep. So that each day I can start fresh to acquire a new case of prickly heat.
But up to this week we have only had a total of 15 air conditioners, which went round only to a few rooms for officers and part of the supervisors. The others for the working force never arrived till this week (they are not installed yet). The result was that those poor devils got no relief at night when it was just as hot in their quarters as in the day, and each day’s prickly heat was added on top of what each man already had, so that many finally burst out all over in infected boils which have sent them to the hospital. I haven’t lost a single man yet from any of the terrible tropical diseases which were going to lay us out here (they don’t seem to exist in this vicinity) but I do have a heavy casualty list from prickly heat. Air conditioning seems to be the only palliative.
There are few mosquitoes, few flies, and no moths in our area. I’m told they can’t stand the heat, which may be so. We are supposed to have more flies in the wintertime when things cool down a bit, but I’m skeptical.
Meanwhile, I waiting with interest for August 12 when the sun should be directly overhead here, and the hottest weather should result. I’m dubious that it can get any worse, for frankly, it isn’t the heat, it’s the humidity and I can’t quite see how that can increase regardless of the sun. It is the damned humidity which keeps us all bathed in sweat that causes all this prickly heat.
I note the Coast Pilot, describing the sea we face, denominates it the hottest body of water on earth. I shouldn’t wonder but they’re right.
I never go to the hills daily, for week-ends, for rest periods, or for anything else except brief trips of a few hours when I can’t avoid it to fight out face to face some problems with the damned fools who inhibit that region and think that from long range they can control the work here when they don’t even know what’s going on here, and care less about coming down to find out. I haven’t been out of this port three nights since I got here in March.
The rest camp in the hills is a fraud and utterly useless to us. The millions spent in building it is a total loss so far as use to the men here is concerned, and is worse than that as it has taken the labor of many men who might have been doing something useful to the war effort in this port.
The trouble is that it lies 40 miles away over a twisting mountain road on which any attempt to move large bodies of men morning and evening would inevitably result in a daily fatal accident. And secondly the fifteen or twenty mile stretch just after you leave this port to cross the desert (before you start the hill ascent) is the hottest place this side of hell itself. 160° F is quite normal there in the late afternoon. To take men who have worked all day in the heat here, park them in trucks or buses, and ride them an hour through that infernal heat, would in a few days lay them all away if accidents didn’t.
So we don’t even try it. We’d all rather sweat in comfort and safety here, and pray for the day when all the quarters can be air-conditioned. (Soon now, I hope).
The rest camp was a beautiful dream from 12000 miles away, but against the realities of transport here in the summertime, it has faded completely out. Some other use may eventually be made of all the buildings, but nothing that makes any difference to us here on the shore. My cottage on the Maine coast is of quite as much practical value to me right now.
I may mention in closing that a few days ago I was host here to the gentleman who is a younger brother-in-law to a well known lady who lives now at the spot (somewhat tropical) where Rose Ackerson went to recuperate a few years ago. I had quite an interesting day showing him around our plant and our salvaged craft, riding up in his plane with him back to the high hills, and attending his dinner party there in the evening. In a way, his name reminds me of a certain seagoing village where years ago we spent our vacation (you mostly alone with Mary) and it rained like the devil practically all the time, and water never ran hot in the cottage you had.
With love, Ned
Letter #32
As usual
July 28, 1942
Lucy darling:
The last two days have been quite red letter here – yesterday I received six letters from you and one from Mary, and today I got three more from you - #28, 42 & 43.
The last two were sent %APO 617, which must be giving fast service, as they came through in 25 days.
I wrote you a long letter which went from here this morning giving you the status of your letters received here to date. The numbered series is complete from #3 to #43, except for #31, 36, 37, 39 and 41, which I expect will shortly be along. There may be no #39, as you say two were numbered 38, of which only one has yet arrived.
I don’t know what to make out of Mary’s low metabolism and low blood pressure. My blood pressure is never much either, being about 105 now. As I recollect it, they gave me a metabolism test just after the S-51 job at the Brooklyn Naval Hospital. I suppose that was low too, but a rest fixed me up. However, Mary had better follow strictly the doctor’s advice, especially about work. I spoke to Captain Plummer of the Army Medical Corps, who is our doctor here, of Mary’s case as you reported it, and he said that he agreed that the thyroid tablets seem indicated as the treatment. Dr. Plummer by the way is from Virginia, went to the Univ. of Virginia Medical School, and I may say in many ways reminds me of Dr. Ambler (also from Virginia) who went with DeLong in the Jeannette. I have a lot of confidence in Captain Plummer who has shown the deepest interest as well as medical skill in looking after the men here. He tells me he knows most of the doctors in Roanoke, and went to school with several of them.
I’m glad you were able to get a bicycle for Mary, so she won’t be reduced to the roller skates she spoke of jokingly some months ago. Speaking of getting about, I don’t know what the gasoline rationing rules are, but I see no reason why I shouldn’t have a ration card for my car (which I’m willing to lend to Mary) so that you should not be reduce to one ration for your car as well as for mine. That solution should help the situation a bit.
Just to clarify the situation on reading matter, I have never yet received a single copy of Life, of the Reader’s Digest, nor of any book ever sent me by anybody, except the copy of Capt. Paul, Jr., which I told you of.
A few days ago I had the pleasure of acting as host to Lieut. General________, who came here to look over what we are doing. The gentleman is a younger brother of the chap you and I and Mary and Len and Lillian once turned out rather early in the morning to observe taking a ride in a rather ornate carriage, and bears quite a striking resemblance to him. (Ed: I wonder if he is referring to the Coronation that he attended in 1936 and the sister-in-law is Wally Simpson?)
So I showed him over our shops and our salvaged fleet and what we were doing to them, and he answered “Oh, yes,” to my every remark, though he really was much interested. Then I had lunch with him, rode with him in his plane in the afternoon up to the high hills, sat across the table from him at a small private dinner, went to a tea with him a little earlier, and to a reception with him after dinner and got to know him quite well. As the day drew on, the “Oh, yes” formula faded out and he turned out to have quite a sense of humor. He has a tough life, I’m afraid, being dragged around to see things. I had quite an enjoyable day, anyway, and I think he did also. He did not tell me, however, of what he thought of having an American for a sister-in-law, and I deemed it unwise to quiz him on it, so our evening’s conversation was on a more prosaic plane. He wanted to know what he could do to help along our work here, and I told him. I trust he can say a word for us where it will do some good, for we certainly need it. And so at 11 PM, we parted. Some day when this is all over, and I get back to a little town north of Boston where you and I and little Mary once spent quite a rainy vacation, the name of the place will have a special significance in recalling to me my guest of last Friday. And on his part, I’ll bet he’ll remember for a long time the damned hot day he spent in ------ (name omitted for censorship reasons), and the peculiar American he met there who enjoyed fishing up ships rather than the mackerel for which his namesake town is noted.
Wit love, Ned
Letter #33
About 8000 feet higher
than my usual position
August 2, 1942
Lucy darling:
Your July 4 letter (#44) arrived a couple of days ago. Somehow your thoughts on the Fourth of July strike deeply into my own heart as I contemplate out here what liberty really means and how precious a thing it is. And here, not so far from the fronts on sea and land in every direction, we can see and feel and hear what danger we are in of losing it. How great the danger is once more of “Too little and too late” I fear is not really realized at home, or we should not be left here to struggle without the means promised us months ago. Here is an opportunity to do something on a scale I never realized at home, in a naval way that can bolster up a vital war area. The probability over these past few weeks that we shall kick it away for want of a few hundred men and a moderate supply of materials, has grown. In every way I know out here, I have fought against that outcome, against lack of understanding, ignorance, pettiness of mind, jealousy, and damnable inefficiency as well as indifference on the part of highly paid so called “executives” who can see only a contract and completely ignore the fact that we are in a war.
They don’t like me for it and I’m not very popular up here in the high hills with our civilian executives, but down on the coast where the work has to be done, I’m glad to say I can command the wholesouled cooperation of the men who have to struggle with the sea and the muck and the heat as well as ever I was able to do in the freezing waters of the cold Atlantic. And they’re doing their job, as fine a crew of salvage men as I ever hope to see. Only out here we don’t have an Admiral Plunkett to back us up in getting us what we need to work with, and of late that has been making me almost heartsick.
At the moment, things are looking a little brighter. The British have promised me the temporary loan of several hundred mechanics to work on the repairs of our salvaged vessels and perhaps before I have to give them back, something may happen to waken some minds along the Potomac to an understanding that a few hundred mechanics can do more out here to help America win the war than ten times that number can possibly do at home. But I wish to Heaven that Admiral Plunkett were alive now to tell certain people in sulphurous language what the situation requires.
There is one other ray of hope. A few weeks ago, I’d had a belly full of dilly-dallying and I took my pen in hand to tell in no uncertain terms what must be done – both sides got it, ours and our English friends – as strongly as the English language as I know it can set things out. And yesterday it looked as if at least I had cracked the situation – I got a radio to proceed to our old haunt (the recommended Mecca for honeymooners) for a week for a conference. What may come out of that conference I don’t know, but there may be action. At any rate, here I am up in the hills, waiting to catch a plane Monday (tomorrow) morning for the 1000 mile hop to headquarters – and, I suppose, my old room at the Hotel Continental.
As you know, if some of my precious letters have arrived, we celebrated the Fourth of July out here by deeds, not fireworks. I was never so proud of our flag before as on that day when I saw it floating at the masthead over the Nazi ensign on a German ship we were towing round from its old berth on the bottom of the sea to our drydock.
With much love, Ned
Letter #34
Still high in the hills
August 2, 1942
Lucy sweetheart:
I received three more letters from you today while here, #38 of 6/25/42, #49 of 7/11/42, and #53 of 7/15/42, the last one only 16 days from home. All were via APO 617, which seems to be doing a fine job, though a little spotty as the above dates show, as I have received other letters dated later than #38 before it arrived. I may say that while practically all your letters bear the censor’s stamp, nothing has ever been cut from any of your letters (or Mary’s) except in one of your letters which evidently mentioned the name of the port I bought you some souvenirs, in which that name was cut out, a rather ridiculous censor’s performance, I thought.
I’m sorry those souvenirs have never arrived. Since that was early in March, I guess they never will now, though I personally mailed them in the post office ashore, saw sufficient postage on them, and see no reason why they never reached you unless the ship they went on was sunk. The souvenirs consisted of a fairly expensive little silver table bell for you, made in the form of a Brazilian maiden, and a filigree silver butterfly brooch for Mary.
One copy of Reader’s Digest (May) has finally arrived, and two copies of Life, dated some time in April. Don’t subscribe for me for any more magazines. It isn’t worth it. If you have already cancelled the two subscriptions above, that’s all right. If you haven’t, don’t bother to. The other copies may come some day.
Just to reiterate, all my baggage got here safely, though the second trunk was 110 days on the way. The first shipment was here before I was. Also my class ring arrived with amazing speed.
I have mentioned finances at some length before. I advise against selling any stocks to get funds, and I have a great antipathy toward borrowing for any purpose except health reasons. If you need money, sell off our government bonds. If the need can be anticipated, quit buying any more and put the money in the savings bank instead.
I have just requested the paymaster here to increase my allotment to $590 per month. That should be effective about October 1. And when the official news of what we hear unofficially about some changes in the new pay bill gets here, I may be able to increase that allotment to about $610. This should result from lifting the limitation of pay of a captain, on which subject John Hale can no doubt inform you.
In addition, I should be able to send you some checks from here, covering part of my per diem allowance, since I don’t need it all for my current expenses. I’ve sent you already checks covering everything due me up to July 1, these being one check for $600 sent about June 28, and another letter containing two checks totaling around $200, which went around July 10 to 15. So far I have no word from you of their receipt, but I suppose even the first one (supposedly sent very special by air mail) could not have reached you by July 15 (your last letter so far here).
So far as I can judge (not knowing anything about the new tax bill save that I can fear the worst) I believe this should give you money enough to pay all Mary’s expenses. I should be able to send you about $1000 between now and next January out of my per diem allowance (though you may not get it all by January).
From your letters of July 11 and 15, I am glad to note that apparently you were shoving off for Southwest Harbor about July 17. I am happy to know that you were able to arrange it and also to see that somehow you could get gasoline enough to make the trip in the station wagon.
I shall be interested to learn how good a substitute Gilley and Norood made for me in getting the cottage useable and in getting our various hot water systems in working order. Presumably long before this letter gets to you, you will be back in Westfield again, since you say you are going for a month only. Did you get the Argo in the water?
I rather imagine Southwest Harbor was emptier of men than ever. It was good judgment on your part to have Mary invite her friends up and I hope all hands had a pleasant time. Meanwhile, there is nothing you could have done to make me feel better than to know you both had some time in Maine with a chance to cool off. Write me fully about it. (Maybe you already have).
I trust also you were able to get Mrs. Rice to help you, so that (foolish hope?) you got a rest yourself as well as a change. How much I wish I might have been with you, words cannot express.
So far as sailing goes around here, we are farther away from it than when I came. So badly are our work boats in need of constant repair, that I have never been able to put a single boatbuilder on refitting the two star boat hulls we found here. And today I learned that the masts and sails I ordered for those boats in New York were on a ship that was sunk on its way here (together with a whole cargo of other things for us) so that I guess our sailing is definitely off for this year and probably for good. That was a blow, for sailing seems to be the one possible recreation available to us here.
So that’s that.
Tomorrow morning I shove off for a week close up under the guns for a conference. The plane leaves about 9AM. I’ll probably stay at the Hotel Continental and will write from there.
With much love, Ned
Letter #35
In the air, bound
generally northwest
Aug. 3, 1942
Lucy darling:
Half an hour ago we took off, heading at first almost due west for a city in the adjoining ancient country, from whence we shall go due north along a very famous river. We’re flying at about 12000 feet, I judge.
I left one letter to be mailed where we took off, and another one and this will be mailed at our destination.
Just before plane departure, I was handed two letters, one from Mr. E telling me of his efforts in Washington (up to then without result, though offering a slim hope) and the second your letter #41 of June 30. In that you relate your struggles to get white shorts and socks (so far fruitless) and a later letter from you mentions that Captain Broshek was also unable to get any in Washington. Let the matter drop. The city I am going to now for a conference should be the best place in the world to get them, and I shall try there. If I can’t get anything there except scarabs and “guaranteed” relics from King Tut’s tomb, I’ll give the problem up and wear khaki for the rest of the war. I only want the white shorts for dress occasions only, such as when I entertained the Duke of Gloucester some time back (I wore a borrowed pair then) and dukes don’t visit our way very often. Unless I can get some white shorts where I’m going, the next member of the royal family who drops in will have to be received in khaki.
I note that various other articles of clothing are on their way via J D & P, plus the various articles for household use I first asked for. With a little luck, I should have them by Christmas.
No, I do not have a house and there isn’t any prospect of any. I might have had a cottage supposedly reserved for me by the British by throwing out some other officers who were in it when I arrived, but after I looked it over, I passed up my privilege of rank. The cottage wasn’t worth it. Then I decided to occupy a single room in an abandoned Italian officers’ building till all the swarms of workmen arrived, when along with barracks for them, a proper single house for the commanding officer could be built. A little experience with our contractor on the ground here, however, cured me of all my illusions about swarms of workmen (plus a lot of other things about him) and since then I have been struggling only to keep what workmen there are, on essential and desperately needed naval projects (and you would be surprised to find how tough a task that is). No house for me – it isn’t important enough to waste men on. So in an office building we converted into officers’ quarters I have a large room, a private bath, and a kitchenette. (That is, in the kitchenette I have an electric refrigerator (Hotpoint) and when the other things arrive, I’ll be in a position to do a little light housekeeping on my own hook).
I have been presented with a complete set of dishes for service for three (plus table silver) by Captain Madden of an American ship which sailed from our port last week. It seems that two days before his sailing date, he was on the verge of heat prostration and the doctor ordered him to the hospital. But he wouldn’t leave his ship, fearing if they ever got him into the hospital, he might not be released in time to catch his ship, which would sail without him. I happened to come aboard then, and getting the situation from the First Officer, I solved it by inviting Captain Madden over to my quarters for a brief visit to cool off under my air conditioners. That he gladly accepted. So I drove him over, had an extra bed put in the room, then invited him to spend the night with me and so on stretched that few hours visit into two whole days and nights till I had him well cooled off. (Of course, I had to go to work, but he never left the room, even for meals). I got him back aboard his ship an hour before she sailed, and he was so grateful, he gave me eight cartons of cigarettes, ten pounds of coffee, the dishes I’ve mentioned, ten pounds of sugar, three pounds of butter, a dozen cans of evaporated milk, four books, and – a coffee percolator! Unfortunately the last item, though the smallest he had, is an eight cup affair, so I can’t use it often without wasting coffee as it won’t perk properly on less than three to four cups of water. And Captain Madden would have given me the rest of his ship almost, if I’d only take it, as an expression of his gratitude. If his ship gets to New York on its return (he doesn’t know his destination) he’ll call you up. But as it will be months yet before he gets there, I sent no letters via his ship, as the regular mail should beat him home.
I have an idea that while I have repeatedly been informed that all the mail from out here, regardless of stamps or lack of them, goes home by air, the service is much less frequent than it is coming this way. Bound out from the U.S. are probably numerous planes of types you can guess, all of which may carry some mail. Bound back are probably only the minimum number of planes to return the ferry pilots, so the homeward bound mail stacks up and is probably further delayed by inadequate censorship forces at home to expedite its delivery.
Now one letter to you, containing a check for $600, got the most specialist, fastest, most privileged air mail service there is. It was mailed from the city to which I am now bound, on June 27. When did you get it, if you ever got it? If it arrived any faster than any of the others, let me know, as occasionally I may be able to repeat the performance.
Later
A couple of days ago, I received wireless orders to proceed to headquarters for about a week for a conference, subject not stated. So I turned over my job temporarily to my second in command (an army officer), told him everything I could think of to keep him out of trouble during my absence, and I’m now on my way.
We are now on the ground again after a few hours flight over country that would have taken a week to traverse otherwise. I’ve been here twice before this year, this being the spot from which I started north by air over the most dismal stretch of desert imaginable of which journey I wrote you at some length last March while I was in the air. We change planes here and continue on in the morning, going due north for our headquarters city.
When I was here before (both times last March about a week apart) I thought this was the hottest place on earth. Knowing I was coming back this way to face the August weather, I looked on our brief stay with some dread, but to my surprise, on disembarking here, it felt not unusually warm. I suppose it’s because it’s dry here, and my four months on my station have rather changed my body’s ideas of what heat is.
So here I am, at the moment parked in the hotel (the Grand Hotel, of course) waiting till the later afternoon when the town shall unlock itself at 4:30 PM after the midday heat (?). We (that is, an army colonel also going on duty to the same city as I’m bound for) shall then go out and I’ll see if I can pick up a few things not available in my hick town, and perhaps we shall have a look at Chinese Gordon astride his bronze camel, looking down the river a bit at the place he lost his head.
I have written Mary a birthday letter while in the air, en route here. I’ll try to get it off tomorrow by special air service, in the hope that she may get it by August 29. And, meantime, darling, for Mary’s birthday, her twenty-first, and except for her birthday twenty-one years ago, her most important, I want to tell you how I love you and how much this absence causes my heart to ache. What longing I have on that day to hold you again in my arms and look into your glowing brown eyes, I cannot express in words. From the day your eyes first smiled on me I have always loved you, and since the day you first kissed me, I have always thirsted for your caresses, but never so much, after all these years, as now. My prayer for Mary’s birthday is, may God bless both you and her, and may He soon reunite us all.
Ned
Letter #36
In the air, second
leg, going north
August 4, 1942
Lucy darling:
Yesterday I shoved off by air for a trip to headquarters for a conference. We landed for an intermediate stop due west of my departure point and stayed over night at Khartoum. This morning we took off in another plane, going due north now.
Below us the river is in full flood here high up its course, as in ancient times.
I had several letters written, two for you and one for Mary’s birthday, which I had intended when we got to our destination (Cairo) to try to forward for quick delivery by preferential treatment mail pouch when I got to the legation. But I found our landing place last night was almost like the air crossways of the world – officers were there going in every direction. So I found one bound home by air this morning and gave him the letters which he promised personally to see mailed when he landed. So it may be that Mary will get her birthday letter somewhat early.
All the smears at the head of this page are due to the ink pouring out of my pen when I took it out high up in the air (expansion due to decreased pressure). Sorry.
I got around to see Chinese Gordon’s statue again yesterday afternoon, and to go through the native city nearby where he met his death only a few days before Kitchener arrived with a belated relief expedition three-quarters of a century ago.
Cairo
Aug. 6, 1942
I went up from Khartoum to Cairo in a flying boat, getting here Tuesday afternoon. The reason for the conference seems to be a discussion about the operating personnel for our base. Before I leave here, I’m to go up (Friday) for a discussion at Port Said with the British naval officials and then back to my station.
I’m staying here at some Army billets in Helipolis, a few hundred yards from the air field. The Germans have bombed it several times and last Friday raided it heavily, smashing a few planes and losing one of their Stukas right on the field and another nearby. We had an air raid alarm last night also, but guess the Germans were turned back. No bombs. The moon is not favorable now, so the attacks may cease. Except for the airfields, Cairo itself shows no signs of bombing whatever. It’s all heavily blacked out however.
This letter should go back with an Army colonel leaving here tomorrow morning who promises to mail it at home. So it should get quick delivery.
We are having a hell of a time at my station. It’s hot, it’s humid, and the prickly heat is bad. But none of that really bothers me. I’m well, have been, and expect to remain so physically. And my salvage forces so far here (two small groups) have done beautifully. In addition to the drydock, we have now salvaged the Liebenfels (picture enclosed of her bow coming up) and are working on her larger sister, the Frauenfels, of which you’ll hear later. The rest of our salvage forces (except Whiteside’s ship) and most of our equipment should be here in a couple of weeks now and we should really begin to go to town on salvage.
But we have had a terrible shock on our naval base operations. We are told at home we can get no materials and no men for shipyard repair work from home – the British must furnish them. And the British say they can’t. So I am left without any men from either source, and with a fine base all ready to operate and desperately needed. It nearly drives me wild.
We had the Liebenfels on the dock three and a half weeks repairing the huge hole blasted in her port bow, when we should have done it in a week. And even to do that I had to beg, borrow and steal a few mechanics from the construction contractor who parted with them temporarily with such bad grace I can hardly hope to get them again.
Meanwhile, half a dozen other ships we should have docked lay idly off the port two weeks, waiting for the Liebenfels to clear the dock so they could go in. And in the United States, they think they need ships!
The Liebenfels is afloat now, her hull fully repaired. We are now working on her machinery, and in a couple of months, she should go to sea again under her own power, with less than 1% of the material and labor used on her for salvage and repair that it would take to build a new ship of her size.
General Maxwell is doing his utmost to show Washington it is making a bad mistake, for he has great faith in this base. I hope he gets somewhere soon with it, or my few men will shortly be all knocked out and I can’t get any more. It makes me too dizzy to contemplate the spectacle soon of a harbor full of salvaged ships all waiting repairs and desperately needed at sea, and no men to put on the repair work. Such a spectacle I never hoped to confront outside a madhouse.
I may not soon get a chance to talk as freely to you again, but since this letter at least should be seen by no other eyes than yours, I want to tell you I love you to distraction, and dream nightly of the time I can crush you in my arms again and drink in caresses from your eyes, your lips, your breasts and your whole body. But most of all I long to bathe again in the lovely light you’ve always poured out on me from your intoxicating soft brown eyes.
I love you, I love you, I love you, and I shall love you forever.
Ned
Letter #37
Cairo
August 10, 1942
Lucy darling:
Your two letters, #55 & 56, of July 20 & 21 from Southwest Harbor have just been delivered to me here. (They came via the home office, and consequently took this routing on their way to my regular station).
I note you got news of my promotion by my letter of June 24. I cabled you that on June 26, which apparently never arrived. Six dollars wasted. Your cable of congratulations reached me about July 21.
I note you received the $600 check. You haven’t reported yet on the two checks for $200 (about) sent you several weeks later.
I’m now in the city where Mary is due to spend her honeymoon. I’ve been here about a week, trying to get help for my station. I’ve been turned down flat where ordinarily I should get it, as I’ve told you before. I’ve spent the last week traveling the triangle of which this is the apex and the sea is the flat side, trying to get it elsewhere. It looks now as if Nina’s compatriots will lend me a hand.
I’ve been along from the place east of which a man can raise a thirst (according to the poet) to the city where cousin Matt technically is domiciled in between trips around the world. In the latter spot, I met the chap who is Ernie King’s (Ed: Admiral Ernest J. King) counterpart out here, and spent last night as his guest at his home. He was quite extravagantly complimentary on what I’d been doing beneath and above the sea, and in particular very grateful for what I’d fished up as my first salvage success. He promised me seven officers and a couple of hundred men from his mechanical forces to come to my station and lend a hand, subject only to the approval of certain officials of a type similar to those made famous by Gilbert & Sullivan in one of their most popular operas. He’s cabling in his recommendations and I think the chances look fair for my getting a couple of limey three stripers and five juniors to lend me a hand, as well as the workmen. So at this moment, things are looking brighter.
I just got back here at noon, leaving him at 8:30 AM. I hear here the jerries came along and bombed the place just an hour after I cleared out. What they hit (if anything) I haven’t heard yet.
At one of my stops this last week, the A.A. guns opened up on a high flying German also and shooed him away. He dropped nothing.
I’m due to have a discussion later this afternoon with the mission command on these new developments, and then go back to my station.
I note you are sending me something for prickly heat. I know now none of those things do any good out here, so don’t bother any more.
Also by the way, in this city I’ve had some white shorts made to order and bought some white stockings, so I’m fixed up on those now. So far as your letters show up to now, you weren’t able to get any, and now you don’t have to bother.
To reiterate, both my trunks and the suitcase arrived, the original shipment before I got here. No other packages (except my ring) have yet arrived.
Yes, I’ve started smoking again. Too much of a nuisance to keep refusing cigarettes. But at present we get a package a day out here at ten cents (no tax) so I don’t need any from home. Thanks for the offer.
I don’t need any gold lace. One blue suit is fixed up at the expense of the other; so are my shoulder marks. I don’t need the other blue suit. I wore the one that’s been fixed up only once: the night I had dinner with the Duke of Gloucester some time back up in the hills where it was cool.
As regards the silver eagles for my shirt, a very thoughtful lieutenant who’d heard of my promotion in Washington brought me out a pair. So if you’ve already had John Hale send some, I’ll have two pairs; if nothing has been done about it, don’t bother now.
So far as anyone out my way has seen, there isn’t any V-mail. Also there don’t seem to be any cheap cables.
The mail via the home office seems to come through completely unmolested. The mail via the N.Y. post office always bears a neat little paster along the edge, but has been only cut to a trifling extent once. At present both seem to get the same speed. The letters via Dixon come through fastest and unopened, but not if they are addressed %APO (which is useless on such a letter), for then Dixon never sees them and they might as well be addressed straight APO, as both ways.
Rather odd, in Matt’s city I met the captain of a battleship which Capt. B. had overhauled at Brooklyn. He spoke most glowingly of the remarkable efficiency with which Capt. B. had repaired his torpedo damages, and asked me if I knew him. I said yes, by last accounts from you, you had Capt. B. chasing around Washington trying to get me some white shorts – we knew him that well. You might write Capt. B. and tell him that even after a year, that limey captain was still bubbling over with enthusiasm over Capt. B’s work. And on my own account, remember me to him.
It’s a little late to give you any advice on the matter, but if you leave your Chevrolet in S.W. Harbor, be sure to note the mileage, take a careful look at each tire and its condition and note them down carefully, and then take the keys home with you. I wouldn’t trust any garage nowadays, especially with the owner far away, not to use a stored car rather than wearing out tires on their own.
I’m still puzzled as to how you got the gasoline to get to S.W. Harbor. If this gets to you before you leave S.W., and you can get the gasoline, take my advice and drive the car home with you. But except for the danger of having the car used during your absence, I see no great objection to leaving it in Maine.
Glad to note you’re getting some returns from Kandel (Ed: Craftsweld, the manufacturer of Ellsberg’s underwater torch). Every dollar is certainly useful now.
I sent you a letter a few days ago via an army colonel flying home. Let me know whether it reached you unmolested and when.
I’m sending you enclosed a picture (enlarged) taken with my own camera about the middle of last June, with our own ocean for a background. The lighting isn’t quite right on this one, but all the pictures I took myself on that strip came out well.
I understand the British Broadcasting Co. gave me attention on one of their broadcasts last Friday. I was at Port Said then and didn’t hear it. I’m only told a news story got cabled to the U.S. at about the same time, I haven’t seen that either. If you run across it, you might send me a N.Y. clipping.
This letter goes (I hope) via the naval attache’s bag. It may get better delivery that way.
By the time you get this, I suppose you’ll be back in Westfield, but on a chance, I’m sending it to S.W. Harbor in case it gets marvelous delivery and you stay through August.
Right now, I’m still well (steady at about 149 lbs.) and feeling somewhat more cheered up at the prospects of getting some men to work with. We can do things in a big way if only we’re given half a chance. The trouble has always been we’re so damned far from everybody, they can’t believe the place exists till they see the results.
Since this letter will probably get read by other eyes, I can only say here, very soberly, I love you.
Ned
P.S. By the time I get back on my station, I’ll have been gone over ten days and there may be other letters waiting me there.
Letter #38
August 10, 1942
Lucy darling:
I’m shoving off from here by plane tomorrow morning to go back to my station, and should be there tomorrow night.
I’ve spent the week traveling in this area from the point east of which there “ain’t no ten commandments” to the point of Matt’s residence, and down here where we all once stayed some three days. The funny thing is that this city, which we all thought quite hot, seems cool to me now – quite a pleasant summer resort.
I didn’t manage to get my problems wholly settled, but it does look as if I’ll get aid from the British, and that is something.
There was a story in the local paper today, cabled here from N.Y. as an Associated Press dispatch, about my raising the drydock. That’s humorous, seeing that the interview on which that story is based, was given right here in this town a few days ago by orders of the general commanding. So to get published here, it had to go all the way to New York and back by cable.
Well, now I hope we’ll get men enough to work with, and really start to clean up this business.
With love, Ned
Letter #39
Once more in flight
over the desert
Aug. 11, 1942
Lucy darling:
I took off in an army plane from headquarters this morning and at present, about an hour out, we are flying over the desert. The same scenery as usual – sand, rock plateaus badly cut by erosion, no vegetation and no life, except once in a while when we get a distant view of the river with its thin thread of green standing sharply out against the desert sand. That river is certainly the most marvelous in the world when one considers how down through the ages a whole civilization has been built wholly on its waters and would vanish completely should anything stop its flow. This was the one never failing granary for ancient Rome, and it does quite as well now. Too bad it is in the hands of a bad gang of parasites as curse the earth, for never have I seen the common laborer used literally so much as an ox and get so little out of his labor. Here at least the land produces marvelously, so there should be no dearth, but the poor devil harnessed to a rope dragging a heavy scow along the banks of the Nile seems to me as badly off as when his remote ancestors were hauling stone for the Pyramids.
Just before I left for the airfield this morning, I had a telephone call from the head of NBC here who wanted to know if I would broadcast to the U.S. tonight, stating he had permission from our headquarters and had already wired New York to arrange the program. I said I was willing enough but – did he have any broadcasting facilities in Massawa (all the enemy must know I’m there since the British Broadcasting Co. made it the subject of a broadcast last Friday night) and he said (as I guessed) unfortunately no. Since I couldn’t defer my departure and he couldn’t move his equipment, my chance to say a word that you might have heard, went glimmering.
I suppose long before you get this, you’ll be back from Maine and Mary will be preparing to go back to college. I certainly hope both of you got a rest there – I long myself again to roam around the pines and spruces of the Anchorage and sail the cold waters of our bays. The more I see of the world, the happier I am of our choice for our summer cottage and if I could only be there again with you and Mary, I’d want nothing more. I only hope when I’ve done my bit here to help roll Hitler in the mud, I can go back to it. But here I am instead with the desert below and my hot station ahead. However, I don’t really mind the infernal conditions we must work under as long as I can see we are really doing something effective there that can’t be done anywhere else – and I doubt can be done by anyone else as well.
Later
We’ve run across the desert and now are skirting the southerly bank of the Red Sea. The ocean always looks cool, though I know this one is not – it’s the hottest ocean in the world and the saltiest. But it’s lovely to look at with its colors running from light greens around the reefs and shoals near shore, to a gorgeous blue in deeper water - a blue that puts the Mediterranean azure quite to shame. How it ever came to be called the red sea I can’t make out. It is the bluest water on the earth, and particularly lovely looking out from the scene of our labors among the wrecks our German and Italian friends have left us with..
I sent you a snapshot taken with my camera, in a letter yesterday. In case that letter goes astray, I enclose another. It’s fair, but I hope when I get back to get some better ones.
I suppose the new tax bill has been passed by now. If you can get from any source (a newspaper report, from Ed Smith, or elsewhere) a table of what the rates are, I’d be glad to have it so I can put a little study on my problem, and perhaps some on yours. And I’d like an answer to my question of a previous letter as to where I stand as an American citizen domiciled in a foreign city as a permanent resident there for over six months a year, on my salary earned there. My understanding, obtained when I was considering that job in England, was that under such circumstances income earned abroad is not taxable in the U.S., though income like royalties or dividends received in America, is.
As soon this fall as you can make any reasonable estimate of what you have received from dividends, royalties or similar sources, please make up a rough table of it and send it out here, stating sources and amounts received. I’d like to check it over myself and advise you, before you have to submit your income tax return next March. Send me the same data relating to my income from similar sources or from any sources, starting with last January 1st. As regards my return, I believe I’m allowed six months after the year ends to make my return. As soon as you can get your hands on any of the new forms to be used, send me at least one as a sample and more if you can get them. And just as a reminder, in case you don’t know it, nothing whatever that you receive as allotments of my pay or as checks sent you by me, constitutes any part of your income and none of that is to be reported by you in any form whatever.
As regards Mary’s income, I’m somewhat dubious as to whether she’ll have to make any return, seeing that her dividends have been badly cut but that I can tell as soon as I see the new rules andI’ll advise you. Don’t go anywhere else or to any one else on that matter.
Speaking of financial matters, the Navy pay officer out here says he is quite sure that the new pay bill removed the limitation of $7200 in pay of a naval reserve captain on pay and allowances, but he does not yet have official notice of it and consequently is not yet paying on that basis. On the old basis, I’m being paid now a total of $7200 against pay and allowances plus $400 for foreign duty. (The foreign duty pay comes outside the limitation), or a grand total of $7600. On the new pay bill basis, this will be increased to about $8000 in my case, and I’ll get the retroactive differences when the news comes through officially. I’ve already changed my monthly allotment to you to $590 (which with my insurance allotments takes up nearly all the $7600) and when I can, I’ll change the allotment again to about $620 when if and as the news of the new pay bill reaches here officially.
Aside from all the above, as I’ve said before, I receive from the Army a certain allowance which I collect here somewhat irregularly, but from which I think I can send you at least $1000 more before this year is out. I’ll know more definitely about that shortly.
(My pen ran dry soon after I started this letter, and now my mechanical pencil is running dry too and I have no replacement leads with me in the air, so this letter may have to terminate rather abruptly).
I have every reason to believe that with this we should be able to take care of Mary’s senior year without her having to skimp unduly and still allow you also to get along in some comfort. I don’t think with the clothes I now have on the way, I’ll need anything more for quite a while and I need very little otherwise.
Don’t stint yourself on food or clothes or anything like that just to try to save money for investment. Once we have some idea of our tax liability for next year and our this year’s (at this point the lead went out but I’ve borrowed another pencil from a British flying officer aboard, so I can continue) income, I (or you) can figure out what if anything may be available for that. I know taxes will take a husky bite, insurance will take a couple of thousand more, and no doubt everything in the way of food and clothes is already mounting in cost. I would be interested to see what your budget is, if you have any. Meanwhile, of course, next year’s book royalties will be considerably less, for which reason if you can arrange with D.M. to pay all the royalties on John Paul, Jr. next year and not this, it should be a help. And without doubt dividends next year will be cut even more, since the poor old corporations will catch it between taxes and labor costs even more than their stockholders. Meanwhile, what, if anything, is being done to tax the mechanics who are really the profiteers in this war?
If there is anything left for investment, I would suggest it be divided about evenly between stocks and the government victory bonds, with perhaps even much more than half going into industrials. Inasmuch as I’m already kicking away two or three times as much as my entire service pay by struggling out here instead of cashing in on an executive’s job in some shipyard or with my pen or my voice as a naval expert telling our fellow countrymen how to win the war by every method except getting out on the fighting line, I don’t feel we need to go any farther than that as our financial contribution. So if you have any money left after settling with the tax collector, see Ed Smith about putting it into industrials. We won’t get trimmed any worse there than we will in government bonds, and we may make out better. The cost of the war is going to come out of our hides anyway, and inasmuch as I can expect nothing in the way of retired pay or social insurance or anything whatever except what we can do for ourselves, I can’t help but devote a little selfish attention to that problem. I know Uncle Sam won’t give me another thought when this is all over.
We’re starting to bump around a bit now as the plane is going lower to make an intermediate stop at the one port on this sea between our start and our destination. We’ve been about four hours in the air on this leg.
Still later
We were an hour and a half on the ground, and are now off again. Quite hot in that place. It vies with my own port for the honor of being the hottest spot around here, but this one can have the honor. We are more humid and they are more dusty, as they have the desert sands right in their back yards and, thank goodness, that at least we are spared. We are flying down the coast again, with the myriad reefs looking like bits of turquoise in the bluer sea.
To reiterate on V-mail, while I have heard of such a thing from English officers and seen one or two of theirs, no American service of that kind has shown up around here. And when it does, I believe it will be much slower than letters any way. So don’t rely on it now for anything you want delivered.
I notice in your #56 letter of July 21, you mention you received one of mine finished July 8, which certainly reached you in jig time. That letter was started just before we began lifting a ship, and was finished a couple of days after the lift was completed and we had her in dock, at which time I think I was a little tired and perhaps to some degree bitter also at having to work with so few men and with borrowed equipment that was next to worthless and nearly killed us all trying to keep it operating. We should have some more salvage men and equipment by the time I get back so next time I hope for a more normal performance. But of course I’m far better off with my salvage crews than so far I have been with my repair gang, where I’ve been left absolutely flat except for such men as I could steal. But the British have now practically promised to give me a few hundred and that should help.
While in Matt’s home town I was the guest over night of the gentleman who was the main character in the article I wrote for the Sperry Co. early in this war (Ed: Commodore Sir Henry Harwood), and for which purpose I went to Washington to gather data. For his very unconventional brilliance on the occasion described in that article, I have always admired him and I found him a very human and a very unaffected person. He was very generous in his praise of what I had done, and I may say very deeply interested in what more I could do for him, for which reason he is personally putting all the pressure he can on back in his home town to have me given the aid I need.
If you check back on what that article was about and its leading character, you will soon be able by asking John Hale to identify his present position. And I see that On the Bottom has never hurt me, for Rear Admiral--------, one of his aides, assured his chief that On the Bottom was far and away the most thrilling book he’d ever read himself and advised his chief that if he wanted to read a real classic of the sea, he must read that. After which we talked far into the night on that and similar matters and so to bed. That night I slept in a bed (in what had been one of the major mansions of that town) that I swear was at least eight feet wide with furniture to match. It does seem that (as I’ve seen stated in an official British letter) I have an international reputation for salvage, which our performances so far out here have done nothing to hurt. It’s almost humorous to see how much our performance in lifting that dock has dazzled them from top to bottom. I really ought to get out of here while the shine is still on my reputation, but that wouldn’t help win the war nor keep the ships moving.
Well, now my vacation (?) is about over. It has been cooler for me everywhere I’ve been, and that is something. And I have certainly gained something from meeting all the top brass hats in the British navy in this part of the world, and perhaps they have gained something too, for I’ve promised to do something for them in docking a badly needed damaged cruiser for them when they couldn’t figure out a way to do it themselves in a dock that is smaller than the ship. But we’ll do it.
Right now we are flying over my station and I can look down on my docks, but we are not landing. We are going back into the hills, about a twenty minute ride (by air) to the airfield there and from there I’ll come down by car, about a three hour trip back over a beautiful mountain road that I’ve always enjoyed riding over. And so, sweetheart, that ends this letter, which started about eight hours ago in the shadow of the pyramids.
With much love, Ned
Letter #40
Aug. 13, 1942
Lucy darling:
I am back at my regular station after a ten day trip covering pretty well the northern part of the country to the westward of us. I’m waiting now to see whether I achieved any results in getting men.
On my return, I found that our largest salvage ship with our equipment has just arrived. She’ll be a big help.
I also found on my return that a very ingenious scheme on the part of J D & P to run my salvage work for me in a palace politics sort of way had been undertaken as soon as my back was turned. That I think I squelched yesterday. The fifth columnists are not all resident at home. It would be a great help out here if we could only devote our energies to fighting our official enemies.
I am enclosing a treasury check for $186 endorsed for deposit only. Let me know when you get it.
Meanwhile I have a lot to do today, including chasing a number of rats back into their holes, so this must be brief.
With love, Ned
Letter #41
Usual station
Aug. 13, 1942
Lucy darling:
I’m back on my normal station after about ten days spent kiting about a very ancient country nearby seeking workmen.
I received quite a stack of letters yesterday, including, I think, all the missing letters in the group before you started numbering – Mar. 18, 24, 25, 29, and 31, plus two from Mary dated Mar. 17 & 26. The whole lot came with a censor’s stamp of a port bordering the eastern entrance to this sea, so unquestionably all came all the way by water, almost five months en route. I now have a total of 15 letters before your numbered series, which may complete that lot.
I have also received in the last week your letters #38, 41, 47, 49, 50, 51, 53, 55, and 56 and two from Mary of Jul. 6 & 13. The missing numbers in your series now consist of #1, 2, 31, 36, 37, 39 (but there are two #38’s here), 45, 46, 48, 52, and 54. Some of your letters have come through in the extraordinary time of 16 to 20 days; most of them now take about a month whether sent via APO or Home Office. #56 via Home Office got here in 17 days from SW Harbor.
You want to know when we shall get through here. Our largest salvage ship with most of our equipment and more salvage men has just arrived, and I had hoped with her here to get going on a big scale in an effective way. However, our contractor seized the opportunity while my back was turned during my ten days absence to try to seize command of this job and has managed by working on one gentleman (who reminds me very much of Captain Landais with whom Paul Jones had some difficulties) to go through actually with appointing him in complete charge of all salvage operations. I came back to find such an order issued and in the process of being executed. That I have stepped on and I think quite effectively squelched, but at the moment I find my salvage captains and crews divided into two camps and morale very nicely disintegrated. A beautiful piece of sabotage, for which Mr. Hitler’s agents, had they done it, would be well entitled to be decorated with first class Iron Crosses or swastikas or something studded with diamonds.
It interests me very much to observe what goes on here with an organization partly civilian and partly military endeavoring to carry through a strictly military operation in the war zone. I can assure you our civilian friends in charge act as if they didn’t know there was a war on, or at least didn’t care. Marvelous what effect the chance to make a lot of money has on some people.
When will we get through? I’ll know better in a few weeks when I see what luck I have in shaking some of these leeches loose from our tasks so we can work, and see what results I have in getting back to sanity some of my men who have been led astray. Frankly, on this job, fighting the ocean and what the enemy has done, are the least of my problems.
If I get a decent chance to work, I’ll clean this job up within a year. If I don’t get that chance, it may take longer, but a lot of people who try to get in my way out here are going to be pretty thoroughly cracked up for the delay. But that meanwhile I have to devote a great part of my time to combating petty jealousies over my successes so far, damnable intrigues, and the worst kind of inefficiency on the part of the contractor’s executives, seems unbelievable in wartime. But so it is.
Meanwhile on other subjects: This morning in another letter, I sent you a Treasury check for $186, being all of my army allowance for July. I think I can send about $150 a month for the remaining months of this year, though there is no absolute certainty of that allowance being continued beyond the month of September.
I’m glad to note from one of your much earlier letters (just received) that you got $730 from Kandel this spring and some $230 more very recently. That with the $200 I sent you in July (not yet acknowledged by you) and the $186 sent today, should certainly carry along Mary’s college expenses. I note that the $600 check I sent you in late June, arrived safely.
I enclose the first sheet of a letter I wrote you on July 23 but then decided not to send. However, now it seems a propos, so I’m including it. There wasn’t much on the second sheet of that letter, except the schedule, which showed that at very infrequent intervals, the executives got down from the hills just before lunch, and started back immediately afterwards so the afternoon heat wouldn’t incommode them. A very efficient arrangement for keeping well acquainted with what was going on here and what was needed. After observing it here for some months, I now appreciate better how it was the Irish finally came to the conclusion over a century that even wholesale murder was justifiable to achieve home rule.
Your somewhat disillusioned Ned.
(Ed: This is the enclosed letter)
As usual
July 23 1942
Lucy darling:
I received your letter no. 40 of June 28 yesterday, together with Mary’s letter of June 27. Yours came via APO 617 and hers via Washington, but both were delivered together. That surprised me, for normally the mail via N.Y. takes two or three times as long.
I received also the same day your cablegram of congratulations. My cable went about June 28. I assume you replied immediately. That meant over three weeks for a round trip, which is very poor. Meanwhile I haven’t seen or heard anything about cheap cable rates here. Can you actually send any such thing from New York, and if so what are the general rules and rates?
Tell Lucy Giles she has my deepest sympathy. I am truly sorry to know her husband has died.
Both from your letter and from Mary’s, I’m pleased to hear there is a little something in the way of social life for Mary in Westfield this summer.
Your hope that I am progressing with my work and that by now more men have arrived to help me, puts you in what may be called a unique position. You are the only person who cherishes that hope. None have arrived. None are coming. Not for me. I cannot understand where you picked up that illusion. I have long since been disabused of it. Rationally enough, in this part of the world where everything, including literally every mouthful of food for all the Americans (over most of whom I have not the slightest control) must come by ship from America, the importance of ships comes last. If this seems strange to you, I would suggest you read Alice in Wonderland. As a natural result, emphasis on construction goes into construction of the projects considered important into which category the project I was sent here to operate does not come. Conveniently enough, these other projects are not located on a hot and humid seacoast, where living conditions are slightly unpleasant, but are located high up in the hills well away from here, so that it results in the happy combination of permitting all the major executives of the contractor to live inland close to their important undertakings.
I doubt whether any of them have ever spent a night here since arrival, and their very infrequent visits here usually follow this schedule:
1. Leave inland by car about 9 AM.
2. Arrive here about noon, which is just in time for lunch.
3. Have lunch, over by about 1 PM.
4. Start to look at their watches, as it is desirable to start back before the afternoon heat becomes intense.
5. Business (if any) hurriedly discussed while the visitors are getting back into their cars, which at the latest should be underway by 2 PM for the hills.
This schedule (on a visit every month or so) keeps these executives closely in first hand touch with the work and the needs of this port, so that they are in an excellent position between visits by telephone from 8000 feet up to direct everything here much better than those who are handicapped by day after day contact with the problems to be solved, which close contact naturally warps the judgment of those who must live on the spot. The resulting efficiency is astounding.
I received a letter today from Mr. E. who is really trying to do something for us, and as you know, has been south trying to clear the track. If you want to know just where we stand, I suggest you drop in and talk with him, without however, going into what I have said above. So far as I can judge from his letter, Mr. E. seems to have had no luck. I do however, very much appreciate his interest and his efforts, and I wish you would tell him so.
It is quite unfortunate that a shift in duties has robbed us of our original chief, who even though he was not in our branch, at least had great interest in this project and felt its importance. He has been succeeded by another in his branch who sees only the bricks and mortar involved in construction and little of the end in view in operating it, and consequently takes little interest in what, if anything, concerns the operating force.
(Later, Sept. (sic) 30. I’m glad to see by later developments that the general still keeps both a control and a definite interest in what goes on here).
Letter #42
As usual
Aug. 14, 1942
Lucy darling:
I have an idea that I have been somewhat mixed up in my numbering, so from now on I’ll try to run a check sheet to keep track of what the number last used was.
I suppose about now you are packing up to leave Southwest Harbor if you followed your original schedule. I hope however you decided to stay till later in the month. Certainly as I look at the snapshot (taken by Gilbert Hetherington) of the view across the cove through the trees of the Argo and our picturesque fish factory beyond, nothing could break me away from there to go back to Westfield in mid-August – not if I were there. How marvelous it would be to feel the soft carpet of pine needles underfoot again instead of the damned sand about here! And to see real trees and cold water again! Not to mention you and Mary rambling along our own quiet road – instead of Eritreans, Sudanese, Arabs and God knows what else thronging the roads here. Let someone else be put somewhere east of Suez, where a man can raise a thirst! I’m tired of drinking a gallon and a half of water a day. I’ll be quite satisfied to be put somewhere east of Ellsworth (Ed: to the west of Southwest Harbor) and get along with only a glass or two.
Personally, I can see you need me badly there. I knew things wouldn’t go so well without me on the spot to fix them up. What could you expect of Farnham Butler’s hired man except to rig the outhaul wrong? And I’ll bet Gilley had trouble getting the water heaters going and Heaven knows whether anybody could stoke the furnace properly and see the thermostat worked right. Ah well, I suppose they all did the best they could to make my absence unnoticeable.
Did you have Mrs. Rice? You make no mention of her in your latest letter (July 21). I hope you did. By the time a few more of your letters arrive from there, I’ll know all about it.
Here we are in mid-August, with the sun directly overhead at noon, so that by strict mathematics we should be having our hottest weather of the summer. However, we are not. I’m sure July was worse, and perhaps even June. We’ve been getting somewhat more breeze off the sea, which has perhaps kept things a bit more livable. Now I’m told (by the English) that it is September that is going to slay us. However, I don’t believe it. I think we’ve seen the worst already and have managed to survive quite well (so far as the weather is concerned).
I sent you yesterday a Treasury check for $186, representing my Army allowance for July.
As I told you in some letters last week, I managed to get some white shorts and some white stockings while I was in Egypt, from a shop hardly a good broadjump from the Hotel Continental. So you don’t have to bother any more about getting those things.
Meanwhile, nothing has arrived here whatever except my two trunks and my suitcase, the copy of “I Have Just Begun to Fight!,” my class ring, two copies of Life and one Reader’s Digest. All other books, packages, and articles of whatever nature and by whomever sent are still (I hope) somewhere on the way and presumably may be expected roughly from four to six months after shipment. However, there is no certainty about that. I know now for a fact that the masts and sails I ordered for the two Star boats here, lie at the bottom of Mozambique Channel. So perhaps some of those other things are on the bottom also. But all of them shouldn’t be, and I’ll let you know when anything at all gets here.
I sent Mary a birthday letter, which was taken directly home by an Army colonel flying home whom I met last week in upper Egypt. I trust she got it before Aug. 29. I have received her letter containing the picture of her silver pattern. I think it is lovely.
I enclose a postcard snapshot similar to the two I sent you from Egypt last week. If those have arrived, please send this one to my mother. If not, you may keep this one. It’s not a particularly good picture, but it was the best I could get done there in a hurry between stops in the various cities I had to get to for conferences.
With love, Ned
Letter #43
Aug. 15, 1942
As usual
Lucy darling:
The first V-mail letters, about which you have been asking, arrived today – four of them. Yours were numbered 46, 48, and 52 (the last of July 14) and one from Mary dated July 10. I am enclosing one of them for your inspection, so you can see exactly what they look like on arrival. The lot came just as you see this one, unsealed and uncontained in any envelope, though I’m told some others for other people arrived folded and sealed outside.
These numbers fill some gaps in your series. Those still missing are #1, 2, 31, 36, 37, 45, and 54. The latest letter I have so far received is #56 of July 21.
The question you wanted answered in your letter of May 9, #18 is so far as I can foresee, answered as follows: I do not believe I shall stay here after the salvage work is done. I have no desire to stay after that, and I do not believe that I will be ordered to stay after that. There is certainly no reason why someone else should not carry on from that point.
As regards other matters: I already have all the white shorts and stockings I need (bought last week in our neighboring country to the west) so as you mention you will try no further till you hear again from me on this; everything is fine. Don’t do anything further.
Unfortunately the sails for our Star boats got sunk, so we’ll do no sailing for some time yet.
It is very thoughtful of you to offer to make window curtains for me, but I think it unwise. By the time you got the information, made up the curtains, shipped them, and I got them would be at least six to eight months from now, and it isn’t worth it. If I feel the urge I’ll have some made here, but I’m dubious that I ever shall.
So far as I can judge at present, the V-mail has no advantages at all at present. It has been slower than the regular mail, and its other disadvantages are obvious. At some later time, it may perhaps be better in speed, but in the meanwhile I’d suggest not using it except for an occasional test.
With love, Ned
PS To get the V-mail letter into this envelope, I had to fold it once. It came to me unfolded.
PPS The English here, who have had such a service for some time, suggest using a typewriter for V-mail letters. They say you get more on the sheet and it’s more legible when received in the reduced photostatic form. You can judge for yourself.
Letter #44
Aug. 16, 1942
As usual
Lucy darling:
I stayed up rather late last night (Saturday) playing with my short wave radio, on which I find I can get best the German stations and Italian ones, broadcasting in beautiful English what they claim to have done to the British and what their Axis partners (the Japanese) have done to the Americans in the Soloman Islands. The Italians have a broadcaster who I swear comes from Alabama, and sounds to me like a defeated candidate for senator who has moved on to Rome. When this war ends, I think along with Hitler, Mussolini and Hirohito, these renegade Englishmen and Americans who are helping our enemies on the air, should all have their necks wrung and I should be pleased to help in the process.
At any rate, along about midnight, fishing for the British Broadcasting Co. between two powerful German stations, I was surprised to get very clearly WLWO, the Crosley station in Cincinnati, which was working on a “News From Home” program. There wasn’t anything on the program which interested me particularly, since most of the home news was from towns in the middle west, but at any rate it was pleasant to hear America on the air, and now that I know American stations can be heard here, I’ll try again for some others. Unfortunately we are seven hours ahead of New York out here, so when it’s 6 PM in New York, it is 1 AM in this vicinity and that rather messes up listening unless I do my sleeping in the daytime and my listening at night.
To go from shortwave to shaving: one of the fine steel bars which cover the cutter on my Schick Electric razor has either worn through or a piece has broken out of it, with the result that it scratches my face occasionally as I shave. I can still use it (and I do) but I should like a new cutting head.
I bought this razor at Jarvis’ two or three Christmases ago, and last winter I got a new hollow ground cutting head put on it. The parts needing replacement consist of an outer head and an inner cutter (I understand these go in matched sets, although only the outer head is broken). The one I have is stamped as follows:
Stamped on one side……20
“ on the other side…..Hollow Ground
USA PATS
1721530 1747031
“ on the end….. 2M
The razor I have is a Schick Colonel Shaver, marked Colonel
7
What I want is a new head to fit that razor. I’ll install it myself. The razor did not originally have a whisker catcher, but an attachment for that purpose was fitted by Jarvis shortly after I bought it. The new head should cost about $3.
When you get the new head (it is quite small) wrap it up a bit and ship it inside an ordinary letter. Don’t make a package of it, for if it is sent that way, I won’t get it till hell (or Massawa) freezes over.
To go over again a few things I mentioned in previous letters in case some have been delayed, I received my class ring probably two weeks after you sent it. If you ever sent me a statement of what I had received in dividends or otherwise since I left, it must have been in one of the letters which is still missing. I haven’t seen anything of that nature except Dodd Mead’s royalty report which I’ve returned to you.
I received 3 V-mail letters from you and one from Mary a couple of days ago. Those were the first. Except for my two trunks and my suitcase, the copy of J. P. Jones, Jr., and my ring, no packages, books or anything else of any nature sent by anyone have yet arrived here.
I sent you a check for $186 in letter #48 of Aug. 13. Sometime around July 10 to 15 I sent you two Government checks for $200 (total) which you have not yet acknowledged. Probably it is too early to expect an answer yet.
The weather here continues warm. Out on the water it runs about 102 to 105º F daily in the shade. Ashore it is warmer. I haven’t taken any recent temperatures in the sun. However it doesn’t seem any worse than in July; perhaps a little cooler for the sea breeze appears to last somewhat longer now. I believe the humidity is also running a little less.
By separate letter, I am sending Mary an ivory bead necklace which I picked up in the Sudan, as a birthday present.
With love, Ned
The following letter was written by Ellsberg to Howard Lewis, president of his publisher Dodd, Mead. It gives a nice overview of what he had done in Massawa to that point.
Letter #44A
Aug. 16, 1944
Somewhere east of Suez
Dear Howard:
I rather owe you an apology for waiting so long to write you and my friends in Dodd, Mead. But so much has been happening since I shoved off last February that until today I hadn’t even written my mother, so you can judge you haven’t been slighted.
I got out here to find the Italians and Germans had made a first class wreck of the place, both afloat and ashore. Such a vast array of wrecks I never expected to see anywhere – the ships are literally scuttled in rows wherever you look.
We turned to when my first divers arrived and started in with practically no equipment at all except two diving rigs which had come from home. Our first attempt was on the most valuable prize of all – a sunken drydock which the Italians had scuttled by exploding seven bombs in the lower holds or pontoons, to blast seven huge holes in the bottom of the dock through any of which you might easily have driven a Fifth Avenue bus. The British had looked that dock over with their divers when first they captured this place, but an official report to their Admiralty classed salvage as not practical, which recommendation the Admiralty had approved and they had abandoned any attempt to raise it.
But we badly needed that dock here. So without any salvage equipment except what I could borrow from the British themselves in this port, I turned to on that dock with thirteen Americans and our two diving suits, and in nine days from our start, we had it fully afloat. Our British friends out here are still rubbing their eyes over that one; what the Italian naval captain who did the most devastating scuttling operation ever carried out on anything on that dock thinks about it, I’d give a lot to know.
Our second effort was on a large German merchantman scuttled to block off the approach to an important oil loading terminal; this one had all the sea valves removed as well as a large hole forward from another huge bomb, so in all I guess we had nearly thirty holes in her, large and small, to patch. Still working with antique British borrowed equipment, which continually kept breaking down on us and nearly killed us all before we got through, we had a tough time on the bottom with her. Our last five days on that job, we worked straight through with practically no sleep, (I got a total of about six hours sleep and my men no more) to bring that ship up and keep her right side up in the process. But on the Fourth of July, we got our reward when we brought her into port afloat again, with the Stars and Stripes flying proudly over her Nazi colors.
That is the score to date. Our own equipment has arrived at last and now we are working another Nazi ship.
As you know, all of my diving before has been in cold water where the problem was how to keep from freezing to death. Here it has been quite different, due to the hot water, but oddly enough we still have to wear a suit of woolen underwear every dive to keep the canvas rigs from chafing our hides off. There are a few other problems, of which prickly heat, which keeps us all wriggling like snakes, is the worst.
I’m perfectly willing to believe that this place is the last stop this side of hell, but so far we’ve managed to keep on working and I think we have now weathered the worst of the heat and the humidity. Last June it ran between 149º and 163ºF out on the drydock where we were working on repairs; I’ve never tried to take the temperature again since.
Ashore I managed to get all the sabotaged machinery going again in the Italian workshops, so now we are in fair shape to carry on what the place is intended for, and when all our American equipment gets here, we’ll have quite an establishment.
Personally, I’ve made out rather well. I’ve lost about fifteen pounds since arrival, which puts me in good fighting trim. I enclose a postcard taken last week (rather in a rush) while I was in Egypt. If I’d been here, I’d have been in a sun helmet and minus that shirt. I haven’t had a sick day since I’ve been on this station, and I’m the only officer who has been continuously attached to this place since we arrived. (The others get shuffled around to the cooler spots up in the mountains, but as we can’t put our wrecks on wheels, I have to stay where they are).
For more or less of the above, I was recommended by the Chief of the North African Mission for promotion for “most outstanding service” and last June by order of the President I was made a Captain. So strictly speaking, Commander Ellsberg has vanished officially from the scene, but if I ever get a chance to write anything again, for literary purposes I guess I’ll always remain Commander Ellsberg.
We have our troubles out here, but if I started to relate them, I guess they’d never get by the censor, who seems much interested in trying to keep up the morale of the folks back home. So I shall only say that now I have a better understanding than I ever had before of what John Paul went through when he was trying to get the men, the materials, and the ships he needed to go out and fight America’s battles. I trust I have better luck than he did in surviving the ordeal – perhaps I’ve had already, for he died at forty-five and I’m already past that by five years.
If ever I get back to the United States, I’ll know how to appreciate it. Meanwhile out here, I’m doing what I can to help put the skids under Hitler and Hirohito. It isn’t much compared to what might be accomplished here with a little assistance from back home, but I’m thankful for the chance to do even that little.
Ned Ellsberg
Letter #45
Aug. 23, 1942
As usual
Lucy darling:
I have been exceptionally busy this last week on our first ship job for which this place was designed (other than for salvage work). Interestingly enough the work was for a captain whose last job was handled at my old stomping ground by the captain whose aid you requested in getting white shorts for me (but who couldn’t find any). I am glad to see this naval base beginning to justify its name. I think we did the work (it will be finished tomorrow night) about as fast as it could have been done by my old associates and quite as well, without the ship having to lose months of valuable time from her station in going to and from the shadows of Quarters F. At any rate, we are doing it in just about half the time allowed for the work by those who sent her here. It is a particularly interesting job because it involved putting a ship into a floating drydock which was too small for the length of the ship and of insufficient capacity to lift her, for both of which reasons it looked impossible for us to handle her in our dock (that is, it looked impossible to those controlling her movements). But when it was mentioned to me on my recent visit westward that it was intended to send her some thousands of miles from here for repairs, I offered to take her on, showed how it could be done, and now we are nearly finished doing it. It is quite a neat juggling trick.
Aside from all that, I have found the weather here since I got back on August 12, somewhat more bearable than that we had in July. There has usually been somewhat more of a sea breeze, so while it may have been just as hot as usual, it didn’t seem so. At any rate, August is nearly gone, without having shriveled us all up, as was confidently predicted by those in occupancy when we got here. I rather imagine the worst is over.
In some other ways, things are looking up a bit. I have been promised several hundred helpers by our associates in the neighboring country I visited, and I think they should soon be along. And in addition I have been promised seven naval officers as assistants, also from the same source. So it may be that I shall soon have adequate support, though it makes me blush to think that not one of them will come from those who sent me out here with the promise of providing the men necessary. It will seem queer commanding both officers and men of another nation and running an American establishment without any Americans in it to speak of (except in my salvage force).
Changing the subject, I received yesterday the first package (except my ring) I have yet had delivered from home. This package was personally carried over by one of the men recently from home via ship and air. It contained three pairs of khaki shorts, three khaki shirts, three white shirts, and a dozen handkerchiefs, for all of which I am everlastingly grateful. Will you thank your mother for me particularly for the handkerchiefs.
I see these things were sent by you via J D & P on June 26. They took just eight weeks to get here. The articles you sent last May are probably still at sea somewhere (and still afloat, I hope).
I have received in the last few days the following: letters of 7/25/42 and 7/25/42 (from Mr. Beard) neither of which was numbered; V-mail cards #54 & 57; one postcard (unnumbered) of 7/20/42 bearing a good likeness of Clarence; and your letter #62 of 7/28/42. This leaves the score to date missing: #1, 2, 31, 36, 37, 45, 58, 59, 60, and 61. Of those beginning with 58, the three unnumbered items mentioned just above may constitute three. If so, let me know.
I see by your later letters, Mrs. Rice was with you again at Southwest, apparently still able to bake magnificent blueberry pies. I’ve almost forgotten what a decent pie or cake tastes like, and as for the lobster and popovers you had at Jordan Pond, they seem like vague recollections of a previous incarnation. Anyway, I’m happy to know you still can have them.
I note that Mr. Whiteside is on his way. I’ll expect him about October 15. Sorry Mrs. Whiteside couldn’t visit you in Southwest.
No doubt you are all home again by now. I hope you really did have a restful time (and evidently you had a cool one).
On Aug. 13 in my letter #48, I enclosed a check for $186.
I wrote my mother about a week ago, and enclosed one of those snapshots I had taken in Cairo.
With much love, Ned
Letter #46
Aug. 25, 1942
As usual
Lucy darling:
I received four letters from you today - #71 of Aug. 10; a letter of Apr. 3 (the last of your unnumbered series); and #1 and 2 of Apr. 5 and 7 respectively. The last three were 41/2 months on the way, apparently all the way by water via the east coast of this continent as shown by the censors’ stamps they bore. That route is no longer used for mail here, thank goodness.
I have now received 15 unnumbered letters, which may be the whole lot. (You thought there were 17). Of the numbered series, the following are still missing: #31, 36, 37, 45, 58, 59, 60, 61, and everything between 62 and 71 which has just arrived. Two unnumbered letters of 7/25/42 (one Mr. Beard’s) may be two of your numbers between 58 & 61. The dates fit.
Answering the questions in your #71 letter of Aug. 10: The package sent last May containing percolator, thermometers, etc., has not arrived. The statement above covers your question on letters received. My ring arrived in about two weeks – excellent delivery. I have received one or two copies of Life of late April about a month ago – none since. I have received one copy of Reader’s Digest (May, I think). It was either lost or borrowed before I ever opened it to read it, so I’m not sure what month it was. None since arrived. I have had a letter from Reader’s Digest, which I enclose as self-explanatory. I think I can spend my old age reading those copies of Reader’s Digest when they finally arrive.
Don’t subscribe for anything more for me out here.
I received your package of June 26 containing 3 white shirts, 3 khaki shirts, 3 khaki shorts, and a dozen handkerchiefs. It was personally delivered by the man who carried it all the way. I got some white shorts in Egypt recently. Don’t bother any more to get me any nor any white socks. No other packages of any nature nor anything else except as noted above have arrived yet.
I note you have received some letters written after July 11 referring to the two checks for $200 which had not yet come. Probably by now you’ve received them. Keep me informed. I sent you a check for $186 on Aug. 13 in letter #48. Let me know the results.
I judge from your reference in #71 of letters of congratulation just reaching you, that an Assoc. Press dispatch from Cairo was the probable cause of the letters. If you can send me that clipping (of about Aug. 6-8) from some N.Y. paper, I’ll appreciate it. The same story was apparently the subject of a British Broadcasting Corp. worldwide broadcast on Aug. 7, which I never heard. Thanks for your glowing comment on how it struck you. I feel (as always) that the inner satisfaction of knowing that something necessary has been well done is the only reward I’m ever likely to get out of all this, but it is wonderful to know it seems worthwhile to you also. I suppose I’m lucky to have received a promotion and some warm commendation from the British high command also. That’s more than usually happens. It cost plenty of terribly hard work and quite a lot of sticking it out in some hazardous situations when the easiest thing to do would have been to confess failure and get clear while the going was good. (Some others wanted to). The British out here think I do it with a magic wand, but they don’t know the heartaches, the cold chills, the headaches, and the oceans of sweat it has cost me.
However, I’m fortunate in that my health is better than when I came here, and my only real trials have been mental ones over the lack of cooperation from home, the envy and chicanery of certain civilians out here who have thrown monkey wrenches into the works, and the most contemptible intrigue imaginable by the same crowd to take over while my back was turned during my recent trip on business to the country west of here. The latter plot was so damned absurd I had no trouble squelching it flat the day I got back, but it has had a serious effect on the morale of my salvage crews which will take some time to efface.
We just finished this morning a very excellent repair job on the drydock in just half the time allowed us for it and the ship is now again afloat and ready to return to her war station. I did the job mainly with a force of English workmen who came down with the ship, but if it had not been for a handful of Americans whom I threw into it, Heaven only knows when it might have been done. The English are so handicapped by a century of trade union restrictions that they’ve lost all knowledge of how to make a job move, even in wartime on a warship. They learned on this job. The last lesson came yesterday morning when they had to beat a thick steel plate into shape against the ribs of the ship to close a hole in her, and a dozen of them stood round an hour looking at it, to inform me finally (through their own superintendent) they couldn’t do it, and it couldn’t be done. I then brought over from the other dock two American ironworkers who beat the plate into shape in an hour and a half. The English workmen now think I am a driver, but there seems to be also some little respect in their manner.
What interests me mostly in this particular episode is that I had a devil of a time keeping the leader of the two American ironworkers from being discharged and sent home as a worthless drunkard some two months ago. (He was like Dick Jones, good when he was sober, but subject occasionally to weekend drunks, when God help anyone who fell afoul of him). I managed to save his job, got his promise to quit drinking (which he has kept) and have given him an occasional pat of encouragement. You should have seen him yesterday beating hell out of that steel plate with a sledge hammer. He got it up all right, and there is one British warship that to the rest of her days will carry the evidence of Bill Cunningham’s appreciation (and the marks of his sledge hammer).
This was our first job on anything but merchantmen, and I am particularly proud of the way we turned it out. It reminded me of my somewhat younger days in the last war at the Brooklyn Navy Yard when we pulled some very good performances on battered warships, except that there I had a gang of men and equipment to back them up compared to which what we have here seems almost laughable. But we’ll make out just as well now, even without all the machinery (with a little driving) we’ll have to, or the Germans and the Japanese will drive us all off the earth.
Right now negotiations seem to be reaching a favorable point for the British to lend me a hand with a number of officers and workmen to help out here. I can see I’ll have a lovely time teaching them all how to work in wartime. I mentioned to one of the prospective new British officers that I would get this first ship done within my time, unless I was disappointed in what English workmen could do. He said, “You’ll be disappointed.”
Well, the ship went out on time (my time, not theirs).
With much love, Ned
Letter #47
August 26, 1942
As usual
Lucy darling:
Two of your letters, #67 and 69, arrived today. That leaves missing 31, 36, 37, 45, 58, 59, 60, 61, 63, 64, 65, 66, 68 and 70. (#71 came yesterday). Two unnumbered letters of July 25 may be two of the missing letters between 58 & 61.
In your letter #69, I found the two clippings from the N.Y. Times and the Herald-Tribune referring to the dock, which I asked you to send me in a letter mailed yesterday. So now you don’t have to. I see the subject got a worldwide spread, all right, between the Associated Press, the American radio, and the British Broadcasting Corporation. I wonder whether Mr. Manzi-Fe got the news of what I had done to his Italian associates.
I note the story that reached New York was practically cut in half by the censors in Cairo. There was a lot more of it originally, dealing with how we treated the Nazis for our Fourth of July celebration out here. (I do not want the Nazis to feel we are not impartial, and devote more of our efforts to the Fascists than we do to them). We all had just as much reason to feel happy over being one up on Herr Hitler as we were on Signor Mussolini.
I had a letter from J. D. & P. (Mr. Flanagan) dated Aug. 11 in which he informed me that Captain Whiteside had in Virginia (reason not stated) decided to return to California and is consequently no longer coming out. Who takes his place, I don’t know. Of course, there was a delay of three weeks there due to that change and some other troubles. His vehicle (without him) may arrive now about November.
I notice you have made no mention yet of any of the pictures I sent you about July 10-15 of our holiday celebration, including one or two of myself. Possibly the letters hadn’t arrived by Aug. 10, which is the date of your last letter (#71). Let me know exactly how many came through, and in general which they were.
Thanks for all the clippings you sent me in #67. However, for your information, I return to you the N.Y. Times News of the Week section so you may know how it looks when it gets here. The idea of sending it, however, is a good one and I’d appreciate your sending it weekly. You might compare this mutilated copy with an original (which I think you can find in the library files) to see what it was that was unsafe either for me to know, or to let out of the country.
Later
Aug. 27
Five letters came in the mail today – quite a gala occasion. They were #36, 37, 61, one unnumbered letter of Jul. 22, and one from Mary of June 23. That leaves the missing list as #31, 45, 58, 59, 60, 63, 64, 65, 66, 68 & 70. The probabilities are that your three unnumbered letters of Jul. 25 (2) and Jul. 22 are 58, 59, and 60. Is this correct? Just how #36 & 37 got hung up so long, I don’t know. Both went thru the home office in Washington, which usually gives about one month’s delivery (sometimes less).
There were numerous questions in your #36 of June 19, but I’ve answered them all several times in different letters, so I shan’t again now.
Why my promotion cable took a month to reach you and arrived after the letter carrying the same news, I don’t know and shall never be able to find out. It went via Cairo, and since I’m not there, I can’t enquire, and even if I could, I doubt I’d get any satisfaction.
I enclose a circular recently issued out here dealing with private communications. A close study of it may clear up in your mind some questions as to why I have not done this or that.
As for the cheap cable service you have often asked about, there is no cable service at all in this country. All cables must go by other routes about a thousand miles to Cairo, after which God help them. I doubt that the cheap cable service will ever reach here.
Regarding the mention in the Herald-Tribune about my diving regularly, it is slightly exaggerated. I made the first dive made out here by anybody on the sunken drydock, to start the job off. Since then I’ve dived a few times on the second job we undertook, which was a ship job (over on July 4) and a few more dives on the drydock to show the use of the underwater torch. I haven’t dived now for over two months – I haven’t time. I may do a little once in a while on other jobs for inspection, but it won’t be often. However, there is nothing to be concerned about. The water is only about a third as deep as when we worked seventeen years ago on the S-51, and it is nice and warm – no strain at all. But between all the things I have to do, I can hardly dive regularly even if I wanted to.
Referring again to mail from here, all the mail goes out exactly the same whether it is marked “Free,” bears a three cent stamp, or is so covered by air mail stamps that the address can’t be read. It all goes by air regardless to the United States, but what delays it encounters en route due to lack of transportation, slowness of censorship, or just plain bone-headedness on the part of the amateur postal service out here, have nothing whatever to do with the postage or lack of it put on the envelope. And the same is exactly true of mail sent here from the United States. You don’t get a thing for the air mail stamps you put on, and I’d advise you to quit using them and save a few cents to give to the tax collector instead. It does appear now that mail originally sent by you in Feb., March, and April simply addressed to this country, was sent out by freighters bound out this way all the way by water, and took over four months to arrive. However, mail sent now via APO, does get direct mail service and takes from 17 days to a month, depending on how it catches the planes, I suppose. The same is identically true of mail sent via the home office, which however has one advantage (unmentionable) over APO, which for some communications may make a difference. Mail sent via J. D. & P. may occasionally catch a quick delivery when they have someone coming out, but unless you are assured beforehand by their office that such is the case, you gain nothing by it and may lose. Unless there is some need to get quick delivery on something and you can check to make sure you’ll get it, I would not bother them.
That letter of July 22 which reached you Aug. 6 (presumably in Southwest Harbor) containing a check for $154.41, was sent via the naval attache’s office in the neighboring country. I judge it took from July 22 to July 27 to get to his office from here, and from July 27 to Aug. 6 to get to you from there. I was much interested to know how it was treated in transit and now I know. I’ll save the knowledge for use on some other important occasions, but it isn’t easy from here to use that route.
In your letters reaching here today, there were two more sections of the Times weekly news review, both about as badly mutilated in transit as the one I enclose.
With love, Ned
Letter #48
Aug. 31, 1942
As usual
Lucy darling:
Today was another banner day for me – I received five letters from you, two from Mary and one from Captain Rosendahl – quite a fistful!
Your letters were #63, 64 (V-mail), 65, 66, and 68. That leaves the missing letters as only #31, 45, and 70 (assuming that three unnumbered letters of Jul 23 & 25 are 58, 59 & 60 respectively).
I notice that all the letters which came today bearing dates from July 30 to Aug. 7 were via the home office, while #71 which came about a week ago was via APO. That might indicate APO was faster, though as I’ve stated before it has one disadvantage as compared to home office service.
I was happy to know you had such a pleasant time in Maine and particularly glad to hear you saw the Hales and Mrs. De Koven again. I regret myself that Mary did not have the use of the Argo, but the crew difficulty was, of course, not to be disregarded. Anyway, the tender was something.
Too bad all the accessories in our houses in Westfield and Southwest Harbor didn’t behave 100% in my absence. However, I never expected that they would – they usually need some loving attention to keep them up to par. I can only hope between Gilley in Maine and the mechanics in Westfield you manage to get reasonable service. However, half the fun I’ve ever had in having the house or the cottage and the foc’sle has been in doing things to them and in keeping all the gadgets going.
You mention you want some snapshots of myself. My camera has done well here since I learned more about using it in this brilliant sunlight, but most of my subjects would not go through for military reasons. The only picture of myself taken with it I sent you several weeks ago. However, in another batch of pictures sent about mid-July was another taken on July 4 aboard the Liebenfelswhich was a good enough candid camera shot, I thought. I also sent you a studio postcard from the city where I was interviewed during my late visit there. (I was there, including several nearby ports, about ten days).
You have often asked whether I have received a package sent last May, containing a thermometer plus other things. I haven’t, but I believe I should shortly receive them. Aboard a ship just arrived, is (according to her manifest) one case for Commander Ellsberg. Judging by her sailing date, she might well be the carrier of that package. It may be some days yet before they get to that case in one of her holds, so I’ll have to wait a while yet. You can figure out the delivery time for yourself.
Whatever was sent with Whiteside will take even longer. Whiteside, as I said in a previous letter, decided to call it a day in Norfolk and left. Who his successor will be, I don’t know, nor when the packages he was carrying will arrive. Transportation problems to here remind me of when Vasco da Gama first made the voyage via this route – the speed has not improved much since.
Meanwhile, I’m thankful that package was not traveling with the sails and masts I ordered for the Star boats here – they will never arrive.
Mary’s twenty-first birthday has come and gone. I sent her a birthday letter from Khartoum about Aug. 2, which (if it did not miscarry) should have reached her early, since it went by what should have been exceedingly fast service. I trust she received it in time. And several weeks ago I mailed her an ivory bead necklace I got in Omdurman, as being almost the only thing I could send in the mail. I hope it had better luck than the things I sent long ago from Pernambuco, which never reached you or her.
As for myself, I spent the night of Aug. 29 (Ed: Mary’s birthday) high up in the hills, where I had to sleep under three blankets to keep warm. I can, however, think of ways better than that for keeping warm the memories of Mary’s birthday. No doubt you can also.
With much love, Ned
Letter #49
Sept. 2, 1942
As usual
Lucy dearest:
Just as I started this letter this evening, three letters of yours and one from Mary arrived. Yours were the missing numbers 58, 59, and 60 of July 23, 24, 25, which I had before thought might be three unnumbered letters of about that time you sent me. All four of this evening’s letters were sent %of Mr. Dixon and evidently came over all right by special messenger, but all came several weeks later than the regular mail letters before and after them. For instance, #71 arrived about Aug. 25. In this case, I guess the special messenger was delayed in starting. I don’t know who he was. The score for undelivered letters still stands as 31, 45, and 70 – not bad now.
I also received today the package with the silver collar eagles sent by John Hale. Please thank him for me.
And finally to make the day complete, the chief mate of S.S.----- which arrived some days ago called me up to tell me that he had finally reached the spot in his after hold in which the case shown on the ship’s manifest for me, reposed, and I could get it by going over to the commercial port and seeing him personally. The reason for that request, he said, was that the case had very evidently been broken into in transit and he wanted me to see its condition before it was handled further. So with fear and trepidation as to what was stolen from that box from Lewis & Conger on which you devoted so much time and energy between them and Brooks Uniform last May, I rushed over to see him at the unloading pier. There was the box with one of the top boards gone and a carton inside torn open and partly emptied!
Before going over, I dug up your letter #25 of May 27, in which you described your adventures in getting the various items, from which letter I was able to make out an inventory. With that the chief mate and I, after removing the remainder of the coverboards, examined what was left, with the following results:
We found:
1 coffee percolator and cord, package intact
1 thermometer (200ºF) and one hygrometer, both in an intact package
1 tool kit, package intact
3 #1 cans of coffee, all OK
1 package containing the cap ornament and cap band, 2 ribbon bars complete, and 3 spare ribbons, all intact
1 envelope with 2 Schick electric razor brushes
1 1 pint thermos bottle, package intact
1 1 qt. thermos jug, “ “
and one cardboard package which had been torn open, which still contained two tins of candy (1 coffee-ets and 1 peppermint candy) but from which one or two other tins of candy had been removed.
So it was with a considerable sigh of relief the chief mate and I concluded that only a couple of tins of candy had been stolen, and not any of the more valuable items. From your letter, everything mentioned in it arrived, unbroken and OK, except the candy. The chief mate believed the box must have been broken into on the Claremont pier, since nobody could have got at it in his hold, and he personally was looking for it at the unloading. And with that I agree, since the ship did not sail till June 26, so the box must have been at Claremont practically a month before it was loaded aboard. But why anyone should have broken open the box just to steal a couple of tins of candy and stopped at that I can’t make out. Does the above show anything more missing which you failed to mention in your letter of May 27? I should doubt it, for there did not seem to be room in the box for anything more, unless it was a fourth can of coffee.
I cannot tell you how delighted I was to get these things, for I was practically certain they must have been shipped on a vessel sailing from N.Y. on June 11, which will not arrive, which I know was carrying the sails for my Star boats. (They won’t arrive either). So sure of it was I that only last Saturday I went shopping in the city up the hills and bought myself one of these tin two-cup percolators (non-electric) worth about 20 cents at any Woolworth counter, but which cost me $1.25. I’d been using it the last couple of days with indifferent results, by boiling the water first in the eight-cup electric percolator given me a month ago by the grateful skipper of another merchantman whom I cooled off in my room a couple of days (that is, the skipper, not the eight-cup percolator), and then pouring a couple of cups of boiling water into my tin acquisition to drip down over the coffee.
Now I have three coffee percolators: one an eight-cup affair I can’t use because it won’t perk with less than 4 cups of water, which I can’t afford because that uses up too much coffee at a time; my new two-cup tin monstrosity which is a damned nuisance to operate; and the third your three cup electric percolator which works perfectly on two cups of water and two spoons of coffee (I’ve tried it already) and which is a perfect beauty. I could hug and kiss you for it (not to mention other good reasons) if only you were close enough for me to get my arms around you.
The cap ornament now adorns my Sunday-go-to-meeting sun helmet and looks quite gorgeous. The hygrometer is already in service (humidity in my room now is 58%, with two air conditioners running). The temperature in my room as shown by my new thermometer (you are right about it’s looking like an overgrown fever thermometer) is 82ºF. The thermometer fills the bill exactly, as I can carry it about safely in its metal case. The tool kit is a very fine one, and I’ll have occasion to think of you gratefully every time I use it now. (Of course, I shouldn’t otherwise).
As regards the thermos bottle and the thermos jug, I haven’t the need for them now that I had last April when I asked for them, as I now have a Hotpoint electric refrigerator in my quarters which keeps everything quite cold. But if ever I get a chance to go sailing, they’ll come in handy.
With those new service ribbons (my old bar was pretty frayed) I can stick out my chest along with some English generals as having been there in the last war, and those electric razor brushes will help to keep my chinwhiskers within bounds whenever I have occasion to entertain another duke. (Sorry by the way to see that the Duke of Kent, brother to the one I recently entertained, was recently killed).
I am deeply sorry to hear of Aunt Lou’s death. She was always so lovely to me, and so unaffected in everything that I never felt otherwise than wholly at home in her house.
The daily details of your month at Southwest Harbor at The Anchorage have made me vicariously enjoy that month as if (almost) I had been there myself. I’m very glad you went, and happy to know that the weather you had (except for the rain at the start) was so fine. I’m waiting for the remaining letters (after #71 of Aug. 10, the latest received yet) to learn how your last week there went.
Since I started numbering letters again, I think it would be a good idea if you told me what numbers you have received to date (also how many unnumbered letters).
With much love, Ned
The score for packages to date is: Ring received; eagles received; John Paul, Jr. received; package of last May mentioned above received; package containing khaki shorts, shirts, etc. (three each) received; two copies Life & one Readers Digest received. Nothing else of any nature whatever received, except both trunks & suitcase.
Letter #50
Sept. 4, 1942
As usual
Lucy darling:
Just to reiterate, the package you sent me last May arrived via all water a couple of days ago. It contained the percolator, the thermometer, etc., all of which I wrote you two days ago. Thanks.
I am enclosing in this letter an Army check for $126, endorsed for deposit, which represents the major part of my Army allowance here for August. The balance for the month ($60), I have retained for current expenses.
I notice that up to Aug. 10, the date of your last letter received here (#71) you had not received my letter of July 11 containing two checks totaling $200. If by the time this letter reaches you, those checks have not arrived, please cable me and I’ll start tracing them from here. That letter was supposed to have received special handling by air direct from this country, which special handling seems only to have resulted in delaying or losing it.
On Aug. 13, in letter #48, I sent you a check for $186, which you should have received by now. That letter went by regular air mail from here. Please advise on it.
My third salvage outfit arrived here yesterday. That leaves only Whiteside’s outfit (with which Whiteside is no longer connected) yet to arrive. Unfortunately no divers arrived with this outfit and only one is supposed to be with the ex-Whiteside outfit. How I’m supposed to operate additional salvage jobs without additional divers, I can’t quite make out, and it is literally true that I have fewer divers available here today than I had late last May. Prickly heat and infections resulting, have put half a dozen of my original group in the hospital, and I haven’t received enough replacements to keep my actual diving force up to its initial strength.
The result has been that the interval since we last lifted a vessel has been longer than has elapsed without a salvage success since my first arrival here. I hope for some results again within the next couple of weeks, but unless my divers begin coming out of the hospital soon, the outlook is not too encouraging just now. Just to complete the picture, one very good diver (one of the lot still in good health) came to me today with the news that he isn’t making as much money here as he thought he would, so he had decided to quit and go home. (His pay is greater than mine). I wish I could put him in jail, but I can’t, so I guess I lose him. No argument I could use had any effect. He says he can make more in the United States, which is entirely possible, than he gets here and that settles it for him. Of course, I could make more in the United States too, if that were the only way to look at it. It is interesting to speculate on what would happen to us in this war if every American who could make more staying home than he can in the Army or the Navy abroad or at sea, should decide to go home and make as many dollars as he could while the making is good. It is truly remarkable how the dollar sign blinds some people to the consequences.
Now that September is here, the weather seems a little better. I can’t say the heat, especially at midday, seems any less, but there is more of a breeze throughout the day which makes things more bearable. I hope this lasts, as it should have a very definite effect on how much we get done hereafter.
Meanwhile, I’ve had a new and larger air conditioning unit put in my room, a 11/2 horsepower Carrier, which really does things to the temperature. For the first time since I’ve been here, the temperature in my room was knocked below 80º. Last night (according to my new thermometer) it was forced down to 76º. The result was that I had to wrap my sheet tightly around me while I slept, and began to give serious thought to wondering where in (I’ll just say “hell” at this point, for fear the censor would cut out the other name of this spot), I could get myself a blanket.
So tonight I’ve had to compromise by setting the thermostat to keep the temperature up around 82º, at which point I can sleep under a sheet only without feeling too cold. All this seems unbelievable to me, who has never seen the temperature in my room with the previous air-conditioners ever get below 86º, and with the average hovering around 90º (which used to feel relatively quite cool to me after a day outside). I never should have thought I’d be driven to making my room any warmer than the coldest temperature I could get it down to. But now it has happened. I can get too cold for comfort at least.
With love, Ned
PS I shall refer to the check enclosed in this letter in several letters to follow, and have called attention to its coming in several letters before.
Letter #51
Sept. 7, 1942
As usual
Lucy dearest:
Your letter #79 of Aug. 21 reached here today. The latest number I have before received (but it came a week before many earlier numbers) was #71 of Aug. 10. Your #79 came via APO as did #71. I have an idea that service is uniformly the fastest. I would suggest you send no letters at all via JDP unless they notify you they have somebody coming over, and even then on past experience it is dubious they will beat APO. As for the home office, I am quite sure APO beats it regularly on delivery. Nothing has been cut out of any of your APO letters for months (this does not apply to the clippings enclosed, however, but that is quite a minor matter compared with quick delivery).
You will note a gap of eight numbers between #71 and 79. I believe these were probably sent via JDP or home office. Is this so?
I sent Mary a birthday letter from Khartoum on Aug. 3 which was supposed to have received the fastest of all possible air services. To date I have seen no mention of it, either from you or Mary. (Mary’s last letter received was Aug. 12). Has it arrived at all, and if so when? These special services for delivery may be merely illusions.
Yesterday I received at last “The Moon is Down,” the April 13 copy of Life, and the April Reader’s Digest, all all the way by water (and slow freighter) as indicated by the censor’s stamps, nearly five months on the way.
I’m glad to note you are sticking to oil heat, even if you have to be careful of the quantity used. I may say that if the humidity is kept up, less heat is necessary for comfort. See that the humidifier in my study is kept working (in the winter time) even if a plumber is occasionally required to clean the scale off the joints so it works freely. You will find that bobbling the float up and down every few days with a ruler is a great help in keeping it from sticking and failing to feed. Also it will pay you to keep the humidifier pan in the living room radiator (the big one) filled up, with perhaps some pans of water on top the other radiators. Don’t bother with trying to fill up the hanging pans behind the radiators. They are so nearly worthless as not to warrant the extreme difficulty necessary to get water into them.
Later. Sept. 9, 1942
Three letters from you arrived today - #72, 73, and 74, all via the home office, confirming the surmise I had about APO now being quickest. #74 via home office arrived two days after #79 sent via APO, though written a week before it.
The missing letters are still #31, 45, and 70, plus 75, 76, 77, and 78.
Thanks for the Aug. 9 News of the Week, with my picture. Not odd at all that issue came through without a single deletion, as compared with the one I sent back to you which was all cut to pieces. It (the Aug. 9 issue) came out via home office, which accounts for its completeness. Perhaps others should be sent the same way for the same reason. Don’t waste airmail stamps on your letters however. They get nothing whatever in manner or speed of delivery, no matter how your mail is addressed to me.
I am somewhat irritated by Mike’s lack of common sense and finesse, as exhibited by what he writes to Mary. I certainly agree with you it doesn’t show a desirable temperament, and I’m rather sure that trait would grow more aggravating on closer contact, rather than less. But for the present, I have nothing to say to Mary. I believe she’ll see the point herself, soon.
By the way, I note the Aug. 17 issue of Time gave me a little space, plus a good picture and for once, an undistorted relation of something I’d done. Shades of Ralph Ingersoll, what’s come over it?
I note all the checks sent up to recently, you have received. In addition to those already acknowledged, I’ve sent you in letter #48 of Aug. 13 a check for $186, and in #57 of Sept. 4, another check for $126.
In case some previous letters are delayed, I’ve received the initial package via JDP of shorts and shirts. I don’t need any white shorts or white socks any more; I got some in Egypt. The case of last May arrived over a week ago with the coffee percolator and the other things. The silver eagles have arrived. “The Moon is Down” finally arrived a couple of days ago. (I see that’s mentioned on the 1stpage of this letter). All other packages not previously acknowledged are still to come.
I’m very busy now. I have two salvage jobs well under way, and hope to get two more going tomorrow. In addition we have a man-o-war up on our dock plus all the usual international labor relations in my lap. I may soon get a couple of hundred limey mechanics (provided Rommel doesn’t fall back or get pushed back far enough to quit threatening the nearest naval base to him now). And even seven British naval officers for assistants. I’ll have a grand time running an American naval base with everything but Americans. However, so long as I’m in command, it’ll be an American naval base, even if I’m the only American here. The British know that and don’t mind – my reputation with their C in C is ace high. However, the JDP high command (high up in the hills, I mean) don’t like it or me a little bit. Apparently I interfere with the even tenor of life up there by insisting that they do some of the things they’re being paid plenty to do, and do them in time. I think I’m a disturbing element in their lives, and it would give them great pleasure to put the skids under me. They have already tried to put over one stunt to relieve me of my salvage command while I was away in Egypt, but when I got back, I was able to squelch that one very thoroughly. Funny business for a gang of civilians to be engaged in in wartime. This is really an exciting life with palace intrigues going on behind my back and a lot of scuttled ships and damaged warships urgently needing repairs staring me in the face. If I come through all this with a whole official skin, I’ll have to be good.
With love, Ned
Letter #52
September 15, 1942
As usual
Lucy darling:
At 3:30 AM this morning we duplicated our success of last May with the large Italian drydock, by lifting the second and smaller of the two docks which were scuttled here when this place was taken. This task took sixteen days, mainly because I could assign only two divers and a small working force to the job.
The damages were about the same as to the large dock – five compartments out of six in this dock were blasted open by bombs. We’ll probably soon find the sixth unexploded bomb in the undamaged hold.
This dock, like its larger brother, was given up officially by our British friends as being hopeless from the salvage angle.
We had our first tragedy in salvage yesterday in the lifting of this dock. Two days ago (Sunday) we floated up one side of the dock, with the other side still on the bottom, and the dock, of course, heavily listed to the submerged side. Under these conditions, I had several British and American mechanics working inside a compartment on the high side, repairing some leaks in the hold. About four o’clock yesterday afternoon, the submerged side of the dock started to float up, but it came up unevenly, with the result that the unbalance tilted the floating side till the water poured over the deck, flooded down the hatches, and in no time at all the whole dock sank down again, disappearing completely. Apparently everyone got clear, till a hasty check showed three mechanics missing. At that time, the deck of the compartment they had been working in was nine feet underwater, with water pouring down the open hatch and some air blowing out it at the same time as the compartment flooded.
There being no diver dressed at the time, nor any time to dress one till it was too late to do the trapped men any good, I jumped overboard and managed to get down to the hatch through which the water was rushing. I couldn’t see anything, but I could feel two men jammed there in the small hatch with the inrushing water pressing the door closed on them. By then they were both limp and unconscious.
I succeeded in getting one arm of one of the men and by bracing myself against the barnacle crusted hatch, dragged him out against the current and came up with him, where he was hauled out.
In a similar manner, I got down again and dragged out the second man and brought him up, thus clearing the door.
On my third time down, I found inside the hatch the third mechanic, still conscious and trying to fight his way out and up, now that the exit was no longer blocked by his two companions. I got hold of him and pulled him through also, and came up with him.
When I got up the last time, the first two men were stretched out in boats, being worked over for resuscitation from drowning, both limp as rags. The third man didn’t need it. The boats were rushed ashore with all three, however, still being given first aid, while I stayed with the sunken dock.
In less than an hour, the second man up was revived and he is now in the hospital recuperating, along with number three. But the first man I dragged up, in spite of being worked on for seven hours, never revived. He showed a faint heartbeat, throughout that period, but at 11 PM that finally ceased. A post-mortem showed, however, that he had not drowned. Unfortunately, on him, the first to reach the hatch, the door had swung shut as he was trying to get through and the swinging door, impelled by a heavy torrent of water pouring down, had caught him across the chest, crushing it partly, knocking him unconscious, and leaving him jammed in the hatchway, blocking the only exit for the men behind him.
I came out of it all right, save for a lot of deep barnacle cuts all up and down my left thigh and leg where apparently, I braced myself while heaving on the unconscious men. Aside from that, I had most of my shirt torn off my back by men dragging me up each time I came up with somebody. My cuts were all treated shortly on the job, and today they seem to be healing nicely, with no infections.
We turned to again immediately (once the injured men were gone ashore) on our now twice sunken dock. By about 10 PM, we had refloated the side which had once been afloat, and as I said above by 3:30 AM we managed to get the other side to lift so that the whole dock came safely up.
Later, Sept. 18
I had intended to add something further a few days ago to this letter, but I’ve had no time before.
The two men who survived are now perfectly all right. Armstrong, the one who died, was, thank God, not married.
By now we have the stern of our dock fully afloat and the bow fairly high, but it will take several more days to bring the bow up to a more normal waterline.
I’ve been quite busy between that dock, three other salvage jobs we are working on besides, and our regular work. Early tomorrow we are docking our third man-o-war, thus justifying our existence here.
I have received recently the following letters – 72, 73, 74, 75, 80, 83, and 84. (I may have previously reported some of these). Those still missing are 31, 45, 70, 76, 77, 78, 81 and 82.
With love, Ned (over)
PS I received a batch of 7 issues of Life all together a couple of days ago.
Letter #53
Sept. 20, 1942
In the air
Lucy dearest:
I took off this morning in an army plane from up in the hills, bound for another conference (same place as last one) over some details of the contracts and the living arrangements for the new working force to be transferred to my station. It seems certain now that I am to get several hundred men, seven British naval officers, and a clerical staff to help me out. How we need them!
So now we’re flying with the mountains to the left and the shores of the Red Sea just visible to the right. It’s even a little chilly in the plane, though I well know what it’s like down on the hot sands below us.
We’ve had a hectic past week. As I’ve told you in the letter before this one (which will however take a different route from this, which goes out via Cairo) we’ve raised the second drydock that the Italians scuttled in our harbor. It was just as badly blasted by bombs, and being sunk in deeper water, was a harder job to work on and to lift. Besides all which, I could only put on it less than half the divers and salvage men I used on the first one. So this job (on a dock that also according to the British couldn’t be salvaged) took us sixteen days to get afloat, instead of the nine days we spent on its larger sister.
As I outlined more fully in my letter before, we had our first salvage tragedy on that dock. While it was in a partly afloat condition, the remaining part came up wrong end first, with the result that the balance of the part afloat was destroyed and the whole dock almost immediately sank to the bottom again, taking with it three men who were trapped by the inrushing water in one of the compartments inside the dock.
Since something had to be done in a hurry to save them, I went overboard, uniform and all, and managed to get down to the submerged hatch over that compartment, where I found two unconscious men jammed in the hatch. One at a time I dragged them free and up, and on a final descent I dragged the third man up, still conscious. But one of the first two up we were never able to revive even after seven continuous hours of artificial respiration and he died, to my great distress.
As regards the dock itself, about four hours after the accident, we had refloated the first part, and by 3:30 AM, we succeeded in getting the whole dock off the bottom and afloat. Right now we’re engaged in patching leaks and getting it higher out of the water.
You might tell Howard Lewis that I now know that that Movado waterproof watch Dodd Mead gave me, is really waterproof. It went overboard with me three times in rapid succession in a fair depth of water (nine feet) and stayed under each time while I groped around in that submerged hatch. Yet it is still running perfectly now with nothing since done to it, and no sign of any distress.
I didn’t come out of it quite as scatheless as my watch. I had half my shirt torn off my back by people in boats grabbing me each time I came up with somebody, lost one shoulder mark, and had my left thigh and leg fairly well gashed by the barnacles on the hatch while I braced myself against it to drag the men out. The shirt is a total loss, a pair of shoulder marks is ruined, but I’m glad to say that not a single gash (all treated soon afterward with mercurochrome and later with iodine) showed the least sign of any infection, and all are healing beautifully, so that I wasn’t forced to leave work even for a minute.
Aside from the remaining work on this second dock, I have three salvage ships working now on three other wrecks, so that we are finally getting along with our work on a fair scale. Whether Whiteside’s ship (I don’t think Whiteside’s with it any more) arrives before December, I much doubt. In about another month, I can judge better what our rate of progress will be.
I received two more letters from you yesterday, #76 and 77, both via Washington and about a month en route. APO seems definitely faster.
My missing list is now 31, 45, 70 (I think), 78, 81, and 82. The highest number yet received is #84 which reached here Sept.12, via APO, 15 days on the way.
I believe #31, which by one of your letters was stated to have been sent via J.D.& P., has definitely been lost. I guess it went astray in the hands of whoever was carrying it. There is still a little hope for 45, and the others (more recent) should soon be along.
And now we are coming down for a landing in Cairo after a very smooth 7 hour flight. I hope I do not have to stay here more than a couple of days. We have a cruiser on our dock which I’m trying to rush out, and that on top of all else makes absence just now undesirable.
With love, Ned
PS I am enclosing a Navy Treasury check for $130.
PPS I love you lots.
Letter #54
Sept. 23, 1942
Lucy darling:
I’m still at headquarters, though I hope to get away to return to my station early tomorrow.
I came on here by air for a conference, the main object being to persuade the general to let us act as our own contractors in connection with the new English working force we are to get, and not force us to accept JDP as their employing contractors, thus forcing JDP on us permanently. I’m glad to say the general acceded, though previously he had taken the opposite view so my mission on this visit was successful. At least with our new employees, I’m not going to have to struggle with JDP as to who is running the job. And it may be an entering wedge to straighten the situation out elsewhere in our work.
But unfortunately with all that finished in a few hours on Monday, I’m still marooned here (Wednesday) in Cairo. I was supposed to have left yesterday by air to return, but the plane got in late and didn’t take off. Today I was supposed to leave this morning in another plane, but it developed spark plug trouble on the ground in one engine, so its flight was put off till the engine could be overhauled, which is promised for early tomorrow.
Meanwhile I’m anchored here with two days lost I could badly need on my station, and there’s nothing I can do here. The museums are closed, I’ve seen the pyramids sufficiently for the present, and I can’t wander off very far, waiting near a telephone for plane news. So that’s that.
We had an air raid alarm last night. Plenty of searchlights searched the skies, but there were no bombs, no AA fire, and no nothing. All clear sounded after about an hour.
I sent you a Treasury check for $130 in letter #60 (Ed: #53 above) of Sept. 20. That letter is, I’m told, going out in the navy mailbag from here, but I’m afraid it won’t get started till Sept. 26.
I checked up on the pay I’m entitled to as a captain out here under the new pay bill, and it seems to be as follows:
Monthly
Pay $466.67
Quarters allowance 120
Subsistence allowance 42
Foreign service pay 33.33
Total, $662 per month or $7944 per year
Out of the above, I’m sending you a present allotment of $590, and the insurance allotments equal $40 more, leaving about $32 here on the books monthly. I had intended to make your allotment $600 or $620 when the news of the pay bill became effective here (which it now is) but on further thought, I felt I’d better leave the $32 per month here in case I needed it.
In addition to all the above from the Navy, I’m in receipt of a $6 per diem allowance from the Army while on this job, which comes to $180 a month; $2190 per year. So that the total of all my Navy and Army pay and allowances is at the rate of $842 a month or $10134 a year.
Out of this, I need here at the present time about $40 a month for a mess bill, and perhaps $30 a month for incidentals and clothes. (I don’t wear much clothes, and you’ve furnished most of them).
I’ll send you the rest, aside from the allotment, more or less regularly monthly, being about $140 a month.
You want to know what I’d like as a Christmas present? I’d appreciate a dozen real silk undershirts and half a dozen drawers, to be sent (to the extent of half a dozen undershirts only) one or two at a time in first class letters, via APO (no air mail stamps). I’ll get those by Christmas. The rest can be sent in a package which I think I’ll get by Easter.
Other than that, I don’t think there’s anything I need for a Christmas present, except the end of the war.
Occasionally I do want to do something in the way of a gift to someone out here, and what they always say they’d like is one of my books. Consequently, that I may do a little Xmas giving on my own (even out of season) would you please have Dodd, Mead ship me two copies each of On the Bottom, Hell on Ice, and Captain Paul.
Sept. 24, Thursday
We’re in the air again and making good progress south. We got off at 6:30 AM, this time with no delays, and now (about 10:30 AM) we’re going down the Red Sea coast. As I think I’ve said before, the water of the Red Sea is unbelievably blue, and the delicate shades it passes through from deep to light on the fringes of the coral reefs, would put a butterfly’s wing to shame. Every blue you ever dreamt of shades off one into another, iridescent, gorgeous, and shimmering like a halo about the shores of the Red Sea, and then for good measure over shallow patches of water inshore the reefs, the same symphony of color is played on green till the colors fairly intoxicate you. The poets just wasted their time rhapsodizing over the Mediterranean. For a real show, they should have come here and they would have had good reason to have warmed up to their subject in more ways than one.
I have been receiving the News of the Week in Review in about three weeks via APO and in from three to four via home office. I would advise your sending it by regular mail (no air mail stamps, they’re useless in expediting) via home office as it comes that way intact which is not the case the other way.
I’m sorry to hear that Mrs. de Hoven has failed so much, but at her age, I’m afraid it must be expected now. In case you should see her in New York, or write her, please tell her of my continued admiration for her work and that not seeing her again this summer was one of my regrets at being away.
By the way, would you please send me the complete financial page from the Times, preferably a Sunday or Monday edition. Send that via home office. I’d like to get an idea of what’s happened, not having seen one since last February.
About converting your furnace from oil to coal, don’t do it, and don’t let any one persuade you to. In case of a real pinch on oil, go to whoever is oil administrator for our district and suggest to him I think you’re entitled to a reasonable share with regard to anyone else, and that if there must be conversions, he let you alone and start on the homes where there are still husbands at home to tend furnaces and shovel ashes. That will be little enough to require of them as their share of the war effort.
I thought that “A Ballade to the Weather Man” which you sent me showed the right idea on the part of the balladeer – he wasn’t going to complain at home so long as others at war were far worse off.
Give Monie my regards and my best wishes for Mal. I have been pondering why it is that of all those of our age more or less, Mal and I seem to have been the only two who felt the call of duty strongly enough to have been willing to leave our homes and our families to help out, instead of staying right where we were to help by doing “important war work.” Perhaps it was because we were the two most pugnacious characters in town, as our association on the school board showed us and everybody else, but I think that can be only a small part of the reasons. At any rate my regard for Mal (always high, even as an antagonist) has jumped a lot and I’d like to have him know it. Tell Monie to tell Mal for me, that now we’ve both got our shoulders behind the wheel pushing in the same direction. Mr. Hitler may as well start looking around for a safe neutral country into which to flee.
Talking about changing the insurance on the station wagon to plain fire and theft since it is stored, the same should be done about the insurance for the Argo – retroactively for this past summer, if it has not already been done. Lawrence Robinson handled that insurance, and since the boat was not put in the water, the policy cost, starting July 1, should have been much less when the policy was renewed July 1.
12:30 PM
We’ve now left the seacoast and are flying inland over the mountains headed for the Eritrean capital. The air is much bumpier now.
As regards prickly heat and ointments therefore, I’m all over prickly heat now for this year at least, so I don’t need any ointments. I doubt that any ointment does any good out here, but I’ll save them (when they come, none have yet) for contingencies. I believe air-conditioning is the only help. The doctors here state every standard remedy has been tried out here but they’ve all fizzled in the face of continuous sweat and all night heat.
I note that in sending it, it went in a package to JDP. May I say that on the whole, their mail service is poor, though they may do something with small packages by giving them to someone flying out. But on the whole, if you have anything small enough to send that could go in a first class letter or small package with first class postage (not air mail stamps) it’s best to send it that way via APO and give JDP the go by.
Howard Lewis’s suggestion about deferring other royalties looks sensible to me. If you have not already decided to do so, I think there is still time for you to get in touch with him and have the fall royalties deferred (unless you badly need the money this fall, which I should doubt).
And now, (1:30 PM) we are nearing our destination. We’re over the airport and in a few minutes we’ll be down.
With much love, my darling, Ned
Letter #55
Sept. 27, 1942
As usual
Lucy darling:
I have been lucky lately in having received two batches of about five letters each this last week, the first batch perhaps what piled up while I was away from here for four days at headquarters.
The highest numbered letter so far received is #90 of Sept. 5 which arrived here Sept. 25 via home office. The following are the only numbers now missing in your numbered series: 31, 45, and 78. Of these I now learn that 31 and 45 were sent via Captain W, who will not arrive, though the letters ultimately may when his ship gets here.
As regards package receipts, I also received the package containing my new glasses, the package containing the ointment from Jarvis plus the two cigarette lighters; the July issue of Reader’s Digest; the August issue, same; four more copies of Life, complete now from Apr. 13 to July 27, except for July 13 and 20; the silver eagles; and everything previously acknowledge. What is still to come is the book Clara sent, the larger package of clothing, the toastmaster and anything else you may have sent via Captain W or his ship.
I note you have received all checks sent up to $126 sent in letter #57 of Sept. 4 and $130 sent in letter #60 on Sept. 21.
I note also I am liable for income tax on my Navy pay, even here. As fortunately allowances are not included in taxable income, whether home or abroad, neither Army nor Navy, it appears that my taxable Navy income this year will be about $5600. To this will have to be added whatever royalties or dividends I have received in the United States, of which you can make a rough estimate. The dividends will probably not exceed $500 to $700. The royalties may run around $3000 to $4000, even if all fall payments are postponed (as I have an idea they should be). Better have them all postponed (including yours) and if later in the year it appears necessary or desirable to collect, you always can. Even if you do not yet have any idea of October dividends, I’d appreciate receiving immediately a statement of everything I’ve received at home in 1942 in the way of royalties, dividends, or otherwise (if anything). Totals by categories are sufficient; I don’t want a statement itemized by dividends from each company each quarter.
From the above you can also make up a rough check on what your income has been already as compared to mine, and we can see whether the $1500 deductible should be taken by whom or should be split. And this, I think, will do for finances for the present.
(Addenda: It seems to me some kind of tax bill already has been passed for this year. If so, and you can get the rates for individuals, either from the bank or from Ed, I’d appreciate knowing what the present prospect is, even if it’s likely to be changed again after election).
I’m returning Mr. Beard’s letter. It’s grand!
It appears that the British are bent on making me famous (or hated) even in the Axis countries. They gave me a worldwide shortwave broadcast account in English over BBC some six weeks ago. Last Tuesday, over BBC shortwave, they broadcast for ten minutes in German on my exploits here, so I guess Hitler’s Nazis know what at least one American is doing to them. The broadcast was heard here by one of my Swiss mechanics, who told me of it; I didn’t hear it. I suppose the same thing went out also in Italian.
What makes me grin about the whole thing is that after the American radio told the world, the BBC told the world over English shortwave, and then in a German propaganda broadcast made sure the Axis were told where I was and what I was doing, I can’t mention to you in a letter that I’m in Massawa without having some censor excise it as information of value (?) to the enemy. It may be information, but it won’t be of value, after all the U.S. and Great Britain have done to make sure he knows it. Let me know whether my domicile gets excised. (Ed: it wasn’t).
To get along: We had another one of those friendly non-merchant ships in our dock last week, this one named after a certain lady impersonated (when both were young) by Helen Hayes a long time ago, in a play by a certain modern but aged playwright dealing with an ancient theme in a flippant manner. We turned her out in jig time. But what’s interesting about her was that her executive officer, a commander, told me he had an American wife, and on my casually asking where from, it developed she was a Taylor of around Roanoke, Virginia, where she is now in some way connected with Hollins College, where her brother is to some degree a chaplain or a minister or something. She has her two children (boys about 3 and 5 or thereabouts) with her. Her married name is Hopkins. Perhaps Mary knows her.
Anyway, it was a pleasure to play with something else than merchantmen in our dock, and we certainly bolstered up the forces afloat against Mussolini this last month.
In case I failed to mention it before, we finished up the other scuttled Italian drydock about two weeks ago and now have it well up both fore and aft. It was a tougher job than the first one, but it will never create the sensation the first job did. The English here now expect miracles of us, and nothing we do surprises them any more. It will be a sizeable repair job, for five big bombs went off in it and they certainly blew some beautiful holes in its bottom.
As you may have known, a salvage contract was let to a British firm to raise three ships in the inner harbor here, the contract dating from last October. The limey outfit badly bungled their job by pretty well ruining a sunken floating crane they were supposed to raise, without yet lifting it. Then after about six months work on a sunken German ship, they finally floated it some three weeks ago, only to spend all the time since trying to keep it from capsizing on them the way the Normandie did in New York. Finally Friday night, with the ship listed 20º to port and in danger once more of capsizing, the British Admiralty decided it had enough of the contract and cancelled it. We took over at 7:30 PM and I threw a salvage crew aboard to save the ship. We worked all night Friday getting aboard new pumps where they would do the most good, and pumping out the still half flooded holds. By Saturday noon we had her pretty well pumped dry and fairly upright, so today (Sunday) we towed her out from where she had been sunk around to a berth off our naval base where we can repair her. The gang did a good job on pulling that ship out of danger in a hurry, and she makes the second German wreck scuttled here we now have afloat and under refit.
It wasn’t until 3:30 PM this afternoon we finally towed her safely up to her new berth and moored her, and I nearly had heart failure several times on the trip. The pilot (shades of the man on the S-51) hung the wreck up by fouling a mooring buoy cable on the way in, against a patch sealing up one of the holes blasted in the Gera’s side, and so badly did the patch catch on the anchor cable of that mooring buoy that it stopped the tow dead. I was badly afraid the patch would be torn off the hull, to sink the wreck right there in the channel, but with the aid of a couple of tugs pushing sideways, we finally shoved her clear of the buoy with the patch still in place and finished our journey. I’m not sure, before I get through with this business, it might be better for my piece of mind to pilot my own wrecks on their way to their navy yards.
I picked the enclosed pamphlet out of the pilot house of the ship today as we were towing her round. I judge by the pictures and what little I can make of the text, it shows what a Paradise Hitler has made out of Nazi Germany since he took over in 1932, the year when perfection was attained being apparently 1937. Perhaps your German may be good enough to get more real laughs out of it than I could. What tickled me most was the picture on the third page showing the increase in marriages in 1937 as compared with 1932. The joke as I saw it was that in 1932 a gentleman took his bride to the alter in a frock coat and a top hat, but in 1937 (still supposedly in time of peace) he took her there in a uniform. Even the late lamented Prime Minister Chamberlain might have got the significance of that!
Well, anyway, the Nazified skipper of the Gera who left in such a hurry when his ship was scuttled he forgot his propaganda pamphlet, has long since vanished from around here, but the ship is ours and will soon be carrying cargoes intended to help sink Hitler and all his pamphleteers. So I guess the joke is on them.
And now, it being 10 PM after a somewhat strenuous day, I think I’ll turn in, a little tired, a little elated, and a lot lonesome.
With love, Ned
Letter #56
Sept. 28, 1942
As usual
Lucy darling:
I have been rather busy the last four days since my return, and I’m not sure but that I sent a letter or so unnumbered. Maybe not. However, I note on my check sheet #61 was sent Sept. 23 and #62 Sept. 27, while I believe I wrote in between. Perhaps I didn’t. The last five days have been such a whirl, I can’t remember now. However, life is now more down to normal.
You see I got back from Cairo Thursday evening, to learn all the keel blocks on the dock had collapsed under the last cruiser we had on the dock the night before (Wednesday) just before she was undocked. Fortunately the cruiser wasn’t damaged particularly, but the keel blocks were all match sticks and the dock was out of commission with a string of ships in line outside the harbor waiting to be docked. My British dockmaster was running round tearing his hair, and advising the British authorities it would take four to six weeks to replace the blocks. That was the pleasant sight I caught on my return. Well, the dock went back in commission this morning with a new set of blocks I dug up somehow, only four days out of service and another ship was docked this morning. So that’s that.
Then Friday night the British cancelled the contract of a British outfit for salvage here, and an ex-German ship in danger of capsizing was thrown into my lap as a consequence. So on top of the repairs to the dock, I had her to take care of (as I’ve already written you). Today she is riding very nicely at her anchorage off our naval base, practically erect and nearly all freed of water. As I’ve said, the pilot took nearly a hundred years off my expectancy of life by nearly sinking her on me on the way round, but we fooled him and got her in safely. So the Gera added to the spice of life very much this last weekend.
Then of course there was the usual work on our recently salvaged drydock (the second one) to look after, plus the ordinary trials of listening to Americans who think they aren’t paid enough, of firing others who are completely worthless, and getting still others (who are good when they are sober) out of jail after weekend drunks.
However, it is Monday night now and all is calm and peaceful on the shores of the Red Sea. I went down to the waterfront in the night to look over my collection, and we had a most marvelous harbor scene – no moon, but the brilliant stars glowing over the dark water which was absolutely smooth and like a mirror in which was reflected the inverted image of the nearest ship, our first salvage prize, and farther off sparkled the lights of the drydocks, and our other ships. And across the water came in the quiet night the endless throb of the salvage air compressors, still hammering air into the second drydock pontoons. A lovely night – but utterly wasted here alone by your devoted
Ned
PS Thursday Sept. 29
About 2 AM our quiet night went all to hell. It started to rain (very unusual here) and blow like the devil. Our first ship dragged its anchor down the harbor about half a mile before we could get some tugs alongside and drag her back to a safe anchorage. And our second one parted her stern mooring and swung around on her head mooring till she grounded astern. We’ll have to pull her off at high tide tonight.
Quite an exciting life.
Letter #57
Sept. 30, 1942
Lucy darling:
Quite a dull day today – nothing went wrong anywhere – just routine salvage work afloat and a lot of letters to write recommending various salvage masters and foremen for well-deserved pay increases which I hope they get promptly.
I received several more letters from you today - #78, 91, and 93, and an unnumbered one of Sept. 4 containing only the News of the Week. Yesterday I received #94 and 97. I now have missing 31 and 45, both of which I note you have just remailed; 92, 95 and 96, which last three will shortly be along. While a little spotty, the mail deliveries lately have been excellent, particularly via APO (though the home office ones come through unopened).
I had also a letter from Howard Lewis yesterday in which he mentioned the Herald Trib photo of me, which today I received from you taken “somewhere in Egypt,” to be specific, in front of the gentleman’s headquarters whose picture appeared next to mine. Interestingly enough, Howard Lewis took note of the wrist watch showing in the picture, which except for his mention of it, I should never have noticed. Odd how you came first to see that picture. Even as a newspaper picture, it’s a better likeness than that retouched photo I got in the same city and sent you.
I received also today the new head for the electric razor, which has promptly gone into service. I’m very much obliged for its speedy delivery. I received also the package from Carroll’s in S. W. Harbor of the prickly heat ointment, which just now I don’t need (and I hope I never shall again). The one from Jarvis’ came a few days ago. I’ve given some of that to one of my salvage masters, Bill Reed, who still has a severe case under his armpits and on his sides. I hope it helps him.
I also received another copy of Life, which takes me through July 27. Also as previously mentioned, my glasses and the cigarette lighters have come. I note you have received all checks I sent through #48 enclosing a check for $186. Since then I have sent a check for $126 in #57 (which I note you have) of Sept. 4 and another for $130 in #60 of Sept. 20.
I was happy to know of your visit to the Hastings and I hope when next you write, you’ll give them both my love and my thanks for all they’ve done down through the years for you, for Mary, and for me.
Thanks for many clippings, particularly the ones on the Yorktown lost at Midway. Her captain, Elliot Buckmaster, was a classmate of mine (Ed: he was class of 1912, USNA, and survived). And the cartoon by Gluyas Williams of the exodus from the Navy Dept. Bldg. at quitting time is rich in its appreciation of the nuances of rank and manner of Army, Navy and civilian staffs. The three snooty ensigns in the middle foreground are particularly true to life.
Answering various questions, I have received several letters from mother (three, I think). One came a couple of days ago.
You mentioned in letter 81 that you had received the first sheet only of an unfinished letter I wrote on July 23, the letter numbered 48. I enclose the second sheet of that letter (which is also unfinished) which second sheet I found just now among my papers. It never was lost – I didn’t send it originally because I felt it was rather bitter. I can’t say the case is much different as regards these people, except that I believe I have forced them into more of a hands off attitude. You might try matching this second sheet up with what you have of the letter.
As regards what you ask on censorship, those via Mr. D or home office come through unopened; most of those via APO are opened but it has been a long time since anything was cut out (except in some newspaper clippings).
It’s nearly October now and that should be fall, but it’s still what elsewhere would be called hot around here. However, I’m glad to note that the British prophets who knew that September would fade us all away, were wrong as usual, as they were in May, June, July, and August. I think now they’ve given up expecting to see us fold up in the heat and retire to the bar to hoist in mixed drinks all day long instead of working, as seems to be the British custom “east of Suez.”
I certainly can raise a thirst around here, but lots of cold water and plenty of salt tablets seem to be the best quenchers.
With love, Ned
Letter #58
October 4, 1942
As usual
Sunday evening
Lucy dearest:
I am just in after four days in the south harbor, and have brought in with me another German ship with our flag flying once again over the Nazi ensign.
This vessel, a larger sister of the first German ship we raised, was a somewhat more difficult task than the first one as she lay in deeper water and had two more holes blasted in her side when she was scuttled. We have been working on her since July 16.
We went out Thursday morning to start pumping operations, and about midnight that day we had her off the bottom. Friday we had her fairly well afloat with some hopes of bringing her in Saturday morning, but we caught a storm Friday afternoon and had a devil of a time.
She had been scuttled fourth in a line of seven ships, so that when she came up, her bow was close aboard the wreck ahead, and her stern hardly came clear of the wreck astern by 10 feet. When the storm hit, her stern mooring lines (which had been submerged a year and a half and were much deteriorated in consequence) promptly broke and her stern went adrift. With some luck and hurried use of the salvage ships as tugs, we barely missed by inches crashing the wreck astern and then managed to maneuver her bow off the wreck ahead. About that time, the manila hawsers to the tugs broke and she drifted down wind toward a reef to leeward. We got new lines aboard just before she hit the reef and then with two tugs towing in tandem, I managed to hold her off till the storm eased off. Talk about Scylla and Charybdis! We had three instead of two to dodge and for two hours we were hanging on to the Frauenfels hardly getting clear of one danger before another loomed up under our prize.
But finally we got her free of all of them and into deeper water free of obstructions where we could safely moor, and there we lay the rest of Friday and all day Saturday while we finished pumping out our waterlogged wreck and straightening her up.
This morning (Sunday), a gorgeous day in the Red Sea, we got underway with her with three tugs towing. She was quite a sight, all barnacles and oyster shells from bridge to waterline, but she was ours, and we felt very proud of her as we dragged her home into the naval harbor with our flag streaming beautifully out at her masthead and the whistles of the other ships there blowing a welcome to their risen sister.
We have had a very profitable two weeks in the salvage fleet. Within that time we have finished diving operations and brought up the second Italian drydock, the ship we just brought in, and another ship we took over in dangerous condition from the British salvors (of which I have previously written). Now our naval harbor is getting so crowded with the results of our salvage work, I’ll have difficulty finding berths for more till some of those on hand are refitted and sent away.
My workmen haven’t come yet, but they are promised and should be here inside of another two weeks. Meanwhile we are hanging on by our eyebrows so far as repair work is concerned, struggling along with our scanty force of Americans, most of whom (in language which has no smile behind it) I am almost daily accused by the contractor of having stolen from his construction forces. God knows the symbol J D P means nothing happy in my life, but soon I hope I can be independent of them and their underhanded plotting every time my back is turned a few days.
Tonight I can crawl into a real bed and sleep after four days out on the wreck sleeping (occasionally) on a mattress spread on the bridge in the open beneath the tropic stars. However, the nights out there were wonderfully beautiful, the weather (except for one storm) was fine and pleasant at night and as I didn’t sleep much anyway, the mattress served all right. We worked, of course, stripped to the waist as usual, for maximum comfort, but the afternoon of the storm it rained hard, and for the first time since I’ve been in Massawa, I really felt cold. But on the whole, the weather now is definitely cooler than it has been and we are not continuously soaked in perspiration any more.
Tonight when I got in, I found two letters from you, #98 and 99, waiting for me, my most welcome greeting of any I got.
With much love, Ned
Letter #59
Oct. 6, 1942
As usual
Lucy dearest:
I received your letter #92 today sent from Willimantic Sept. 8. This came via APO. Their service is rather erratic, inasmuch as 94, 97, 98 and 99, all sent the same way, arrived some days ago. The present missing list is 31 and 45 (both explained) and 95 and 96, which last two will no doubt soon arrive.
At the moment, affairs around here are rather quiet. Our newly salvaged wrecks are swinging gently to their moorings in our naval harbor, high out of water and looking quite imposing with their steep sides. The crews of the salvage ships which had them in hand are getting a rest before tackling the next job, which the British salvors here failed most miserably in lifting and recommended “demolition” as the only solution. I remember how the late lamented Tibbals voiced the same thought as the only method of ever lifting the S-51, but I intend to work now on this wreck with the identical method, pontoons, used to lift the S-51. We haven’t previously here tried that method, but it seems to fit this case, and perhaps we can give our British friends another lesson in how to lift a wreck when conventional methods seem impossible.
I’ve had several letters from Mary, but none written since she went back to college. The last one was after your return from Boston.
The enclosed came today from Dr. Salvati. Real humor, I think. But I can tell you decent tires are as scarce in this vicinity as they probably are at home. That beautiful spare he was eyeing enviously still reposes “somewhere in Egypt.” I wish I had it here myself.
However quiet it may get around here in a salvage way, there is nevertheless always plenty of personnel trouble to keep one on edge. Workmen getting rich hand over fist are forever grouching because they aren’t paid enough, and running an opera company loaded with prima donnas must be a simple task compared with dealing with my patriotic working force (not all of them, thank Heaven, but a large enough group to make me sick of the meanness of mankind). God only knows what they think this war is about.
With love, Ned
Letter #60
Oct. 8, 1942
As usual
Lucy sweetheart:
I am mailing my Christmas cards early this year, since there is no telling how long delivery may take. I had half a dozen of these taken when last I was “somewhere in Egypt” and they’ve just arrived here.
Darling, I hope this may be the last Christmas we’ll ever spend apart, as it is the first since we’ve been married. How much I’ll miss not being with you and Mary and helping decorate Mary’s tree, I can’t express.
The photographer wanted me to smile a bit, but I’m afraid I couldn’t. I’ll have nothing to smile over till I’m homeward bound.
Lovingly, Ned
PS I’m sending others to Mary, my mother, your family, and Clara.
Letter #61
October 12, 1942
As usual
Lucy darling:
Your long missing letters, #31 and 45, together with Nina’s letter of July 12, have arrived at last!
But all the fruit juices, etc., that were to have come along with Capt. Whiteside are still slowly somewhere poking along, and may get here by Christmas, I hope. And the same goes for the Toastmaster. Meanwhile, I am curious to know why Whiteside left his ship. What’s the reason?
At the present moment, the latest letter I have received is #100, which came three days ago. The only missing number now is #95. All the others from #1 to 100 are here. In #96, you sent the dividend records. I’ll study them. For the present, I agree with you it’s best to defer all the further royalty payments. In case the situation changes later in the year, you can still ask for them.
My per diem check for $180 for the month of September I am keeping here as a fund for current expenses and as a reserve in case I need some cash. Consequently, I shall not send any check this month from here.
As regards the junk in the garage of which you ask, the several long bent steel bars were part of the hammock swing which has long since vanished. They can go. The tire chains may be useful yet.
It will interest you to know the last dozen or so letters here via APO have arrived unopened – all of them, whether yours or Mary’s.
I enclose a copy of a letter just received here from the Commander in Chief, Mediterranean, via our own general. It is very gratifying to me to see that our work here is so much appreciated, and particularly that the C. in C. states specifically where he feels the credit belongs. This is one place in the Middle East where we have produced some very concrete results – a particularly outstanding achievement when one considers most of the work was done in summer weather that both the Italians and the British were accustomed to regard as unlivable. I’ll bet it cost me sweat enough to have floated one of those cruisers mentioned by the C. in C. But it was worth it – this station, half finished though it is, has already done its bit in the war.
With love, Ned
Here is the text of the letter:
Office of Commander-in-Chief,
Mediterranean Station
R. N. GHQ
M.E.F.
28th September 1942
Dear General
It gives me great pleasure to forward to you the following message which has been received from the Commander-in-Chief, Mediterranean: -
For General Maxwell from C-in-C. Med.
“Very many thanks for splendid work done recently
at Massawa. Quick dockings of over 50 Merchant Ships,
raising both Italian docks and emergency dockings of
three cruisers were great achievements, and I know largely
due to ELLSBERGS own great energy. Damage caused
in last docking was a risk we accepted and I am glad it
was not more serious. Please congratulate ELLSBERG and
all his staff.”
Yours sincerely,
/sd. H. R. Norman
Commodore, R. N.
Major General Maxwell
U.S. Army Forces in the Middle East
Cairo.
Letter #62
October 16, 1942
As usual
Lucy dearest:
I note by a birthday card and note (unnumbered), sent from South Hadley, Sept. 30, you are visiting Clara. Yesterday I received another (also not numbered) (rather a first) birthday card from Westfield dated Sept. 18; though both were addressed the same way exactly, they arrived practically together. Thanks for the cards. I hope when my birthday comes around, I’ll remember it myself.
Mary sent me a birthday gift the other day, marked not to open till my birthday. Since that’s over a month off yet, I trust I can restrain myself till then.
The present score on letters is that the latest one is still #100 of Sept. 22, with only #95 missing. (Two unnumbered birthday cards as above, in addition).
Sometimes I wish I had an artistic temperament (and license) like Greta Garbo’s, for then with her, I think I could say,
“Ay tank ay go home now!”
when what was going on didn’t suit her.
I have written you occasionally of my difficulties, which unfortunately do not decrease. I have not yet received the promised help from the British, though all the time it dangles before me like the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, just out of reach. I have promises, radios, contracts to sign, quarters to prepare for them and God knows how much work for them to do, but inertia and red tape have so far given me everything but the men. Now I have hopes that in perhaps two weeks more I shall have them, but hope deferred maketh the heart sick, and I have had endless deferment.
And then my few American workmen. A more undisciplined and mercenary lot (not all, but most of them) you never saw. My heart aches for the few supervisors, who like myself have their souls wrapped up in what they are trying to do for their country, who have to deal with that lot of overpaid, rapacious bandits who are forever demanding more money and at their own sweet wills jumping their jobs till their demands are met.
And finally the JDP crowd up the hill. What sins of my past life I must have committed to have that gang of conspirators inflicted on me, I cannot imagine!
Last Monday (in #67) (Ed: #61 above, due to error in numbering) I wrote you, enclosing a letter of commendation sent me by our general from the C. in C., Mediterranean, lauding my “great achievements” here, and specifically listing them and me as mostly responsible for the results obtained. That letter flamed through the dismal atmosphere round here like the rising sun, for there at least was concrete appreciation for what my struggles had done to help win the war.
Still treading a little on air from that, I came to my office Tuesday morning, and hardly had I seated myself at my desk, when one of my salvage captains rushed in, mad as a hornet, to tell me I’d better get down on the next floor to the JDP office at once where a scandalous trick was being perpetrated.
I went, to find there all my other salvage officers gathered before a JDP executive who was just passing round the letter I enclose.
I got a copy, read it and got the shock of my life. There in plain terms, was JDP’s order appointing one of my salvage captains, Edison Brown, to my job!
I immediately asked Brown if he was any party to that scheme, and he claimed no. (I don’t believe him). At any rate, I ordered him and every one of them back to their ships, with the flat statement that no man should pay the slightest attention to that order. They all went, though all the others told me if Brown was put in charge, they would all quit.
I told the JDP man the order was waste paper and would be obeyed by nobody, and any attempt on Brown’s part to take charge would promptly get him in serious trouble. And with that I left him, to take the so-called order up the hill to the military commander of this country.
He told me he had no knowledge of that order, and it was of course unauthorized and void. What action he can or will take to bring JDP to heel for such a scandalous attempt I do not know. I don’t hope for much. But meanwhile the morale of my salvage force is once more all shot to hell. If Hitler or Mussolini were paying agents to cause trouble in Massawa, they could not have done a finer job of it than the highly paid (by the American taxpayer) JDP executives.
So there I am. Unlike Greta Garbo, I don’t think I’ll go home. I’m going to stay right here and do my job in spite of every underhanded trick that JDP can think of. I’ll beat them because my task requires it, and both hell and Massawa will freeze over before they get away with what they’re trying.
Ned
Here is the text of the letter:
October 10, 1942
To: The Area Engineer
Eritrean Field Area
Asmara, Eritrea
From: G. M. Gaussa, Foreign Manager
Subject: General Superintendent in Charge of Salvage Work
Attention: Lt. Col. Ralph E. Knapp
1. Effective Tuesday, October 13, 1942, Captain Eddison (sic) Brown
is appointed General Superintendent of Salvage Work under Directive #2.
2. Captain Brown will be in charge of all personnel, and equipment engaged in the Salvage Work, and will be in complete charge and will direct Salvage Operations.
/sd G. M. Gaussa
Foreign Manager
cc: Captain Ellsberg,
Lt. Gallagher,
C.A. Nelson,
P. Murphy
Captain Brown
William Reed
Captain Hanson
Captain Byglin
Higgins
Mahoney
Gaussa
Central File
Letter #63
Oct. 18, 1942
Sunday afternoon
As usual
Lucy darling:
Usually I never get a chance to write except evenings, but this afternoon I have things well enough under control to take the afternoon off for that purpose. Not that Sunday is ever a day of rest here – today we’re docking a couple of ships and working on two other salvage jobs, but at any rate I have them all rolling well enough to leave both docks and wrecks a few hours.
I am enclosing some photographs of our latest ship salvage job (of which I wrote you before) taken by one of my men. We lifted this ship Oct. 1 and towed her into port Oct. 4, on which day these pictures were taken. I am enclosing seven snapshots, of which three are pictures of me taken on the bridge that day, and the other four are various shots of the ship or parts of it, including her mainmast redecorated according to the ideas of the salvage forces here as to how the Nazi banner should be displayed.
You’ll get a little better view of these snapshots if you look at them through a magnifying glass, and I think if you get Jarvis to make you enlargements of a couple of those of me, you’ll get a better idea of what I look like now, from salt-soaked shoes (they were once my most expensive pair of French-Shriner & Urner’s), thru Banded-Aided shins and that Camel cigarette with which I am steadying my nerves (Ed: EE smoked eight packs a day in Massawa, but told Lucy that he only smoked four so she wouldn’t worry!) (Camels can use this for an ad, it’s really so, provided they kick in with one thousand bucks for the privilege), to my four shilling sun helmet (regulation British army issue.)
If you look carefully, you’ll observe the absence of both double chin and bay window, which (together with the inner consciousness of a job well done) are the only compensations I’ve received for having to stand the strain of salvage work in this hell hole of creation.
Let me know how the pictures come thru, and what luck, if any you have with enlargements in showing up details.
Several more letters have lately arrived, #102, 103, 104, & 105 (the latest number now), with only #95 and 101 still missing. (This does not include two unnumbered birthday cards nor a round robin letter from the bridge club (also unnumbered).
To answer various queries:
I did send my mother myself one of those postcards, which she should certainly have by now. Consequently, if your sending her one leaves you short, you might ask her to return yours when she gets mine.
My birthday box from you arrived day before yesterday with letter #103, very quick delivery. Thank your family for the cigarette lighter, which is much better than what I had, and is already in use. I am also much obliged to you for the handkerchiefs, which give me now quite a stock, and I won’t need any more for a long time. (I hope I don’t stay here long enough ever to need any more). The book I think I’ll get to some day, God knows when, however. I now have The Moon is Down, which I haven’t looked at yet, The Unvanquished (same), and some day there may arrive a book you said Clara had sent me. These should last me for the rest of my stay here. Please don’t let anyone send me any more books. I’d rather have a box of cigars or a can of orange juice or just their good wishes on a postcard. Thank Bob and Gladys Palmer for the camera filter. I have one already (which came with the camera) so theirs is useless to me, only don’t tell them so. I can give it to some one else who may use it.
I’m sorry to say it, but there is very little any one can send me that’s worth to me the trouble they go to in sending it, and what I need is mostly very prosaic. I could use half a dozen khaki colored socks (knee length) for wear with shorts, size 10 ½, but they must be thin or they are no good to me. I can get thick ones here by the dozens, but all they do is squeeze my toes by making my shoes too small. I could use the Realsilk underwear I once wrote you of, both drawers and shirts. This climate is hell on underwear. If anyone feels so inclined, I could use a pair of captain’s shoulder marks (line) to replace the pair I lost when my shirt was torn off my back in that accident during the drydock salvage I wrote you of. As regards other clothes, I should have more than enough, when, if, and as the late lamented Whiteside tub ever arrives. I could use a good small magnifying glass, pocket size. I could use a decent metal wrist watch strap to fit my Movado watch, width of strap, 9/16 of an inch. It must be non-corrosive, chrome plated or something similar. A leather or canvas strap lasts me about three weeks before the sweat eats up the buckle and destroys both canvas or leather. I guess I’ve used up about eight such since I’ve been here, and I wouldn’t mind trying something more permanent. The circumference of my wrist is 71/8 inches.
I could use another pair of sunglasses. You know what happened to Carl Fuller’s Polaroids. (But I don’t want any more of those anyway, only don’t tell Carl). Then I used (and smashed) several pairs of very expensive other makes. Then Kandel sent me a pair of American Optical Co.’s Cool-Rays, which were grand, and I used them constantly, until about a month ago he sent me out another pair of the same for spares, after which within a week I lost the pair I had, and I had promptly to start using the last set, which are all I now have. Before I lose or smash them, I’d appreciate another pair for reserves. I enclose the circular on them. If anyone wants to send me a pair of them (no others wanted) they’ll be appreciated. (Tortoise shell or similar frame only, no metallic frame wanted). I could use a small six-inch, vest-pocket size, slide rule. I have one now, but if I should lose it, I can’t get another here, and I’m afraid I’d have to go out of the salvage business, since I’ve long since forgotten how to multiply or divide in my head. (A six inch slide rule means six inches in overall length – the scale is only about five inches long). Maybe most people don’t know it, but a slide rule is more important in raising a ship than pumps, air compressors, or pontoons.
I could use a decent mechanical pencil with plenty of leads for it. (Something substantial, nothing fancy). Next to a slide rule, a good mechanical pencil is the most important item of equipment in lifting a wreck. And include plenty of erasers to fit it, for even a real salvage expert occasionally makes mistakes! (I don’t dare make any just now, for the only eraser I ever had for my present ten cent pencil has long since worn out).
And that’s about all I can think of now. Anything which can possibly be sent first class (even in a small package in a large envelope) should go that way. Packages by parcel post in general will get here in time for the next war.
Meanwhile, everything I’ve ever received has been acknowledged. If something isn’t acknowledged, it hasn’t arrived.
As regards Mike, the sooner Mary crosses him off her list completely and never sees him again, the better I’ll like it and the better off she’ll be. But I hesitate to say anything whatever to her on that subject (and I haven’t) for fear it may work in reverse. You’re closer, and you use your own judgment. My own opinion is that of all the boys Mary knows, I have the lowest opinion of his ability and of his personality. When on top of that, he has a record of being inclined to drinking, it’s just too much.
I’m glad to know you had a visit from Tsuya. She is one of the grandest persons I’ve ever known, and I hope you are able to see her more than once a year.
Sorry to know you locked yourself out of the La Salle. There is a key hidden under the hood, and not hard to get at if you know where to look (or, better still, have some man do the looking and extracting). Lift the right side hood, but it is heavy and I don’t recommend your trying to unlatch and lift it. You will notice a tape of heavy canvas edging the after right side of the radiator casing where the front edge of the hood seats. Just about on the line where the horizontal hinge of the hood normally seats, the key is slipped under the canvas tape, giving a slight bulge there to the tape. The key is wrapped completely up in some black tire tape, so that it does not show up as a key, but simply as a flat black thin object tucked under the canvas tape on the radiator casing. Push this object out from under the canvas tape, unwrap the black tire tape, and there is your key, thus: (Ed: what follows is a diagram of the above with the quote: “Oh goodie, won’t have to walk home!” next to it).
Better look into this now, discover the key, PUT IT BACK, and then next time you need it, there it is.
I am glad you are having additional storm windows and doors put on the house. They always help. About the cannel coal and the grate, I’m dubious. Where heat is being supplied even partly by radiators, I suspect a fireplace draws more warm air out of a room and sends it up the chimney than it supplies from its own combustion. Especially is this true in the evening after the grate fire has been allowed to die down and you’ve gone to bed. The chimney damper cannot be closed, or you’d literally choke yourself to death with smoke and gas fumes even from a nearly out fire, so the heat of the room continues merrily to roll on up the chimney all night long. Now when a grate fire or a fireplace fire is used only as an ornament to more gracious living as in pre-Hitlerian days, all this is allowable – you merely make your furnace burn more oil early next morning to reheat the room. But if you are trying to save oil, I don’t think the fireplace is a help. I hate to throw cold water on your cannel coal, but I doubt if it’s a help. However, you can see.
A better answer might be to have gas installed in the furnace if you can. I’ve always felt it much more expensive than oil, but if you find you can’t keep warm on the oil you can get, never mind the expense – the gas is worth it. But lay off coal – I don’t want you firing any furnaces or shoveling ashes. However, don’t let them sell you a new gas furnace on the plea it’s more efficient; have a gas burner put in the present furnace. The added efficiency you’ll get out of a new furnace won’t pay for itself in the next ten years, and before then we’ll be swimming in oil.
I’ve got my salvage forces calmed down somewhat now and back at work in what looks like a proper state of subordination, but I’m afraid it’s only on the surface. The army officers in command in this area do not see the seriousness of the situation, probably because they do not appreciate fully what is involved, naval affairs being rather out of their sphere. Whether I’ll get complete support is dubious, so I’m uncertain that a decisive order that will stop this continual intriguing of JDP with one of my salvage masters will be issued. As regards our general, he’s so far away he might as well be home so much as my ability really to discuss the situation with him is concerned, and unfortunately the JDP crowd can take the time to fly there at their own sweet will to tell him what they please, while I’m restricted to official channels for letters (which are useless) and can’t very well leave here for a conference without trouble here while I’m gone. The first time I went to Cairo, JDP seized the occasion to spring their first attempt to supplant me. And the last time I went, I was unable to get transportation back for two days after my business was over, so I was unable to get back as I had intended in time to undock myself a British cruiser we had in the dock when I left, and one of my supposedly expert civilian associates dropped her off the keel blocks onto the floor of the dock, damaging her bottom. That’s what I came back to the night I returned from Cairo. It nearly broke my heart.
It is that accident the C in C Mediterranean referred to in his letter which I forwarded to you in #67 (if you ever got it unscathed). Fortunately the damage, which might have been terrific, turned out only to be trivial, as the C in C took occasion to inform me in another dispatch, but to have such a scandalous accident happen on the drydock still hurts me inwardly, even if the damage wasn’t anything much.
So there I am. I can’t leave here again to go to see the general or anything, for fear of what may happen in my absence. I’ve just got to stay here and fight it out, with only as Lincoln put it, “Faith in the right as God gives us to see the right,” and the belief I have as always, that the other man will crack before I do.
I am very concerned about your getting someone to live with you, now it is certain Catherine isn’t going to. It will be fine if Nina can, but I’m dubious about that even if she gets a government job in New York. I know Nina well enough to know she’ll spend every cent she makes (and Marty’s also) to live in New York the minute she gets her first salary check. So I would suggest you look around for someone else – perhaps some school teacher.
For all the reasons you mention, I should hate to have you close the house and go live elsewhere. There really is something very real in that song about keeping the home fires burning (even if it is only that cannel coal I’m dubious of), and the feeling that I have a home to come back to means something out here. The same, I’m sure, applies to Mary.
As regards Mr. Flanagan, I’m afraid he’s dreaming if he thinks any canned goods were ever placed by him on any ship especially for me. Be specific about the name of the ship – she arrived long ago and there can be no need of any secrecy about it any longer. If it’s the ship I think he means, on which one of the crew had an accident after it got here, I can only say that ship arrived all right, with thousands of cases of canned fruit juices and other canned goods, all consigned en toto to the army, and not a can for me, according to her purser. That’s the ship you went with me to San Diego to inspect. She’s still here, of course, and both her captain and her purser say Mr. Flanagan has mistaken his good intentions for his actual deeds. If it is any other ship, tell me her name and I’ll check up. If it is that ship from San Diego, let him say in whose care or how he consigned what he’s talking about.
As regards the accident he mentions, a diver (and a good one, I’m told) who came out on her stumbled across a high voltage wire in a power station ashore here, and was nearly electrocuted, burning one hand so badly it will probably never be useable. And that before he ever made a dive here, which of course, now he never will.
Respecting the food here, it’s safe enough. I get my own breakfast, all from the supplies showered on me by Captain Madden whom I once wrote you of, whom I rescued from the heat aboard his ship. It’s always the same – canned tomato juice, grapenuts, shredded wheat, or cornflakes with canned milk (detestable stuff) and coffee (yours) with no cream but plenty of sugar. Lunch and dinner (the latter at the fashionable hour of eight) I get at the Royal Navy Officer’s Mess here. They have a lovely verandah projecting out over the sea on which we dine (provided by the late Italians).
The arrangements here are quite ideal. We do all the work (I mean exactly that) and the Royal Navy (which has nothing to do here) is in possession of all the amenities. The British captain here lives in the ex-Italian admiral’s house on a lovely point surrounded by the sea; the British officers have the mess building formerly belonging to the Italians. Now I have a very comfortable room (in a building we converted from an office building) set safely back from the sea in the middle of a hot plain, and we have no mess or recreation facilities at all of our own, but we are guests in the British mess hall.
On one thing, however, we have the edge – we own all the air-conditioning equipment here and they get none of it. I don’t shed any tears at all if they swelter while I sleep in comfort.
About the water, that’s safe enough, too. We drink only bottled water from up in the hills, though frankly, the city water here is, I think, safe too. The whole town, including the English, mostly drink that and they have no troubles.
As a commentary on how busy I am between salvage and ship repairs, you may not believe this, but it’s true. Among my other acquisitions, I have a huge evaporating plant left by the Italians which is running under my command at this base, and on which I know I could do wonders in improving production over the Italian system, and I haven’t even spent 10 minutes in it yet to see what it needs to convert it to Evaporator Bills’s methods. And over in the town there’s another one, even bigger, which I could have if I wanted it, and I haven’t even been over to look at it! Some day, when I get a vacation, I’ll relax redesigning both of them. (Ed: Ellsberg developed, but did not patent, the submerged-coil type low-pressure evaporator system on the U.S.S. Raleigh and the U.S.S.Denver in 1923, and published an article about his method).
Yes, I got the last V-mail you sent - #70 of Aug. 9, mailed from Southwest Harbor. It came in an envelope something like what the telephone bills come in. I hope it is the last V-mail letter I’ll get so long as the regular mail goes through.
And now, it being about 11 PM, I’ll close this letter which I started about 2 PM (with time out for dinner). 16 pages is a fair days’ work for any author (better than my daily average of ten).
One last word about the bridge club letter. Give them all my thanks, and it was a pleasure to read their notes – even including Sid’s, where it took me ten minutes to decipher each word (twenty minutes on “apotheosis”). But your note ending it was best of all. I’m glad I married a girl who is unlucky at cards.
Lovingly, Ned
Letter #64
Oct. 19, 1942
As usual
Lucy dearest:
Your letter #106 of Oct. 2 from Springfield arrived today, in which you said you had received nothing from here in two weeks. No period such as that has elapsed between letters sent. #58 of Sept. 9 you have mentioned receiving. #59 went Sept. 15; #60 Sept. 21; and with the exception of a gap of six days between #63 and #64, there has been no period exceeding four days between letters.
The trouble is probably the mail service, not the state of my health, which is excellent as usual. Now that the maximum summer heat is passed, I expect even less liability to illness. I haven’t had a sick day since I’ve been here, and since my habits are temperate, I suppose that will continue, especially since I never dine around in any public restaurants.
My last salvage ship was last heard from in the American port where Whiteside left her. She may be on her way, but I have no definite word that she has even left there nor when. I’ll expect her when I see her, and that goes also for the toaster and the rest of my clothes.
I notice your letter #106 was written the day after we lifted Frauenfels and were engaged in straightening her up in a storm. We had a devil of a time that day dodging wrecks and shoals with our waterlogged derelict. I sent you seven pictures yesterday dealing with that subject.
In #66 of Oct. 8 I sent you a Christmas card photograph of myself taken when I was last “somewhere in Egypt,” and in letter #60 of Sept. 21 I sent you a check for $130 from the same spot. That, I think, is the only check you have not yet acknowledged, but that letter couldn’t have reached you when your #106 was written.
I commented in my letter of yesterday about the improbability of Nina’s ever staying out of New York if she could ever earn, beg, or borrow the money to finance living there, so don’t count on her. I hope you can find someone else, but failing that I suggested you see if you couldn’t get one of the Westfield school teachers to move in.
I wrote you yesterday (#69 – Ed. #63) quite the longest letter I have ever sent from here, so this one must be brief to let me catch up on some other matters.
With love, Ned
Letter #65
Oct. 23, 1942
As usual
Lucy dearest:
Two days ago, I received four letters from you - #95 of Sept. 14 via home office (probably your last that way); #108 of Oct. 7; 109 of Oct. 9; and a letter (unnumbered) of Oct. 10 containing a birthday card. All these came Oct. 21.
In #108, you asked to be informed as to whether the air mail stamp you put on it hurried delivery over regular mail. The answer is as always, no. Air mail stamps are just a waste of whatever the extra cost is. Here it was well illustrated by the fact that #108 & #109 which both bore air mail stamps were delivered at the same time as the unnumbered letter of Oct. 10 which bore only a regular stamp, but which was mailed 3 days after #108 and one day after #109.
At the present time, #109 is the highest number yet received. Those missing are #101 and 107.
About my being in better health than when I left home, I think it proves only that I’m getting a lot of outdoor exercise and have worked off a lot of excess weight, which is a benefit. I still weigh about 149 lbs., at which point I seem stabilized. It doesn’t prove home life didn’t agree with me, but only that a desk job didn’t and never has.
About the missing whisk broom in the Lewis & Conger package, it doesn’t make any difference. I have one, which must have come in my second trunk.
I note you are sending me another book, “West With the Night.” Thanks, but I mentioned the other day I read very little, and had enough on hand to last me the rest of my stay. Please don’t bother to send any more.
I did read “The Moon is Down” two nights ago, it being a rather short book. It interested me mainly because I’m sitting on the other side of the fence from Steinbeck’s hero – I’m the colonel, so to speak, in “Occupied Enemy Territory” who is sent into a conquered country with orders (figuratively) to get out the maximum amount of coal that can be obtained from the local mines, and to see that the conquered inhabitants (the Italians in this case) produce their quota.
So I read with some attention Steinbeck’s account of the colonel and his staff, from his major down thru the captains to the two young lieutenants, who gradually went all to hell from the animosity engendered by their efforts to force a conquered village to work.
I won’t agree, of course, that the two cases are wholly similar, but perhaps to some Italians they might seem so. I don’t go around armed, though some of my officers do. I’ve had to send some Italians to concentration camps for refusal to work and some for suspected sabotage, but nobody has been shot (yet) for anything and I don’t expect anybody is going to be.
Most of the Italians here aren’t fascists and have no heart for Mussolini’s schemes of conquest, so to them there isn’t anything really distressing in the present situation. But to the minority who are fascists (and still out of concentration camps) I suppose there seems little difference between me and the Colonel Lanser of whom Steinbeck writes. However, there is at least a wide difference between us in the methods we employ in obtaining our rather similar objectives – work from a conquered populace. And it might seem odd back home to some to know that I have far less trouble in getting cooperation from the conquered Italians than I do from the American company that is supposed to be the servant of our government in this undertaking.
I read also with close attention, Rear Admiral Rowcliff’s article on the Airplane and the Battleship, which you sent me. It is a clear enough presentation and an instructive one for those who want to be instructed (but they are few). I wonder who Rowcliff thought his readers would be? The average American has changed a lot if even now, he’ll spend the time really to study such an article.
I note you’ve fired up your cannel coal grate and have the living room up to 70º F. Such is life! At considerable expense, I manage to keep the temperature of my living room down to 80º F.
I suppose the grate is a good idea for cool days when you haven’t really to push the furnace. Well, it’s pleasant anyway to look at.
Sorry to hear of all your troubles over the thermostat clock. I hope ultimately you get ours back! If ever you do, (or a satisfactory substitute) be careful you get and keep it in the proper day and night cycle, and don’t imitate Rose Morgan in cooling her house in the daytime and heating it at night.
From the clippings you’ve sent me, the new tax bill does look as if it is going to be a crusher. It still annoys me lots to know however, that our nouveaux riche (correct?), the artisan who is patriotically doing his bit for fantastic wages plus overtime on Saturdays and Sundays, is going to let the rest of us hold up his end on the tax burden.
To get back to heat a moment, I notice you talk about setting the thermostat to 65º. I’m afraid that’s too cold for your health. Better try 68º, and with all the storm sash you are having, I should think you could maintain it without undue oil consumption.
I am very sorry for your father’s sake to learn he failed of reelection – a real hurt difficult to swallow when he knows he really did a wonderful job for the town (Ed: Willimantic, CT), and is so rewarded for it. As ever, I know he’ll take it without complaint or self-pity, but as you say, it puts your family in a tough spot. Without question, they’ll need help soon if they don’t right now. For your father’s self-respect, I do hope he finds something else to do, but as a practical matter, some dollars regularly every month are going to mean a whole lot more than oceans of sympathy, however real it may be. Will you please look into this to see what he needs, and so far as we are able, send it regularly.
Perhaps it may have been explained in one of the two yet missing letters, but I did not get the reference to “that picture of you which the United Campaign is using.” What picture of me? And I’m a little curious as to how they’re using it to persuade our fellow citizens to “give generously to the fund.”
With love, Ned
Letter #66
Oct. 24, 1942
As usual
Lucy dearest:
The letter from Rose Ackerson (Ed: a neighbor in Westfield, NJ) which you mentioned as mailing Oct. 8 arrived today. It would have given the censor a laugh had he ever seen it, especially the P.S. addressed to him, but for some reason not a letter coming thru APO for several weeks has been opened by any censor. However, I laughed over it, especially over the sketch at the heading which is quite alluring. You just tell Rose I haven’t seen a pink cheeked girl since I left Westfield, let alone any pink cheeked mermaids. They do have some gorgeously colored fish tails that I’ve seen around here on my wanderings below, but unfortunately they weren’t topped by anything more seductive than goggle-eyed fish – one might as well stay on the surface.
I did gather from Rose’s letter some more detailed information about the war chest circular. However, I am curious to know just what picture of me was used to illustrate what a headache I was to the Axis.
You tell Rose that if she has started to write poetry, then she’s even more cracked than I had previously given her credit for being. Tell her to stick to kidding her friends – there’s more in it.
The rest of the day’s news wasn’t so intriguing as Rose’s letter. No letter from you – that always makes the day seem dark. Then a dispatch saying I could expect the ex-Whiteside tub about the middle of February! I could hardly believe my eyes, but they read aright. The middle of February! And I had thought I was being overly pessimistic when I had set Christmas as the probable date! She is to stay for repairs at the island to which John Paul (Ed: Jones) fled with Tom Folger’s aid (after he skipped the Betsey) until about Dec. 15, when she is expected to proceed again. What a crew, what a crew! Find out for me, if you can, from Mr. Dixon what the devil is and has been the matter with her from the start and write me fully about it. Don’t worry about the censor.
Meanwhile, if thru Mr. Dixon you can get my clothes and the rest of the things put aboard for me last June or July, taken off and put aboard anything else, I’ll appreciate it. Next February! And I sailed from home last February, to ask for those things almost as soon as I got here!
To put the situation quite baldly, the crew of the craft which sailed from the west coast (which we went to inspect) is a worthless lot of riffraff who have not in a month accomplished what any decent crew could have done in two days. And the trouble they’ve caused me here since they arrived in August has been beyond belief. For a fact, everything so far accomplished here in salvage has been done by the two little groups (totaling 27 men) who arrived here last May. And I’ve now practically given up hope that I’ll ever get any real help from any others.
But the big chief takes the cake. I tell you literally I could get from New York further in a rowboat in the same time. From July to mid-December to get beyond Trinidad will long stand as a record. And how long will it take them to get from there to here? Next February? Rot! I won’t see them till next July, if then!
Sunday evening
Oct. 25
Well, anyway, as Aunt Olive used to say, it’s a nice day. There’s a lovely moon shining over the Red Sea, shimmering in a marvelous silver radiance over the waves right to the shore – totally wasted. What good is the moon when I’m alone by the shores of the Red or any other sea? This night was made for lovers if ever one was – calm, glowing under the tropic stars, warm and fragrant with the waves breaking melodiously on the beach, and that glorious moon! And I’m 12,000 miles away from the smiling eyes, the burning lips, and the throbbing heart that alone can make that moon have any purpose for me! How much longer, Oh Lord? How much longer?
Ned
Letter #67
Oct. 27, 1942
As usual
Lucy dearest:
Your letters 110, 111, & 112 arrived today, the last only 13 days en route. Still missing are only 101 & 107.
To answer a few questions. Gerald (Ed: Gerald Foster, who illustrated several of EE’s books) has not been subjected to any unpleasant experiences by Dodd, Mead and I hope you inform Eleanor of that before she goes off the deep end. Dodd, Mead were correct when they said the total number of copies sold being 3247, he was entitled to no royalties till they passed the 5000 mark (if they ever do). You are in error in adding 3247 on your royalty report and 3247 on mine and coming out with 6494 as the number sold. The total number shown by their royalty report is 3247, just as they say. They report that on each royalty report and pay you half the total royalty for each copy and me the other half, which is also the case on a number of other books where the royalties are split, as for instance, Captain Paul.
I am returning the royalty reports. I see that even the Dodd, Mead royalty clerk finally became disgusted with Spanish Ingots as a title and has now renamed it Spanish Ignots, which for all I know may be just as little intriguing to prospective readers as the original title.
Either the censors on letters coming this way have at last seen the light, or they’ve become disgusted and quit. The News of the Week comes through now uncut, and aside from that, no letter from you or from anybody has even been opened by a censor for weeks. They come thru as private as any letters in peace time.
If my letter #64 (Ed: actually #58 above) commenting on Frauenfels reached you by Oct. 12, it was really remarkable delivery – eight days. My check sheet shows it was mailed Oct. 4, though it may have been started Sept. 30. The intervening time was spent out with the salvage crew, and I don’t think that letter went until we came home with the bacon.
If Pat wrote me any letter last August, it hasn’t arrived yet. Usually letters addressed here by name of city and country go by ship and arrive in time for next Fourth of July. Don’t send any that way; stick to the key number given you.
I have an idea the Army are getting ready to give JDP a swift kick in the pants for their impudent attempts to take command of the salvage work. I’ll know soon, I guess. Meanwhile, I’m sitting on a seething volcano, ready to erupt if something isn’t soon done to cool it off.
I had a letter today from some company furnishing Army packages to Altman’s that they are sending me a package ordered. Some day I’ll see it, I suppose, together with the others you mention, though heaven alone knows when the things you sent via Whiteside’s spitkid will ever arrive now that it’s settled down for the winter season in the West Indies.
Thanks for getting me the rayon underwear. I’m down to about four shirts which I wash out myself every day or so – the rest are long since rags and even these four aren’t so hot. I don’t believe hot flat irons ruined them, it was just a case of their coming away in fistfuls when I tried to haul a soaked shirt off my back without any loving fingers around to lend a hand.
Thanks for sending me some shoulder marks. I hope they were sent first class by Rogers Peet.
As regards Mr. Settlemeyer and the overflow pipe from the humidifier, I long ago deduced that from pure mathematics, one was necessary, even if it didn’t come with the humidifying apparatus. So the humidifying pan which I had made to go over my study radiator had an overflow pipe built into it. I’m surprised Mr. Settlemeyer didn’t see it. It is in the middle of the pan, rather toward the back side, and is about half an inch or so below the level of the top of the pan, so that if the humidifier sticks and fails to shut off the water, it overflows down the pipe before it can overflow the pan. I am no dumber than the plumbers when it comes to such things, and that at least is one thing you won’t have to worry about, overflowing. However, as I said before, jiggle the float valve every week or so with a ruler so that it doesn’t stick shut and leave the pan dry.
Sorry Nina hasn’t landed a job yet. I hope she does soon, and I trust it’ll be around New York.
Now there’s lot more I’ve got to say but I’ve had a hectic day and I’m turning in early so I’ll save it for tomorrow.
With love, Ned
Letter #68
October 30, 1942
As usual
Lucy darling:
Your letter #114 arrived today enclosing the first undershirt, which I now have on, being about the only decent one in my possession. Many thanks, and I’ll be glad to see the rest of the first half dozen coming the same way. When those that come as a Christmas package will arrive, I don’t know, but frankly I don’t expect to see them till Easter. Packages come by ship, and ship deliveries take three months when all goes well, and how much more when it doesn’t, you already know. If anything can ever be sent in a letter or in the guise of one, always send it that way (not air mail, of course). Marking things “Christmas Package” doesn’t make the slightest difference on ship deliveries – the ship doesn’t go a bit faster, and I very much doubt that such marking will secure air delivery on packages sent as such and not first class.
At the present moment, the missing letters are 101, 107, and 113. I note that the home office service has been discontinued as of Sept. 12 but all letters sent that way have nevertheless already arrived. I would appreciate a list from you of my missing letters to date. I see you have received all the checks so far sent you.
I notice you say fall has arrived (Oct. 12) in Westfield, judging by all the falling leaves. Today it seemed to me that summer had returned here, the sun was so damned hot I felt it worse than in July.
Our salvage work is progressing. Tomorrow I hope to start lowering pontoons to salvage a sunken derrick the British spent six months on and then gave up as hopeless, recommending demolition. The pontoons are quite huge but impromptu – they are gasoline tanks I cabbaged from an Italian airport near here and have made into pontoons. They are somewhat bigger than any we have ever used on subs but unfortunately have none of the improvements I had built into our American pontoons after our S-51 experiences. These will, I think, be tough babies to handle. However, everything I know about handling pontoons goes into the handling of these, so I trust we’ll make out. My one worry is whether they’ll prove strong enough for the job – I had to take the tanks as they were or go without any pontoons at all, and nothing else will do this job. We’ll soon see what happens. Meanwhile, we are working two other ships. One of which I have some hopes of getting in a couple of weeks, but the other will take longer, and I’m afraid, prove quite a headache on the bottom before she comes up.
A few days ago we raised steam on the first ship we salvaged here, and today for the first time, we gave the main engines a trial after their overhaul after their long submergence of over a year. Everything worked all right, so all we need is a new crew and our first salvaged ship (the one we brought in on the Fourth of July) will be ready to steam away.
We drydocked one of our lately salvaged jobs yesterday for hull repairs – she has two big holes blasted in her sides. Quite a ticklish job dragging the hulk onto the dock (my English dockmaster balked at trying, but I told him I’d heave him overboard if he didn’t carry out orders) still we got her safely landed and out of the water. Now if I only had some workmen! Our first contingent of Britishers is promised in about ten days, but I’ve had promises enough already to sink the biggest freighter ever built. Meanwhile we’ll struggle along on the repairs with the handful of mechanics I have.
I was very much distressed to read of your physical troubles as indicated by Monty’s examination. I hope his treatment will do something to ameliorate the difficulty. God knows what the answer to all this is. I wish I could chuck this job into the Red Sea and come home to you! Before next summer, I can hope to get a relief and get out of here, but there is little chance of anything sooner than that. A year here is plenty for anybody and I have hopes that I can make the general commanding see that, and if necessary, the Navy Department too.
Letter #69
Nov. 3, 1942
As usual
Lucy darling:
Two letters I have received from you this last week have by their news pained me seriously. The first, #111, commenting on your physical difficulties, gave me quite a shock. The second, #116, which came today, gave me a blow of a different kind. You said, “All the reports that come to me from people who have seen you say that you are a completely happy man” and you go on to discuss how those reports struck you. All I can say is that those who made any such reports were either trying to be charitable or were very unobservant and were unable to distinguish between enthusiasm over our achievements, and happiness. Frankly, I have been completely miserable out here for long months, and nothing has kept me going except a grim determination not to be licked. Otherwise I should have been glad to quit months ago and chuck the whole business up. That I should have to stay on this job to fight mercenary workmen, complacent Englishmen, uncomprehending Army officers, and venal and incompetent contractors executives bent only on their own pleasure, intriguing all the time to oust me as an obstacle to their slothfulness, has certainly in no degree contributed to making me happy in any sense.
There is a fierce joy in overcoming obstacles and in getting some things done that will help smash our enemies in this war, and that I have had here in large measure, but that is not happiness. I have never had any happiness in this life except in your arms, and I never expect to. I can never be happy again until I get back to you.
I had an unhappy childhood, for reasons which you know well. College years are supposed to be happy ones, but I can tell you that my four years at the Naval Academy were nothing but hard work with no recollections now of any happiness – nothing but struggle, possibly mostly my own fault. I never learned even what happiness meant until after I met you, and even then it took me some years to learn, but certainly you taught me long ago that there were some things other than complete absorption in work that were necessary to any real satisfaction of soul.
But now I am back where I started. You are half the world away from me and that effectually ends any happiness for me now. If there are any women in Eritrea, black or white, I haven’t even observed them or their existence, for none of them could in the slightest degree contribute to my happiness. There is nothing here for me except the work I was sent to do, and that I have plunged into as I have into any task I’ve ever had. I’ve been successful, too, performing what to our British friends and most Americans, may have seemed almost miracles, but while that has made me proud, it hasn’t made me happy. The first happy day I’ll have in Eritrea will come when I shake the dust off this miserable place from my shoes and start home to you.
Those who have come back to tell you that I’m happy here are blind. I’m well, thank God; I’m proud of what I’ve achieved here with little to work with; I’m still completely undefeated by any obstacles, human or material, that have crossed my path – all this may seem to some complete happiness, but not to me. Until again I have the loving light of your glowing eyes shining into my soul and the warm caresses of your arms, your lips, your breasts, and your whole body making me one with you, I’ll not know happiness.
Ned
Letter #70
Nov. 3, 1942
As usual
Lucy dearest:
I had a letter from Mary today, dated (last part) Sunday afternoon, Oct. 18, which contained the best news I’ve heard from her in months – she and Mike have broken up! Now if there is any way you can get her not to see him again even casually, it will be perfect.
She mentions earlier in the letter, written a couple of days before the bust-up, that you are to visit Baltimore about Nov. 7. Of course, that will be long by when you get this, but I trust you were able to get in some effective advice.
I received two letters, #116 & #117 (both written Oct. 19, I note) from you today, together with another birthday card of Oct. 16 (unnumbered). That makes the missing list now 101, 107, 113, and 115.
You mention my enclosure about Dr. Salvati and something about shortly people will have to dispose of all tires, etc. I want to warn you that the tires you are referring to are not your tires, they are mine. I’m in the armed services and I’m saving those tires for military use when I get back to the United States and they are not to be surrendered on any pretext to anybody. Don’t let anybody wangle my tires out of my possession when I’m not there to claim them.
The second shirt came today in #116. Thank heaven I now have two whole shirts to my back!
We’ve been working the last week with our pontoons on the salvage of the sunken derrick I mentioned. Everything is working out according to Hoyle. No pontoon salvage job is complete without having at least one pontoon standing on its nose on the bottom, and this job followed the rule. These pontoons, being the worst possible design for the job, tended to be completely unmanageable, but at least I knew enough about that to manage them and kept the first one reasonably level until we got it properly sunk in position and secured above the submerged derrick. But then we had a stiff blow on the surface which rocked the pontoon below enough to break a securing line, so that the damned pontoon stood on end with the lower end buried three feet in the mud. We had quite a time getting it free of the mud and up again but after four hours blowing on it, floated it up again to the surface, leaving us just where we were three days ago when we first started to sink it. At the moment, our main problem is still to get the last cradle sling in position under the derrick, and I trust we’ll get somewhere with it tomorrow. I once spent a week pulling one cable under the S-51 and practically tore one tug apart doing it. This wire sling seems stuck just as hard under the derrick, but we may have more luck in getting it through. Here at least we have been able to saw three cables under the derrick without any tunneling, and if we get the fourth one into position the same way we’ll be in a fairly good position. I hope three more weeks will see us through on this job, provided our ex-gasoline tank pontoons don’t collapse under the lifting load.
These pontoons are quite elephantine, being longer than our house from end to end and considerably greater in diameter than the height of our living room. It is quite a sight to see these huge cylinders bobbing about in the waves, and a real trick to juggle them around and keep them level while they are being sunk, which is the last thing the confounded things want to do. I’d give a lot to have my own design pontoons (which are as docile as poodles) on this job, but out here one takes what one can get and gives thanks that he can find anything which can possibly serve the end in view, however poorly. I smoked up two packages of Camels steadying my nerves sinking the first pontoon, and at that I think my nerves were much steadier than the pontoon at any time.
You ask what it means that we’ve taken over the salvage work the British failed on. Nothing much. We already have the major ship they bungled, on our drydock, under repair. So that’s over as a salvage task. The sunken derrick mentioned above was their biggest fiasco, but we’ll get that without too much delay. Aside from these two, it means only another wreck and that tossed into the general pot around here doesn’t amount to much. The addition of their wrecks to ours won’t prolong or shorten my stay, and the addition of their salvage gear, which we took over when we inherited their contract, in a way will help us somewhat.
As I see the situation, our British workmen (not here yet) when they arrive in a couple of weeks (I hope) can be organized enough in a few months to be quite a help. If I can get the base running with them in a reasonable manner in a few months, I intend to ask then to be relieved. There are wrecks enough left to keep the salvage crews going more than a year yet, but there is no good reason why I have to stay to see it out. Sometime in January I’m going to start my campaign to get a relief and get out of here, which I hope can be accomplished by next March. A year’s service in Massawa is punishment enough for any man and the Navy I think can be made to see it, though the Army may not be so keen about letting me out. But I’ve already had two months more service in this spot than any Army officer, and over twice as much as most of them. I’m quite willing to call this task a day now at any time and let someone else try his hand at it.
With love, Ned
P.S. Pat’s letter of last September, which you mentioned, arrived today.
Letter #71
Nov. 4, 1942
As usual
Lucy dearest:
We had a little luck today in getting through our cradle sling for the pontoons for lifting our derrick. A heavy wire sling which yesterday we were not able to haul through with a twenty ton pull on one end, we today succeeded in dragging out the other side and managed to get a new sling back in its place and apparently in proper position. We worked rather late tonight rigging up for lowering again our first pontoon. Early tomorrow morning we are going to sink it into position just above the derrick, and if all goes well, I hope we can get its mate sunk into position on the other side of the derrick, thus giving us our first pair of pontoons. There are a lot of “ifs” in carrying through this program, running the scale from having good weather throughout the operation down to the hope that nothing breaks on us while we have those immense pontoons flooded alongside our salvage ship and going slowly (I trust) down.
Meanwhile, a few days ago I finally lost my pocket slide rule. A week or so past, in writing you what might be sent me for Christmas that would do me some good, I mentioned sending out a pocket slide rule against the possibility of my losing my solitary one. Now it’s gone. Please send me immediately by first class mail, a so-called six-inch pocket slide rule in a leather case. The scale of such a slide rule is actually about five-inches long. A simple slide rule made by Keuffel and Esser or any similar company will do – I do not need anything but a slide rule which is capable of multiplication, division and squares, carrying on its face what are usually marked scales A, B, C and D. More elaborate scales are not needed, and the smaller and thinner the slide rule the better, so that it can easily be carried in a shirt breast pocket. Meanwhile I am up against it on the calculations I must do on my pontoon work and have to carry around to do it a ten-inch slide rule which I can’t put in my pocket at all and which cramps my style in getting about. So please expedite the slide rule.
With love, Ned
P.S. What is the censorship status of my letters now to you?
Letter #72
Nov. 5, 1942
As usual
Lucy dearest:
Your letter #121 arrived today enclosing the third undershirt. The letter came through fast enough, in 14 days, but the gaps in the deliveries puzzle me. The missing list is now 101, 107, 113, 115, 118, 119, 120. Whether this means that some letters (at random in batches) are being held up for censorship examination and are thus much delayed, while others not so selected come thru in a hurry, I don’t know. I can figure it out better when some of the missing ones come through.
My prize example of censorship and delay reached me yesterday. On June 26 last, the general commanding wrote me a letter from headquarters congratulating me on my promotion. It was sent from Cairo in an envelope marked “Official” and bearing the U.S. Army Headquarters legend. It was opened by some censor, bore the stamps on the envelope of two other British censorship stations (one much east of here) and finally reached me yesterday, over four months on the way from Cairo. What would have happened had it contained instead some important orders, I can’t imagine.
I got your report that you had seen Monie and delivered my message to Mal. I hope you can see more of Monie; she’s a fine girl and I like her; besides which I do suppose a common misery gives you both a fellow feeling.
By the way, if any patriotic group in Westfield such as the D. A. R. or other, would like to present an American flag to this station, I’d be glad to fly it here in their honor. The only American flag we’ve ever had, I first hoisted here last May 20 and we’ve flown it since daily over this naval base, but now it is getting much frayed, and while it may seem strange, I don’t know where I can get another out here. (The first one I got from the ship which Col. Claterbos was torpedoed on going home). I can’t use a silk flag or anything special – I just need a regular wool bunting flag suitable for a flagpole. It should if possible, be sent by some quick conveyance and not left to take some months en route; possibly Mr. Dixon could forward it.
As I reported some time ago, the birthday box reached me intact and all its contents are already in use, even though my birthday is still two weeks off. I also received Mary’s birthday gift (sent in a letter) which at her request, I’m not opening until Nov. 21.
In letter #60 of Oct. 8 I sent you a photograph taken when I was last in Cairo, this being in the form of a Xmas card. I haven’t yet received any acknowledgement of its receipt, but this may have been in some of the missing letters. (I also sent one at the same time to Mary, and I’ll shortly send the remaining few as Xmas cards to your family, Clara, and my mother).
My letter of Nov. 4 I think I forgot to number. It should have been #77 (Ed: Ellsberg’s numbering system was way off).
I received a few election returns via B.B.C. with some very laughable (to an American) comments by British interpreters of what the results meant. I’m glad to see Dewey was elected governor of New York. About two or three weeks ago, we received here forms to fill out if we wanted to cast absentee ballots in our home states. That is a good joke, also. I filled out an application for one to the Secretary of State of New Jersey. I suppose I’ll get it in time to vote in the presidential election of 1944.
For the last hour I have been listening to the radio reports from London on the defeat of Rommel’s army in the desert – a situation which looks now as if it may be approaching a rout for the Nazis. I’m wild to see that happen. Bombs from hardly sixty miles away fell on Alexandria and Cairo during the periods when last I was there. What the situation was last June and July I can hardly describe – it looked hopeless, for the fall of Egypt meant the fall of Eritrea, and there are no exits from Eritrea. And Eritrea was so full then of refugees from Egypt who wouldn’t flee any further that in a way it resembled the period just before the fall of France.
But since then you should have seen the shiploads of planes and tanks from America that have passed thru here en route to the desert. They made the change – the planes and the tanks and the guns that gave the Eighth Army something to fight with. But carrying them all were the ships – the plain, ugly freighters without which nothing, and for them we are struggling here with the mud and the barnacles of the ocean floor and the heat of Eritrea to blast Hitler and Mussolini with munitions brought up to the front lines in their own ships – ships they thought they had finished off forever.
And our drydock has done its part. Seventy-seven ships since last May have been over our dock. I think I can honestly say no dock in the world has ever served so many ships in so short a period. We’ve certainly doubled the capacity of the merchant fleet serving the Mediterranean, for ship after ship has come onto our dock so foul from two years without docking it could hardly make five knots, and has gone off doing over ten. It was for that aid to the ships serving the Eighth Army continuously, that the C in C, Mediterranean, officially commended me.
To get back to the matters of everyday life here. I hardly slept last night for involuntarily there kept running through my head the problems of getting our first pontoon safely down. To get an early start on the job, I rolled out at 5 AM and we started at 6.
As expected we had a gay time keeping our makeshift pontoon level while we flooded it down, and spent until after lunch juggling it, first one end up, then the other, before we finally succeeded in balancing it well enough to get both ends under water at once and heavy enough to sink. After that it went down smoothly enough (but only by inches at a time) till it went into position at last and we got it safely secured. However by that time it was too late to try sinking the mate pontoon, which I trust we can get down tomorrow. But handling these pontoons is very much like balancing a pencil on its point. Thank goodness, at least I’ve had experience enough with the confounded things since 1925 at least to anticipate what they’ll do, and nothing they do surprises me, though most of the others here are goggle-eyed at what’s happening in sinking a pontoon.
Tonight I think I can sleep, and it being now 11:30 PM, I think I’ll try.
With love, Ned
Letter #73
Nov. 6, 1942
As usual
Lucy darling:
We had another one of our big days today – another scuttled Italian ship came into harbor afloat again with the American flag whipping in the breeze at her masthead! This one we lifted in the remarkably short period of six days; work started last Saturday and was finished with the ship afloat yesterday and towed in today (Friday). I could kiss the Italian captain who scuttled her, on both cheeks for the favor he did me. He exploded no bombs in her holds – just opened the sea cocks and let her flood. So all we had to do on this one was to close the valves, close about a hundred portholes and doors to seal up the holds, and pump her out, and up she came. A very fine passenger ship this time, moderate size, hailing from Napoli, which will need only a machinery overhaul and some cleaning up to go back into service as a troop transport. To make the situation a little more ironical for Mussolini, the vessel (which he has already lost) bears the name of that province in North Africa which he is in a very fair way to lose also – the province where back in 1805 fought the Tripolitan pirates.
So now we have four salvaged ships and two drydocks on our hands and our naval harbor so full I haven’t another safe berth at which I can moor another wreck.
On our sunken derrick today we got a second pontoon into position and rigged up ready to sink in the morning. Tomorrow I hope we get that one down without mishap.
Your letter #118 arrived today with the fourth undershirt so far received. Thanks.
No workmen and no officers have so far arrived here to lend a hand. Who said America needed ships? Or Britain?
With love, Ned
Letter #74
Sunday
Nov. 8, 1942
As usual
Lucy dearest:
The air is full of news today – grand news, all of it. Rommel’s army is fleeing westward in complete rout, and America has landed in North Africa. This last I have long expected as being the only strategic solution to getting control of the Mediterranean. I am glad that at last that we have abandoned soft-headed tactics with respect to our enemies, the Vichy French, and have started to fight fire with fire. And that all ideas of defending America have been abandoned in favor of going and smashing the enemy on his soil, not ours.
The news from the western desert and the African North Atlantic coast will be welcomed everywhere there are Americans, but none can greet the stories coming in as those in Eritrea. Our existence depended wholly on keeping the axis out of Egypt – now it seems assured. You would be amazed at how the turn of events in Libya has influenced conduct here. When Rommel was within less than a day’s march of Alexandria and Cairo and was next day expected there (by some) you could see it mirrored in the Italian population here – a sudden recrudescence of Fascist influence, a marked change in the conduct of our Italian prisoner of war workmen, a not wholly unvoiced feeling in Italian circles that soon it would be we who would be working as prisoners of war instead of them. Now that’s all over. A more docile and anxious to please lot than our Italian workmen and the civil populace here it would be hard to find.
But I never spent any time worrying about the situation here last June and July. We had arms and we could fight, and for the Italians here then and now I have the utmost contempt as adversaries. What might have happened when Rommel’s divisions continued eastward was something else, but I never expected him to get into Cairo anyway so I gave it no thought, and saved myself a lot of unnecessary loss of sleep as it now turns out.
For the last couple of days (and nights) we have been struggling with pontoons, which unfortunately when you have them by the tail, you can’t let go of just because darkness falls. Early this evening we finally got our first pair down and secured. They’ll need some straightening up yet before the lifting operation, but at least for the first pair the sinking is over and the locking pins are in place. We still have a second pair certainly, and a third pair possibly, to send down. I expected trouble with these pontoons and I haven’t been disappointed. I can thank my previous experiences for the ability to get these cranky cylinders down at all, but one learns something new on every job.
Anyway tonight we have two safely down and I can sleep in my own bed instead of under the stars on deck. I’ll bet I’ve drunk six gallons of iced tea at least and nearly worn out a borrowed slide rule feverishly figuring out buoyancies every few minutes.
One salvage job every few years should be enough for anyone’s lifetime. To have four going at once with half a dozen to look over in retrospect and the whole horizon ahead filled with more I should have considered unbelievable once. It is fortunate I am blessed with a low blood pressure. That has been a great help in every situation out here – that and an intense interest in keeping well till I get home to you.
With love, Ned
Letter #75
Nov. 9, 1942
As usual
Lucy darling:
The mail certainly arrived today in a big way – five letters from you and one from Mary. Your letters were #101, 107, 113, 115, and 122. The missing list now is #118, 119, and 120. Every other numbered letter you ever sent, V-mail or otherwise, through #122 has now arrived, whether specially acknowledged or not. The fifth undershirt came in today. One more is apparently yet on its way. Thanks. All the enclosures in all letters have also come, even though not specifically mentioned on arrival.
I should be much interested to receive a copy of Mrs. Whiteside’s letter on why her husband did not come out. Keep the original, but send a copy and if the censor mangles it, let him. You’ll still have the original. Incidentally no letter in over a month has been opened by any censor, including those received today, which were mostly (for some unknown reason) slower in getting here than others sent later. As the ex-Whiteside craft won’t be here till Valentine’s day, I’d like to know what information Mrs. Whiteside’s letter throws on the situation.
Regarding the tax situation, I’d appreciate any newspaper or magazine outline immediately on what’s in the bill, the more detailed the better. And as soon as they are printed and out (usually about Jan. 1) send me at least one tax form (3 preferably) which you might get the bank to wangle somewhere for you. Meanwhile, I rather judge our combined taxes for next year will be somewhere between four and five thousand dollars at least, probably more. I’d like as much time as possible to figure up the situation and see where the money is going to come from. Meanwhile, I have no doubt we’ll keep up my insurance payments even though something else has to suffer, bond purchases possibly, and heaven knows what else. As I understand it, we should have a reserve fund of about $1200 to $1500 set aside for taxes, which I originally thought would perhaps cover half of what was necessary.
So far as I can judge now, it looks as if the D. M. (Ed: Dodd, Mead) royalties had all best be postponed unless the Ruml plan or a substitute goes through (all of which I doubt). You may have to make a quick decision on that late in December if any late action is taken. But now it looks as if we’ll need the money far more next year than this, as in addition to much increased taxes, we’ll have a much reduced income both from dividends and royalties.
In your letter #107 I received the war chest circular which I had been wondering about. That’s the only photograph I ever had taken with my mouth open, which I see they took advantage of. I rather imagine the original of that picture, unretouched, is vivid enough. I’m glad you have it, probably in its original state. And if in any way, that picture helped raise the war chest fund (which I see was considerably over subscribed) I’m gladder. Helping to raise things seems my mission in life.
Meanwhile I enclose the sixth picture you asked for. The others have all been sent as I outlined. This last picture, I regret to say, has a slight blemish on the print, for which reason I had not intended to send it to anyone. A small spot appears over the left side of the mouth, which since you know I don’t have, I don’t mind your having it (the picture that is, not the blemish).
As regards the D. M. royalty statements, in which you note some books appear on my royalty sheets only and some only on yours, that’s the way it is. Some were wholly assigned to you (mostly early ones), some were divided, and some (mainly Men Under the Sea) left wholly on mine. No use now going into the reasons; I haven’t time.
While you can thank Howard Lewis about his kind offer of the tax adviser, I doubt it will be necessary, especially if I get the data in time. I’d prefer to do mine, yours, and if necessary Mary’s.
About the tires for my car. In connection with the reserved tires I have, you may report them, but call attention to the fact they are mine and I want them saved for my official use on duty when I get back. If they cannot be saved, then do as you think best as to which to keep and which to turn in.
I had meant to write more, but as it is now half an hour after midnight and I’ve not had too much sleep lately, I’ll stop.
We got our first pair of pontoons fairly well straightened out in position today above our derrick, and tomorrow I’m giving all hands a rest before we tackle the second pair.
With love, Ned
Letter #76
Nov. 10, 1942
As usual
Lucy darling:
Three more letters from you today, #123, 124, and 125. The missing list consists solely of #118, 119 and 120.
I sent you yesterday the duplicate photograph on a Christmas card that you asked for.
My promised workmen (1/3 of them only) are supposed to sail for here tomorrow. With luck they should arrive about Nov. 15. When the remaining 2/3 will start, there is no word at all.
I’m glad you had a visit from your father and I hope the change rested him a bit. I think his achievement in Willimantic was marvelous, especially so in these days, and I admire his fighting spirit. I earnestly hope he gets the opening he is looking for, but as I said before, if he needs any help, don’t hesitate to extend it.
As regards Nina, I am in no way surprised. I was sure she would never stay in Westfield other than temporarily as suited her convenience. I concur in your decision that we cannot now lend any money there. Nina really doesn’t need any help; what she really needs is a sharp dash of cold water on her manner of life. So don’t worry yourself about her, and if she stays a while, for heaven’s sake, don’t wear yourself out waiting on her.
I think I’ve received the Reader’s Digest through August; perhaps others are on the way. But I haven’t had time ever to look inside one, so don’t bother to renew that or anything else. I do appreciate the clippings; they give me more news than I get elsewhere and I can look them over hastily as they come in.
At present, everything regarding JDP is in the status quo; I think I have them stopped and I am pressing for a definite action which will clear up this situation. If I can’t get it, I’ll try drastic action soon.
As regards your difficulties with the wrong sized Minneapolis clock, I think the best solution is to insist they give you now the thermostat to fit the clock, or better still, return the clock and get a complete new electric clock with a new thermostat all in one unit. In this case take note that what is required is a thermostat operating directly on 120 volts (approximately) with no transformers. The whole business can be easily installed in place of our present thermostat by any oil furnace service man. Minneapolis makes them, I’m sure. Sears, Roebuck in Plainfield may also have the proper kind, but don’t get one there unless they’ll install it for you. The best bet is to get an oil burner service man who can without delay get a proper thermostat and install the whole works. However, don’t let them sell you the idea of substituting a low voltage thermostat (six or twelve volts) for there will be a devil of a lot of additional gadgets necessary to hook it up to our present oil burner, and I’m not sure they’ll be successful. Meanwhile if you change, hang on to our present thermostat until you are sure the new one works successfully.
With love, Ned
P.S. I enclose a late copy of our national newspaper here, so you can see how we get the news in full as compared to New York. This paper really runs a fairly unbiased account of what’s going on, good or bad. Note the Italian section for the benefit of our axis neighbors here.
Letter #77
Nov. 11, 1942
As usual
Lucy darling:
Today is Armistice Day. I look back with a wry smile to the wild joy with which we celebrated it twenty-four years ago. We had won, all right, but every result for peace that might have ensued we allowed to slip away because we ended that war too soon for Germany’s enlightenment, and because our heads were even softer than our hearts. Next time I trust we will have learned something from experience and will show more sense. There must be no armistice this time – with Cato in similar circumstances, I believe that Germany must be destroyed as a nation if the rest of the world ever expects to live again in peace. And that goes for Japan also. As for Italy, it is beneath contempt. I firmly believe that before the end, we shall see Italy first a non-belligerent, and then actively in arms against Germany in the attempt to mitigate her own losses from her initial folly. Mussolini by that time, will of course be out of the picture, probably assassinated by some other Italian.
I received my per diem check for October today and I am enclosing it in this letter. It is a Treasury check for $186, endorsed for deposit only. I have on hand here in the Barclay’s Bank, the huge sum of 600 shillings (after all my bills are paid) which being translated amounts to $120. This looks sufficient for a while yet.
Your first Christmas card (mailed Oct. 28) arrived today with its heartfelt message. May we all before Christmas 1943 arrives be together and in peace, though the latter can hardly come so soon.
The weather here has greatly improved, being what we might call moderate summer weather at home. The days are no longer unbearably hot, though they are hot enough to make naked to the waist the most comfortable costume for salvage work afloat.
The North African news continues to be good. We’ll soon see American troops in Tripoli and Rommel will find he has nowhere to retreat to. I have been listening to Berlin radio (in very cultured English) informing me that the German and Italian troops of Rommel’s army are “falling back according to plan.” I suppose Hitler has here marvelously displayed his military genius in developing a plan for Rommel which involves throwing into the arms of the Eighth Army 500 tanks, 1000 guns, 54,000 men of the Afrika Corps and their Italian comrades, and no one knows how many planes. What a plan! What a plan! It made me laugh outright into the radio.
Locally we are still soaked up in salvage. My salvage ship which lately raised the Tripolitania in a week, has gone back to work on the Brenta, which job we suspended temporarily while we were examining the unexploded mines and torpedo warheads we had already removed from the forehold of that vessel. Another salvage ship began rigging up for lowering the second pair of pontoons on our sunken derrick. My third ship is working sealing up the submerged deck of the XXIII Marzo (Mussolini could explain what that means) which we shall try to lift with compressed air, as the holes in her bottom are quite terrific. And my fourth salvage ship is wintering as you know, in the salubrious climate of the West Indies. Perhaps Mrs. Whiteside’s letter (when I get it from you) will help to explain why.
And our drydock is making a record time in repairing the holes blown in the bottom of the Gera, which you will recall we took over in dangerous condition from the British salvors. It is heartening to see some Americans who never saw a ship’s hull before they got here, doing such a fine shipfitting job in getting out and welding up the new plates in the curved bilges of the bottom, the most difficult part of a ship’s form because of the curvature of the hull there. We’ll have the ship off the dock in four days more, a week ahead of schedule.
I hope you can get me a new flag to fly over this naval base soon. I have now as a memento the tattered Stars and Stripes I first hoisted over this station last May 20, but that banner is too far gone ever to fly again. Now we have no colors over us at all, while a little to the east of us the British banner streams out daily over the British part of this peninsula, making it look as if it were all theirs, which situation irks me considerably as America is doing everything that is being done here.
With love, Ned
P.S. I enclose an application for a job from 3 Somalis. They got the job. I couldn’t resist the appeal of that last paragraph.
The application:
I most respectfully beg your kind consideration. That we are two young fellows and we were seamen and we have our certificates. That we beg to inform you that we required from you to help us and give good work, either sea or land.
I pray ever that God may deliver you from harm & grant you your desire. Also your long life & your family a happy time and God safe (sic) you from harm.
Yours obedient servant
1. Abdulla Mohamed
2. Ahmed Giana ?
3. Mohamed Worsama
District British Somaliland Berbera
Letter #78
Nov. 13, 1942
Friday
As usual
Lucy darling:
This may be Friday, the thirteenth, but for me it is not an unlucky day. Thank God, today my first contingent of British mechanics actually arrived! Their ship is alongside the pier and tomorrow they land, this group consisting of one-third the total number promised. When the other two-thirds will start for here I have no knowledge, but the group here gives me the largest gang of mechanics I have ever had here. Seventy men may not seem like much, but compared to the few dozens I have had, they seem an army. We should start to go to town on our ship and dock repair work now.
And on top of this, Tobruk has fallen, but this time into British hands. What Tobruk means around here can hardly be realized in America – it is the bastion on which the defense of the Middle East has always hinged. Rommel will never see it again, and Eritrea breathes far more freely.
So all in all, Friday the thirteenth has not been unkind to us hereabouts.
Tomorrow we sink our third pontoon on our sunken derrick. A busy day for me, I imagine. Today we removed a second mine from the hulk of the Brenta (we have already removed one and eight torpedo warheads) but find on closer examination of the hold that there are four more mines and about a dozen warheads still left to hoist out.
No letters from you for several days, which makes them quite featureless.
I sent you a couple of days ago in letter #83 (Ed: Ellsberg’s misnumber) a Treasury check for $186. Please let me know when it arrives.
With love, Ned
P.S. Two British naval officers have also reported here for duty with me.
Letter #79
Nov. 15, 1942
Sunday
As usual
Lucy dearest:
Today we worked all day sinking our fourth pontoon and getting it secured to the cradle slings. We got our third one down yesterday and our fourth today – two strenuous days. Whether four pontoons will lift this derrick or not, I don’t know. We have no plans of the derrick to give its weight, but on a chance, I am going to try a lift in a few days when we get these pontoons all lashed fore and aft so that they shall not slide out when the bow comes out (as happened to the Squalus salvagers).
I earnestly hope that four pontoons will do the job, for if we have to use the last pair we have on hand, it will be the devil’s own job to get slings under the derrick to take them, for its size and shape do not lend themselves to attaching more than four.
Getting these four pontoons down, getting the cradle slings under for them, and getting them lashed down so far as we have gone already, was a heartbreaking task, and perhaps the worst is yet to come from our ex-gasoline tanks now masquerading as pontoons. I am not too certain that they will not collapse under the heavy lifting strain and in spite of all my calculations which indicate they should stand up, there can be no certainty till the actual strain has been put upon them. May I be spared from ever again having to work with such makeshifts!
The one light in my long days here is the arrival of your letters, but for five days now I have had none. I imagine the mail service (via air) has been somewhat disrupted by the air needs of the American forces now fighting in French North Africa, and this interval means nothing more than that. But it leaves me in gloom nevertheless.
Tonight over the radio I have been listening to the bells of England ringing out in wild celebration over the victory in Egypt – my heart goes out to them in rejoicing over this victory which should be the prelude to the others which will finally smash the Nazi and the Fascist ideal as well as the Japanese lust for conquest – and let us live together in peace again.
With love, Ned
Letter #80
Nov. 17, 1942
As usual
Lucy darling:
Today was lighted up by the arrival of three letters from you and one from Mary, which came in with the first mail that has reached Eritrea in about a week. The North African campaign got apparently all the plane service for that period, and there may be similar and longer prolonged periods to follow on the mail coming this way.
Your letters were #126, 127, and 128. The missing list is only 118, 119, and 120.
We have our sunken derrick with four pontoons secured to it and all the lashings on to hold them in place. Tomorrow morning we shall attempt to raise it. Pray for us.
With love, Ned
Letter #81
Nov. 20, 1942
As usual
Lucy darling:
It is all over so far as our sunken derrick is concerned. There comes back to my mind the one newspaper headline of long ago which of all has meant the most to me, a headline in the Boston Post of July 5, 1926
“Gallant Tars Finally Win”
Once again I had the pleasure of seeing my pontoons come up, dragging with them the wreck we were fighting for.
Two mornings ago we went out very early to raise the derrick we had struggled for. I’ve written you of some of my fears – over the pontoons, over whether we had enough to make the lift, over the cradle slings, over the fastenings. So we secured, connected up our air hoses, and started up our air compressors; for nearly an hour I played a tune on the bank of valves and gauges before me trying to keep some proper balance in the unseen pontoons below. Then, smoothly, slowly, and beautifully, the derrick started to rise, bow first as intended, till she was up forward, after which all the air was switched aft and in about ten minutes more the stern followed, to complete a perfect lifting job.
During the tow in, we had some nerve racking moments while at sea when some of the fastening clamps slipped on the slings under the heavy strain and dropped the derrick about three feet before they finally seized again but we got her safely into our naval harbor where I had the drydock ready to take her. But unfortunately, the derrick was then drawing too much water to go on the dock because of the slipping slings, so there was nothing for it save to drag her into shallow water and beach her while we released the pontoons and resecured them lower down. That took all night, with the wind blowing hard, the sea kicking up, and our pontoons bouncing about quite playfully under our feet while we worked resecuring them. Yesterday morning we dragged our derrick still hanging deeply in its slings onto a dock which normally cannot be dropped low enough to take it. We got her on the dock nevertheless, but she knocked over so many keel blocks that I nearly had heart failure when we got the dock up out of the water to find out how few blocks were left to take the weight. However on what seemed an almost complete lack of anything to support her, miraculously the derrick remained level till we could get more shores under her. We let the pontoons go, cast loose the slings, and this morning floated the derrick off the dock, fully afloat on her own buoyancy, and ready for service again as soon as we have cleaned off the barnacles and overhauled the machinery.
So in about five weeks we have salvaged a vessel that the British struggled with from February to September and then gave up as hopeless, recommending demolition. And I think myself that of all the salvage jobs we have done here, this one was the hardest and the most uncertain of success because of our impromptu pontoons. But like the others, it was completely successful in spite of all our inadequacies, and for all that I shall truly have cause for giving thanks.
And now I shall turn in and catch up a bit on my sleep. Another scuttled vessel is afloat again to do its bit in the battle against the totalitarians.
With love, Ned
Letter #82
Nov. 21, 1942
As usual
Lucy dearest:
This is my birthday, but not until noon while out on the drydocks, did I remember it. However, I had more cause to when I got back to the office, to find there four letters from you, #131, 132, 134 and 135, and a letter from Mary of Nov. 5. In your letter 135 of Nov. 7 you close with, “Perhaps this will reach you on your birthday.” It did, my dear, and at least I had that reminder of your love and constant thoughtfulness to mark the day a little apart.
I am sorry you are so much concerned over my supposed desire to stay here indefinitely. I have no such desire. I earnestly hope that long before spring is over, I may be relieved here and sent back home. So far as I can see, I have no further obligation here except to see that the base gets running smoothly with our new working force, and when that is achieved, which should be by January or February, I’ll be ready to go.
How I may get away then is what puzzles me. I might start by asking the army command here to detach me and send me back to the navy, but whether they would do it or not, I don’t know. Perhaps by then I can make them see I have done my bit on this station and they’ll acquiesce. A second method might be to approach directly somebody in the Navy Department and see whether they won’t order me back and send someone else out in my place. Properly handled through the right channels, that could produce results, but it could also misfire and mess up the situation. I think in a couple of months I can safely approach the commanding general and ask to be relieved. However, in case it might seem better to work directly from the navy angle, I’d like to know what Broshek’s job now is, since I think he might be the best person to approach. I notice you say he is an admiral now, which I’m happy to learn. He well deserves it. John Hale can give you some information on this, and perhaps on other possible lines of attack.
As for me, I’ve long since had more than enough of separation, and I know that I’ve done everything here that might reasonably be expected of me. So my conscience doesn’t hurt me in considering ways and means now of shaking forever the dust of this part of Africa from my shoes.
I’ve had enough. I’ve had enough of broken American promises, enough of dilatory fulfillment of British promises, enough of intrigue, enough of inefficiency of contractors, enough of battling for the chance to do the war job I was sent out here to do. The things that were supposed to make this spot impossible to live in and work in have never bothered me much – the terrible heat, the unbearable humidity, the tropical diseases – I’ve worked in spite of all of them. Even the other things I never expected to be factors here, have not stopped me or my men from doing our jobs, but we could have done far more if not for them.
Things are somewhat better now, at least for the present. The contractor has got no where in his underhanded attempts to take over, though the army has not yet done any thing clearcut to rectify the basic situation. Matters are in the status quo because I’ve knocked the contractor flat in his intrigues which were so crude as to be almost laughable. The British have furnished me with exactly one-third so far of the officers and men promised, and I may someday get the others – they still say they are coming, but when? They don’t say that. However, those here have turned to well enough and certainly improved my situation tremendously.
As for the salvage work, unless my force is completely disrupted on me, I have them well enough trained on various methods now so they could do a fair job under any reasonably competent officer. I think I can do better with them that anyone else ever will, but I’m quite willing to forgo that pleasure.
I really do think myself I can do some more good for the war effort some where else, and this in spite of the fact that this station offers the greatest opportunity for restoring tonnage to service of any place I know about. But any officer who really is capable of doing the task will find, as I have, that he is hamstrung in his efforts by lack of knowledge in Washington of what is required here resulting in failure to carry through American operation, and by British inability really to turn to and produce results in an unusual situation.
I’ve done enough here. I can look around at a harbor so full of ships and docks and derricks that we’ve raised that is difficult now to find anchorages for even one more ship. I can look around at a set of shops which I found all smashed by the Italians when I got here, and all running now in better shape than they ever were in Italian hands. I’m willing to pass on the job and struggle in some field at home instead. And I dream night after night of nothing but getting home again to you.
To change the subject a bit and answer some questions. There were 900 gallons of fuel oil in our tank in June of 1941. I had the tank filled practically up in May and June of that year to get the lowest oil prices, and that oil was used up together with everything bought for the winter season of 1941-42. I should say that our total consumption of fuel oil for that winter season was about 2800 gallons, part of which was the oil bought in May and June of the early summer before.
As regards coffee, with the three pounds you say you’re sending, I’ll have more than enough for the rest of my stay here.
About evaporators, I don’t expect to stay here to redesign any. I’ve scarcely looked at them.
I received yesterday one dozen pairs of dark glasses sent here by Kandel. Some of them, of course, I’ll give away as he suggested. Thank him for me.
I was notified by dispatch a week or so ago the big chief was never coming, which your letters of today confirm. I’m sorry; she would have been my most effective unit as regards size. Do not bother to reorder for shipment here anything that was on her. In case within a reasonable time, say a month, the packages are recovered, send them along via JDP. If their return is delayed much beyond that, it may not be worth reshipping, as two to three months will be required for arrival and by that time I should hope not to be here, or at least not to be here for long after their arrival.
Letters #118, 119, 120, 129, 130, and 133 are missing. All others have arrived. One of the missing letters must contain an undershirt, as five only out of six sent have so far been received.
I notice the tire question seems to be settled by turning in the tires.
And now, please, some definite information on what the new income tax bill is. It must be available somewhere, as the bill has been passed and signed and can no longer be a secret. Some actual data on what the rates are is what I need. If nobody else can get them for you, ask Luther Huston. He’s in Washington and should be able to get the facts.
I shouldn’t economize too much on the heat if I were you. Use what oil you need now, and if that uses up your quota before spring, use it up. If you can’t get any more then (conditions may improve) close the house and go south.
With love, Ned
Letter #83
Nov. 24, 1942
As usual
Lucy darling:
This is, thank God, probably the last letter you will receive from me from “As usual.”
About the middle of the afternoon I was called to the hills to be shown a dispatch just received ordering me to proceed without delay for duty under the general most recently arrived on this continent for “urgent salvage work” in the area recently acquired. So I am moving on to Oran by air, leaving this country at 8 AM Wednesday morning (which it now is).
I have been packing all evening and now at 2 AM I am just finished. A fair amount of my clothes I am taking with me, but the rest must go with my ships when they move.
And so ends my episode in the hottest climate on earth. I am grateful that we got that derrick up before my detachment as it would have hurt to have left that job unfinished. As for the rest, somebody else can do them if they ever get the men and equipment here to work with.
Send no more letters, parcels or anything else here. Those on the road already will some day reach me on the other side of this continent, I hope. I’m sorry your letters for a month or two will not be delivered to me. You can find out from the post office what the APO number of Eisenhower’s command is. Advise Mary.
That I am glad to get out of here is putting it mildly, though I never expected my detachment to come this way. There will be plenty to do up on the front line I have no doubt, though how soon my equipment will get there to do anything with I don’t know.
The last letter of yours received was 135. I notified you yesterday or day before of which letters were missing, 118, 119, 120, 129, 130, and 133. These are quoted from memory and may be inexact. The correct list has already been given you. I am getting out of here at 4 AM (in about an hour and a half) so I’ll receive nothing more. Please duplicate any special information in all missing letters and in all letters from 135 on till you get this (or a cable which I’ll send as soon as I get where I can send one) in the first letters sent to the new address. I’ll also cable you when I get there if I can, which may be dubious.
What effect this may have on my ultimate detachment I can’t say now. Anyway I’ll be closer to home by eight thousand miles by sea. And meanwhile I’m going to be working directly with Americans from now on and no longer with the British, so I’ll not any more be in an “area of British responsibility” when it comes to getting something out of Washington.
As I said before, I can leave here with a clear conscience. What I’ll find in the newly battered port except work, I don’t know yet. I hope they don’t expect too much of me till I get something there to work with.
With love, Ned
The End
Sept. 27, 1942
As usual
Lucy darling:
I have been lucky lately in having received two batches of about five letters each this last week, the first batch perhaps what piled up while I was away from here for four days at headquarters.
The highest numbered letter so far received is #90 of Sept. 5 which arrived here Sept. 25 via home office. The following are the only numbers now missing in your numbered series: 31, 45, and 78. Of these I now learn that 31 and 45 were sent via Captain W, who will not arrive, though the letters ultimately may when his ship gets here.
As regards package receipts, I also received the package containing my new glasses, the package containing the ointment from Jarvis plus the two cigarette lighters; the July issue of Reader’s Digest; the August issue, same; four more copies of Life, complete now from Apr. 13 to July 27, except for July 13 and 20; the silver eagles; and everything previously acknowledge. What is still to come is the book Clara sent, the larger package of clothing, the toastmaster and anything else you may have sent via Captain W or his ship.
I note you have received all checks sent up to $126 sent in letter #57 of Sept. 4 and $130 sent in letter #60 on Sept. 21.
I note also I am liable for income tax on my Navy pay, even here. As fortunately allowances are not included in taxable income, whether home or abroad, neither Army nor Navy, it appears that my taxable Navy income this year will be about $5600. To this will have to be added whatever royalties or dividends I have received in the United States, of which you can make a rough estimate. The dividends will probably not exceed $500 to $700. The royalties may run around $3000 to $4000, even if all fall payments are postponed (as I have an idea they should be). Better have them all postponed (including yours) and if later in the year it appears necessary or desirable to collect, you always can. Even if you do not yet have any idea of October dividends, I’d appreciate receiving immediately a statement of everything I’ve received at home in 1942 in the way of royalties, dividends, or otherwise (if anything). Totals by categories are sufficient; I don’t want a statement itemized by dividends from each company each quarter.
From the above you can also make up a rough check on what your income has been already as compared to mine, and we can see whether the $1500 deductible should be taken by whom or should be split. And this, I think, will do for finances for the present.
(Addenda: It seems to me some kind of tax bill already has been passed for this year. If so, and you can get the rates for individuals, either from the bank or from Ed, I’d appreciate knowing what the present prospect is, even if it’s likely to be changed again after election).
I’m returning Mr. Beard’s letter. It’s grand!
It appears that the British are bent on making me famous (or hated) even in the Axis countries. They gave me a worldwide shortwave broadcast account in English over BBC some six weeks ago. Last Tuesday, over BBC shortwave, they broadcast for ten minutes in German on my exploits here, so I guess Hitler’s Nazis know what at least one American is doing to them. The broadcast was heard here by one of my Swiss mechanics, who told me of it; I didn’t hear it. I suppose the same thing went out also in Italian.
What makes me grin about the whole thing is that after the American radio told the world, the BBC told the world over English shortwave, and then in a German propaganda broadcast made sure the Axis were told where I was and what I was doing, I can’t mention to you in a letter that I’m in Massawa without having some censor excise it as information of value (?) to the enemy. It may be information, but it won’t be of value, after all the U.S. and Great Britain have done to make sure he knows it. Let me know whether my domicile gets excised. (Ed: it wasn’t).
To get along: We had another one of those friendly non-merchant ships in our dock last week, this one named after a certain lady impersonated (when both were young) by Helen Hayes a long time ago, in a play by a certain modern but aged playwright dealing with an ancient theme in a flippant manner. We turned her out in jig time. But what’s interesting about her was that her executive officer, a commander, told me he had an American wife, and on my casually asking where from, it developed she was a Taylor of around Roanoke, Virginia, where she is now in some way connected with Hollins College, where her brother is to some degree a chaplain or a minister or something. She has her two children (boys about 3 and 5 or thereabouts) with her. Her married name is Hopkins. Perhaps Mary knows her.
Anyway, it was a pleasure to play with something else than merchantmen in our dock, and we certainly bolstered up the forces afloat against Mussolini this last month.
In case I failed to mention it before, we finished up the other scuttled Italian drydock about two weeks ago and now have it well up both fore and aft. It was a tougher job than the first one, but it will never create the sensation the first job did. The English here now expect miracles of us, and nothing we do surprises them any more. It will be a sizeable repair job, for five big bombs went off in it and they certainly blew some beautiful holes in its bottom.
As you may have known, a salvage contract was let to a British firm to raise three ships in the inner harbor here, the contract dating from last October. The limey outfit badly bungled their job by pretty well ruining a sunken floating crane they were supposed to raise, without yet lifting it. Then after about six months work on a sunken German ship, they finally floated it some three weeks ago, only to spend all the time since trying to keep it from capsizing on them the way the Normandie did in New York. Finally Friday night, with the ship listed 20º to port and in danger once more of capsizing, the British Admiralty decided it had enough of the contract and cancelled it. We took over at 7:30 PM and I threw a salvage crew aboard to save the ship. We worked all night Friday getting aboard new pumps where they would do the most good, and pumping out the still half flooded holds. By Saturday noon we had her pretty well pumped dry and fairly upright, so today (Sunday) we towed her out from where she had been sunk around to a berth off our naval base where we can repair her. The gang did a good job on pulling that ship out of danger in a hurry, and she makes the second German wreck scuttled here we now have afloat and under refit.
It wasn’t until 3:30 PM this afternoon we finally towed her safely up to her new berth and moored her, and I nearly had heart failure several times on the trip. The pilot (shades of the man on the S-51) hung the wreck up by fouling a mooring buoy cable on the way in, against a patch sealing up one of the holes blasted in the Gera’s side, and so badly did the patch catch on the anchor cable of that mooring buoy that it stopped the tow dead. I was badly afraid the patch would be torn off the hull, to sink the wreck right there in the channel, but with the aid of a couple of tugs pushing sideways, we finally shoved her clear of the buoy with the patch still in place and finished our journey. I’m not sure, before I get through with this business, it might be better for my piece of mind to pilot my own wrecks on their way to their navy yards.
I picked the enclosed pamphlet out of the pilot house of the ship today as we were towing her round. I judge by the pictures and what little I can make of the text, it shows what a Paradise Hitler has made out of Nazi Germany since he took over in 1932, the year when perfection was attained being apparently 1937. Perhaps your German may be good enough to get more real laughs out of it than I could. What tickled me most was the picture on the third page showing the increase in marriages in 1937 as compared with 1932. The joke as I saw it was that in 1932 a gentleman took his bride to the alter in a frock coat and a top hat, but in 1937 (still supposedly in time of peace) he took her there in a uniform. Even the late lamented Prime Minister Chamberlain might have got the significance of that!
Well, anyway, the Nazified skipper of the Gera who left in such a hurry when his ship was scuttled he forgot his propaganda pamphlet, has long since vanished from around here, but the ship is ours and will soon be carrying cargoes intended to help sink Hitler and all his pamphleteers. So I guess the joke is on them.
And now, it being 10 PM after a somewhat strenuous day, I think I’ll turn in, a little tired, a little elated, and a lot lonesome.
With love, Ned
Letter #56
Sept. 28, 1942
As usual
Lucy darling:
I have been rather busy the last four days since my return, and I’m not sure but that I sent a letter or so unnumbered. Maybe not. However, I note on my check sheet #61 was sent Sept. 23 and #62 Sept. 27, while I believe I wrote in between. Perhaps I didn’t. The last five days have been such a whirl, I can’t remember now. However, life is now more down to normal.
You see I got back from Cairo Thursday evening, to learn all the keel blocks on the dock had collapsed under the last cruiser we had on the dock the night before (Wednesday) just before she was undocked. Fortunately the cruiser wasn’t damaged particularly, but the keel blocks were all match sticks and the dock was out of commission with a string of ships in line outside the harbor waiting to be docked. My British dockmaster was running round tearing his hair, and advising the British authorities it would take four to six weeks to replace the blocks. That was the pleasant sight I caught on my return. Well, the dock went back in commission this morning with a new set of blocks I dug up somehow, only four days out of service and another ship was docked this morning. So that’s that.
Then Friday night the British cancelled the contract of a British outfit for salvage here, and an ex-German ship in danger of capsizing was thrown into my lap as a consequence. So on top of the repairs to the dock, I had her to take care of (as I’ve already written you). Today she is riding very nicely at her anchorage off our naval base, practically erect and nearly all freed of water. As I’ve said, the pilot took nearly a hundred years off my expectancy of life by nearly sinking her on me on the way round, but we fooled him and got her in safely. So the Gera added to the spice of life very much this last weekend.
Then of course there was the usual work on our recently salvaged drydock (the second one) to look after, plus the ordinary trials of listening to Americans who think they aren’t paid enough, of firing others who are completely worthless, and getting still others (who are good when they are sober) out of jail after weekend drunks.
However, it is Monday night now and all is calm and peaceful on the shores of the Red Sea. I went down to the waterfront in the night to look over my collection, and we had a most marvelous harbor scene – no moon, but the brilliant stars glowing over the dark water which was absolutely smooth and like a mirror in which was reflected the inverted image of the nearest ship, our first salvage prize, and farther off sparkled the lights of the drydocks, and our other ships. And across the water came in the quiet night the endless throb of the salvage air compressors, still hammering air into the second drydock pontoons. A lovely night – but utterly wasted here alone by your devoted
Ned
PS Thursday Sept. 29
About 2 AM our quiet night went all to hell. It started to rain (very unusual here) and blow like the devil. Our first ship dragged its anchor down the harbor about half a mile before we could get some tugs alongside and drag her back to a safe anchorage. And our second one parted her stern mooring and swung around on her head mooring till she grounded astern. We’ll have to pull her off at high tide tonight.
Quite an exciting life.
Letter #57
Sept. 30, 1942
Lucy darling:
Quite a dull day today – nothing went wrong anywhere – just routine salvage work afloat and a lot of letters to write recommending various salvage masters and foremen for well-deserved pay increases which I hope they get promptly.
I received several more letters from you today - #78, 91, and 93, and an unnumbered one of Sept. 4 containing only the News of the Week. Yesterday I received #94 and 97. I now have missing 31 and 45, both of which I note you have just remailed; 92, 95 and 96, which last three will shortly be along. While a little spotty, the mail deliveries lately have been excellent, particularly via APO (though the home office ones come through unopened).
I had also a letter from Howard Lewis yesterday in which he mentioned the Herald Trib photo of me, which today I received from you taken “somewhere in Egypt,” to be specific, in front of the gentleman’s headquarters whose picture appeared next to mine. Interestingly enough, Howard Lewis took note of the wrist watch showing in the picture, which except for his mention of it, I should never have noticed. Odd how you came first to see that picture. Even as a newspaper picture, it’s a better likeness than that retouched photo I got in the same city and sent you.
I received also today the new head for the electric razor, which has promptly gone into service. I’m very much obliged for its speedy delivery. I received also the package from Carroll’s in S. W. Harbor of the prickly heat ointment, which just now I don’t need (and I hope I never shall again). The one from Jarvis’ came a few days ago. I’ve given some of that to one of my salvage masters, Bill Reed, who still has a severe case under his armpits and on his sides. I hope it helps him.
I also received another copy of Life, which takes me through July 27. Also as previously mentioned, my glasses and the cigarette lighters have come. I note you have received all checks I sent through #48 enclosing a check for $186. Since then I have sent a check for $126 in #57 (which I note you have) of Sept. 4 and another for $130 in #60 of Sept. 20.
I was happy to know of your visit to the Hastings and I hope when next you write, you’ll give them both my love and my thanks for all they’ve done down through the years for you, for Mary, and for me.
Thanks for many clippings, particularly the ones on the Yorktown lost at Midway. Her captain, Elliot Buckmaster, was a classmate of mine (Ed: he was class of 1912, USNA, and survived). And the cartoon by Gluyas Williams of the exodus from the Navy Dept. Bldg. at quitting time is rich in its appreciation of the nuances of rank and manner of Army, Navy and civilian staffs. The three snooty ensigns in the middle foreground are particularly true to life.
Answering various questions, I have received several letters from mother (three, I think). One came a couple of days ago.
You mentioned in letter 81 that you had received the first sheet only of an unfinished letter I wrote on July 23, the letter numbered 48. I enclose the second sheet of that letter (which is also unfinished) which second sheet I found just now among my papers. It never was lost – I didn’t send it originally because I felt it was rather bitter. I can’t say the case is much different as regards these people, except that I believe I have forced them into more of a hands off attitude. You might try matching this second sheet up with what you have of the letter.
As regards what you ask on censorship, those via Mr. D or home office come through unopened; most of those via APO are opened but it has been a long time since anything was cut out (except in some newspaper clippings).
It’s nearly October now and that should be fall, but it’s still what elsewhere would be called hot around here. However, I’m glad to note that the British prophets who knew that September would fade us all away, were wrong as usual, as they were in May, June, July, and August. I think now they’ve given up expecting to see us fold up in the heat and retire to the bar to hoist in mixed drinks all day long instead of working, as seems to be the British custom “east of Suez.”
I certainly can raise a thirst around here, but lots of cold water and plenty of salt tablets seem to be the best quenchers.
With love, Ned
Letter #58
October 4, 1942
As usual
Sunday evening
Lucy dearest:
I am just in after four days in the south harbor, and have brought in with me another German ship with our flag flying once again over the Nazi ensign.
This vessel, a larger sister of the first German ship we raised, was a somewhat more difficult task than the first one as she lay in deeper water and had two more holes blasted in her side when she was scuttled. We have been working on her since July 16.
We went out Thursday morning to start pumping operations, and about midnight that day we had her off the bottom. Friday we had her fairly well afloat with some hopes of bringing her in Saturday morning, but we caught a storm Friday afternoon and had a devil of a time.
She had been scuttled fourth in a line of seven ships, so that when she came up, her bow was close aboard the wreck ahead, and her stern hardly came clear of the wreck astern by 10 feet. When the storm hit, her stern mooring lines (which had been submerged a year and a half and were much deteriorated in consequence) promptly broke and her stern went adrift. With some luck and hurried use of the salvage ships as tugs, we barely missed by inches crashing the wreck astern and then managed to maneuver her bow off the wreck ahead. About that time, the manila hawsers to the tugs broke and she drifted down wind toward a reef to leeward. We got new lines aboard just before she hit the reef and then with two tugs towing in tandem, I managed to hold her off till the storm eased off. Talk about Scylla and Charybdis! We had three instead of two to dodge and for two hours we were hanging on to the Frauenfels hardly getting clear of one danger before another loomed up under our prize.
But finally we got her free of all of them and into deeper water free of obstructions where we could safely moor, and there we lay the rest of Friday and all day Saturday while we finished pumping out our waterlogged wreck and straightening her up.
This morning (Sunday), a gorgeous day in the Red Sea, we got underway with her with three tugs towing. She was quite a sight, all barnacles and oyster shells from bridge to waterline, but she was ours, and we felt very proud of her as we dragged her home into the naval harbor with our flag streaming beautifully out at her masthead and the whistles of the other ships there blowing a welcome to their risen sister.
We have had a very profitable two weeks in the salvage fleet. Within that time we have finished diving operations and brought up the second Italian drydock, the ship we just brought in, and another ship we took over in dangerous condition from the British salvors (of which I have previously written). Now our naval harbor is getting so crowded with the results of our salvage work, I’ll have difficulty finding berths for more till some of those on hand are refitted and sent away.
My workmen haven’t come yet, but they are promised and should be here inside of another two weeks. Meanwhile we are hanging on by our eyebrows so far as repair work is concerned, struggling along with our scanty force of Americans, most of whom (in language which has no smile behind it) I am almost daily accused by the contractor of having stolen from his construction forces. God knows the symbol J D P means nothing happy in my life, but soon I hope I can be independent of them and their underhanded plotting every time my back is turned a few days.
Tonight I can crawl into a real bed and sleep after four days out on the wreck sleeping (occasionally) on a mattress spread on the bridge in the open beneath the tropic stars. However, the nights out there were wonderfully beautiful, the weather (except for one storm) was fine and pleasant at night and as I didn’t sleep much anyway, the mattress served all right. We worked, of course, stripped to the waist as usual, for maximum comfort, but the afternoon of the storm it rained hard, and for the first time since I’ve been in Massawa, I really felt cold. But on the whole, the weather now is definitely cooler than it has been and we are not continuously soaked in perspiration any more.
Tonight when I got in, I found two letters from you, #98 and 99, waiting for me, my most welcome greeting of any I got.
With much love, Ned
Letter #59
Oct. 6, 1942
As usual
Lucy dearest:
I received your letter #92 today sent from Willimantic Sept. 8. This came via APO. Their service is rather erratic, inasmuch as 94, 97, 98 and 99, all sent the same way, arrived some days ago. The present missing list is 31 and 45 (both explained) and 95 and 96, which last two will no doubt soon arrive.
At the moment, affairs around here are rather quiet. Our newly salvaged wrecks are swinging gently to their moorings in our naval harbor, high out of water and looking quite imposing with their steep sides. The crews of the salvage ships which had them in hand are getting a rest before tackling the next job, which the British salvors here failed most miserably in lifting and recommended “demolition” as the only solution. I remember how the late lamented Tibbals voiced the same thought as the only method of ever lifting the S-51, but I intend to work now on this wreck with the identical method, pontoons, used to lift the S-51. We haven’t previously here tried that method, but it seems to fit this case, and perhaps we can give our British friends another lesson in how to lift a wreck when conventional methods seem impossible.
I’ve had several letters from Mary, but none written since she went back to college. The last one was after your return from Boston.
The enclosed came today from Dr. Salvati. Real humor, I think. But I can tell you decent tires are as scarce in this vicinity as they probably are at home. That beautiful spare he was eyeing enviously still reposes “somewhere in Egypt.” I wish I had it here myself.
However quiet it may get around here in a salvage way, there is nevertheless always plenty of personnel trouble to keep one on edge. Workmen getting rich hand over fist are forever grouching because they aren’t paid enough, and running an opera company loaded with prima donnas must be a simple task compared with dealing with my patriotic working force (not all of them, thank Heaven, but a large enough group to make me sick of the meanness of mankind). God only knows what they think this war is about.
With love, Ned
Letter #60
Oct. 8, 1942
As usual
Lucy sweetheart:
I am mailing my Christmas cards early this year, since there is no telling how long delivery may take. I had half a dozen of these taken when last I was “somewhere in Egypt” and they’ve just arrived here.
Darling, I hope this may be the last Christmas we’ll ever spend apart, as it is the first since we’ve been married. How much I’ll miss not being with you and Mary and helping decorate Mary’s tree, I can’t express.
The photographer wanted me to smile a bit, but I’m afraid I couldn’t. I’ll have nothing to smile over till I’m homeward bound.
Lovingly, Ned
PS I’m sending others to Mary, my mother, your family, and Clara.
Letter #61
October 12, 1942
As usual
Lucy darling:
Your long missing letters, #31 and 45, together with Nina’s letter of July 12, have arrived at last!
But all the fruit juices, etc., that were to have come along with Capt. Whiteside are still slowly somewhere poking along, and may get here by Christmas, I hope. And the same goes for the Toastmaster. Meanwhile, I am curious to know why Whiteside left his ship. What’s the reason?
At the present moment, the latest letter I have received is #100, which came three days ago. The only missing number now is #95. All the others from #1 to 100 are here. In #96, you sent the dividend records. I’ll study them. For the present, I agree with you it’s best to defer all the further royalty payments. In case the situation changes later in the year, you can still ask for them.
My per diem check for $180 for the month of September I am keeping here as a fund for current expenses and as a reserve in case I need some cash. Consequently, I shall not send any check this month from here.
As regards the junk in the garage of which you ask, the several long bent steel bars were part of the hammock swing which has long since vanished. They can go. The tire chains may be useful yet.
It will interest you to know the last dozen or so letters here via APO have arrived unopened – all of them, whether yours or Mary’s.
I enclose a copy of a letter just received here from the Commander in Chief, Mediterranean, via our own general. It is very gratifying to me to see that our work here is so much appreciated, and particularly that the C. in C. states specifically where he feels the credit belongs. This is one place in the Middle East where we have produced some very concrete results – a particularly outstanding achievement when one considers most of the work was done in summer weather that both the Italians and the British were accustomed to regard as unlivable. I’ll bet it cost me sweat enough to have floated one of those cruisers mentioned by the C. in C. But it was worth it – this station, half finished though it is, has already done its bit in the war.
With love, Ned
Here is the text of the letter:
Office of Commander-in-Chief,
Mediterranean Station
R. N. GHQ
M.E.F.
28th September 1942
Dear General
It gives me great pleasure to forward to you the following message which has been received from the Commander-in-Chief, Mediterranean: -
For General Maxwell from C-in-C. Med.
“Very many thanks for splendid work done recently
at Massawa. Quick dockings of over 50 Merchant Ships,
raising both Italian docks and emergency dockings of
three cruisers were great achievements, and I know largely
due to ELLSBERGS own great energy. Damage caused
in last docking was a risk we accepted and I am glad it
was not more serious. Please congratulate ELLSBERG and
all his staff.”
Yours sincerely,
/sd. H. R. Norman
Commodore, R. N.
Major General Maxwell
U.S. Army Forces in the Middle East
Cairo.
Letter #62
October 16, 1942
As usual
Lucy dearest:
I note by a birthday card and note (unnumbered), sent from South Hadley, Sept. 30, you are visiting Clara. Yesterday I received another (also not numbered) (rather a first) birthday card from Westfield dated Sept. 18; though both were addressed the same way exactly, they arrived practically together. Thanks for the cards. I hope when my birthday comes around, I’ll remember it myself.
Mary sent me a birthday gift the other day, marked not to open till my birthday. Since that’s over a month off yet, I trust I can restrain myself till then.
The present score on letters is that the latest one is still #100 of Sept. 22, with only #95 missing. (Two unnumbered birthday cards as above, in addition).
Sometimes I wish I had an artistic temperament (and license) like Greta Garbo’s, for then with her, I think I could say,
“Ay tank ay go home now!”
when what was going on didn’t suit her.
I have written you occasionally of my difficulties, which unfortunately do not decrease. I have not yet received the promised help from the British, though all the time it dangles before me like the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, just out of reach. I have promises, radios, contracts to sign, quarters to prepare for them and God knows how much work for them to do, but inertia and red tape have so far given me everything but the men. Now I have hopes that in perhaps two weeks more I shall have them, but hope deferred maketh the heart sick, and I have had endless deferment.
And then my few American workmen. A more undisciplined and mercenary lot (not all, but most of them) you never saw. My heart aches for the few supervisors, who like myself have their souls wrapped up in what they are trying to do for their country, who have to deal with that lot of overpaid, rapacious bandits who are forever demanding more money and at their own sweet wills jumping their jobs till their demands are met.
And finally the JDP crowd up the hill. What sins of my past life I must have committed to have that gang of conspirators inflicted on me, I cannot imagine!
Last Monday (in #67) (Ed: #61 above, due to error in numbering) I wrote you, enclosing a letter of commendation sent me by our general from the C. in C., Mediterranean, lauding my “great achievements” here, and specifically listing them and me as mostly responsible for the results obtained. That letter flamed through the dismal atmosphere round here like the rising sun, for there at least was concrete appreciation for what my struggles had done to help win the war.
Still treading a little on air from that, I came to my office Tuesday morning, and hardly had I seated myself at my desk, when one of my salvage captains rushed in, mad as a hornet, to tell me I’d better get down on the next floor to the JDP office at once where a scandalous trick was being perpetrated.
I went, to find there all my other salvage officers gathered before a JDP executive who was just passing round the letter I enclose.
I got a copy, read it and got the shock of my life. There in plain terms, was JDP’s order appointing one of my salvage captains, Edison Brown, to my job!
I immediately asked Brown if he was any party to that scheme, and he claimed no. (I don’t believe him). At any rate, I ordered him and every one of them back to their ships, with the flat statement that no man should pay the slightest attention to that order. They all went, though all the others told me if Brown was put in charge, they would all quit.
I told the JDP man the order was waste paper and would be obeyed by nobody, and any attempt on Brown’s part to take charge would promptly get him in serious trouble. And with that I left him, to take the so-called order up the hill to the military commander of this country.
He told me he had no knowledge of that order, and it was of course unauthorized and void. What action he can or will take to bring JDP to heel for such a scandalous attempt I do not know. I don’t hope for much. But meanwhile the morale of my salvage force is once more all shot to hell. If Hitler or Mussolini were paying agents to cause trouble in Massawa, they could not have done a finer job of it than the highly paid (by the American taxpayer) JDP executives.
So there I am. Unlike Greta Garbo, I don’t think I’ll go home. I’m going to stay right here and do my job in spite of every underhanded trick that JDP can think of. I’ll beat them because my task requires it, and both hell and Massawa will freeze over before they get away with what they’re trying.
Ned
Here is the text of the letter:
October 10, 1942
To: The Area Engineer
Eritrean Field Area
Asmara, Eritrea
From: G. M. Gaussa, Foreign Manager
Subject: General Superintendent in Charge of Salvage Work
Attention: Lt. Col. Ralph E. Knapp
1. Effective Tuesday, October 13, 1942, Captain Eddison (sic) Brown
is appointed General Superintendent of Salvage Work under Directive #2.
2. Captain Brown will be in charge of all personnel, and equipment engaged in the Salvage Work, and will be in complete charge and will direct Salvage Operations.
/sd G. M. Gaussa
Foreign Manager
cc: Captain Ellsberg,
Lt. Gallagher,
C.A. Nelson,
P. Murphy
Captain Brown
William Reed
Captain Hanson
Captain Byglin
Higgins
Mahoney
Gaussa
Central File
Letter #63
Oct. 18, 1942
Sunday afternoon
As usual
Lucy darling:
Usually I never get a chance to write except evenings, but this afternoon I have things well enough under control to take the afternoon off for that purpose. Not that Sunday is ever a day of rest here – today we’re docking a couple of ships and working on two other salvage jobs, but at any rate I have them all rolling well enough to leave both docks and wrecks a few hours.
I am enclosing some photographs of our latest ship salvage job (of which I wrote you before) taken by one of my men. We lifted this ship Oct. 1 and towed her into port Oct. 4, on which day these pictures were taken. I am enclosing seven snapshots, of which three are pictures of me taken on the bridge that day, and the other four are various shots of the ship or parts of it, including her mainmast redecorated according to the ideas of the salvage forces here as to how the Nazi banner should be displayed.
You’ll get a little better view of these snapshots if you look at them through a magnifying glass, and I think if you get Jarvis to make you enlargements of a couple of those of me, you’ll get a better idea of what I look like now, from salt-soaked shoes (they were once my most expensive pair of French-Shriner & Urner’s), thru Banded-Aided shins and that Camel cigarette with which I am steadying my nerves (Ed: EE smoked eight packs a day in Massawa, but told Lucy that he only smoked four so she wouldn’t worry!) (Camels can use this for an ad, it’s really so, provided they kick in with one thousand bucks for the privilege), to my four shilling sun helmet (regulation British army issue.)
If you look carefully, you’ll observe the absence of both double chin and bay window, which (together with the inner consciousness of a job well done) are the only compensations I’ve received for having to stand the strain of salvage work in this hell hole of creation.
Let me know how the pictures come thru, and what luck, if any you have with enlargements in showing up details.
Several more letters have lately arrived, #102, 103, 104, & 105 (the latest number now), with only #95 and 101 still missing. (This does not include two unnumbered birthday cards nor a round robin letter from the bridge club (also unnumbered).
To answer various queries:
I did send my mother myself one of those postcards, which she should certainly have by now. Consequently, if your sending her one leaves you short, you might ask her to return yours when she gets mine.
My birthday box from you arrived day before yesterday with letter #103, very quick delivery. Thank your family for the cigarette lighter, which is much better than what I had, and is already in use. I am also much obliged to you for the handkerchiefs, which give me now quite a stock, and I won’t need any more for a long time. (I hope I don’t stay here long enough ever to need any more). The book I think I’ll get to some day, God knows when, however. I now have The Moon is Down, which I haven’t looked at yet, The Unvanquished (same), and some day there may arrive a book you said Clara had sent me. These should last me for the rest of my stay here. Please don’t let anyone send me any more books. I’d rather have a box of cigars or a can of orange juice or just their good wishes on a postcard. Thank Bob and Gladys Palmer for the camera filter. I have one already (which came with the camera) so theirs is useless to me, only don’t tell them so. I can give it to some one else who may use it.
I’m sorry to say it, but there is very little any one can send me that’s worth to me the trouble they go to in sending it, and what I need is mostly very prosaic. I could use half a dozen khaki colored socks (knee length) for wear with shorts, size 10 ½, but they must be thin or they are no good to me. I can get thick ones here by the dozens, but all they do is squeeze my toes by making my shoes too small. I could use the Realsilk underwear I once wrote you of, both drawers and shirts. This climate is hell on underwear. If anyone feels so inclined, I could use a pair of captain’s shoulder marks (line) to replace the pair I lost when my shirt was torn off my back in that accident during the drydock salvage I wrote you of. As regards other clothes, I should have more than enough, when, if, and as the late lamented Whiteside tub ever arrives. I could use a good small magnifying glass, pocket size. I could use a decent metal wrist watch strap to fit my Movado watch, width of strap, 9/16 of an inch. It must be non-corrosive, chrome plated or something similar. A leather or canvas strap lasts me about three weeks before the sweat eats up the buckle and destroys both canvas or leather. I guess I’ve used up about eight such since I’ve been here, and I wouldn’t mind trying something more permanent. The circumference of my wrist is 71/8 inches.
I could use another pair of sunglasses. You know what happened to Carl Fuller’s Polaroids. (But I don’t want any more of those anyway, only don’t tell Carl). Then I used (and smashed) several pairs of very expensive other makes. Then Kandel sent me a pair of American Optical Co.’s Cool-Rays, which were grand, and I used them constantly, until about a month ago he sent me out another pair of the same for spares, after which within a week I lost the pair I had, and I had promptly to start using the last set, which are all I now have. Before I lose or smash them, I’d appreciate another pair for reserves. I enclose the circular on them. If anyone wants to send me a pair of them (no others wanted) they’ll be appreciated. (Tortoise shell or similar frame only, no metallic frame wanted). I could use a small six-inch, vest-pocket size, slide rule. I have one now, but if I should lose it, I can’t get another here, and I’m afraid I’d have to go out of the salvage business, since I’ve long since forgotten how to multiply or divide in my head. (A six inch slide rule means six inches in overall length – the scale is only about five inches long). Maybe most people don’t know it, but a slide rule is more important in raising a ship than pumps, air compressors, or pontoons.
I could use a decent mechanical pencil with plenty of leads for it. (Something substantial, nothing fancy). Next to a slide rule, a good mechanical pencil is the most important item of equipment in lifting a wreck. And include plenty of erasers to fit it, for even a real salvage expert occasionally makes mistakes! (I don’t dare make any just now, for the only eraser I ever had for my present ten cent pencil has long since worn out).
And that’s about all I can think of now. Anything which can possibly be sent first class (even in a small package in a large envelope) should go that way. Packages by parcel post in general will get here in time for the next war.
Meanwhile, everything I’ve ever received has been acknowledged. If something isn’t acknowledged, it hasn’t arrived.
As regards Mike, the sooner Mary crosses him off her list completely and never sees him again, the better I’ll like it and the better off she’ll be. But I hesitate to say anything whatever to her on that subject (and I haven’t) for fear it may work in reverse. You’re closer, and you use your own judgment. My own opinion is that of all the boys Mary knows, I have the lowest opinion of his ability and of his personality. When on top of that, he has a record of being inclined to drinking, it’s just too much.
I’m glad to know you had a visit from Tsuya. She is one of the grandest persons I’ve ever known, and I hope you are able to see her more than once a year.
Sorry to know you locked yourself out of the La Salle. There is a key hidden under the hood, and not hard to get at if you know where to look (or, better still, have some man do the looking and extracting). Lift the right side hood, but it is heavy and I don’t recommend your trying to unlatch and lift it. You will notice a tape of heavy canvas edging the after right side of the radiator casing where the front edge of the hood seats. Just about on the line where the horizontal hinge of the hood normally seats, the key is slipped under the canvas tape, giving a slight bulge there to the tape. The key is wrapped completely up in some black tire tape, so that it does not show up as a key, but simply as a flat black thin object tucked under the canvas tape on the radiator casing. Push this object out from under the canvas tape, unwrap the black tire tape, and there is your key, thus: (Ed: what follows is a diagram of the above with the quote: “Oh goodie, won’t have to walk home!” next to it).
Better look into this now, discover the key, PUT IT BACK, and then next time you need it, there it is.
I am glad you are having additional storm windows and doors put on the house. They always help. About the cannel coal and the grate, I’m dubious. Where heat is being supplied even partly by radiators, I suspect a fireplace draws more warm air out of a room and sends it up the chimney than it supplies from its own combustion. Especially is this true in the evening after the grate fire has been allowed to die down and you’ve gone to bed. The chimney damper cannot be closed, or you’d literally choke yourself to death with smoke and gas fumes even from a nearly out fire, so the heat of the room continues merrily to roll on up the chimney all night long. Now when a grate fire or a fireplace fire is used only as an ornament to more gracious living as in pre-Hitlerian days, all this is allowable – you merely make your furnace burn more oil early next morning to reheat the room. But if you are trying to save oil, I don’t think the fireplace is a help. I hate to throw cold water on your cannel coal, but I doubt if it’s a help. However, you can see.
A better answer might be to have gas installed in the furnace if you can. I’ve always felt it much more expensive than oil, but if you find you can’t keep warm on the oil you can get, never mind the expense – the gas is worth it. But lay off coal – I don’t want you firing any furnaces or shoveling ashes. However, don’t let them sell you a new gas furnace on the plea it’s more efficient; have a gas burner put in the present furnace. The added efficiency you’ll get out of a new furnace won’t pay for itself in the next ten years, and before then we’ll be swimming in oil.
I’ve got my salvage forces calmed down somewhat now and back at work in what looks like a proper state of subordination, but I’m afraid it’s only on the surface. The army officers in command in this area do not see the seriousness of the situation, probably because they do not appreciate fully what is involved, naval affairs being rather out of their sphere. Whether I’ll get complete support is dubious, so I’m uncertain that a decisive order that will stop this continual intriguing of JDP with one of my salvage masters will be issued. As regards our general, he’s so far away he might as well be home so much as my ability really to discuss the situation with him is concerned, and unfortunately the JDP crowd can take the time to fly there at their own sweet will to tell him what they please, while I’m restricted to official channels for letters (which are useless) and can’t very well leave here for a conference without trouble here while I’m gone. The first time I went to Cairo, JDP seized the occasion to spring their first attempt to supplant me. And the last time I went, I was unable to get transportation back for two days after my business was over, so I was unable to get back as I had intended in time to undock myself a British cruiser we had in the dock when I left, and one of my supposedly expert civilian associates dropped her off the keel blocks onto the floor of the dock, damaging her bottom. That’s what I came back to the night I returned from Cairo. It nearly broke my heart.
It is that accident the C in C Mediterranean referred to in his letter which I forwarded to you in #67 (if you ever got it unscathed). Fortunately the damage, which might have been terrific, turned out only to be trivial, as the C in C took occasion to inform me in another dispatch, but to have such a scandalous accident happen on the drydock still hurts me inwardly, even if the damage wasn’t anything much.
So there I am. I can’t leave here again to go to see the general or anything, for fear of what may happen in my absence. I’ve just got to stay here and fight it out, with only as Lincoln put it, “Faith in the right as God gives us to see the right,” and the belief I have as always, that the other man will crack before I do.
I am very concerned about your getting someone to live with you, now it is certain Catherine isn’t going to. It will be fine if Nina can, but I’m dubious about that even if she gets a government job in New York. I know Nina well enough to know she’ll spend every cent she makes (and Marty’s also) to live in New York the minute she gets her first salary check. So I would suggest you look around for someone else – perhaps some school teacher.
For all the reasons you mention, I should hate to have you close the house and go live elsewhere. There really is something very real in that song about keeping the home fires burning (even if it is only that cannel coal I’m dubious of), and the feeling that I have a home to come back to means something out here. The same, I’m sure, applies to Mary.
As regards Mr. Flanagan, I’m afraid he’s dreaming if he thinks any canned goods were ever placed by him on any ship especially for me. Be specific about the name of the ship – she arrived long ago and there can be no need of any secrecy about it any longer. If it’s the ship I think he means, on which one of the crew had an accident after it got here, I can only say that ship arrived all right, with thousands of cases of canned fruit juices and other canned goods, all consigned en toto to the army, and not a can for me, according to her purser. That’s the ship you went with me to San Diego to inspect. She’s still here, of course, and both her captain and her purser say Mr. Flanagan has mistaken his good intentions for his actual deeds. If it is any other ship, tell me her name and I’ll check up. If it is that ship from San Diego, let him say in whose care or how he consigned what he’s talking about.
As regards the accident he mentions, a diver (and a good one, I’m told) who came out on her stumbled across a high voltage wire in a power station ashore here, and was nearly electrocuted, burning one hand so badly it will probably never be useable. And that before he ever made a dive here, which of course, now he never will.
Respecting the food here, it’s safe enough. I get my own breakfast, all from the supplies showered on me by Captain Madden whom I once wrote you of, whom I rescued from the heat aboard his ship. It’s always the same – canned tomato juice, grapenuts, shredded wheat, or cornflakes with canned milk (detestable stuff) and coffee (yours) with no cream but plenty of sugar. Lunch and dinner (the latter at the fashionable hour of eight) I get at the Royal Navy Officer’s Mess here. They have a lovely verandah projecting out over the sea on which we dine (provided by the late Italians).
The arrangements here are quite ideal. We do all the work (I mean exactly that) and the Royal Navy (which has nothing to do here) is in possession of all the amenities. The British captain here lives in the ex-Italian admiral’s house on a lovely point surrounded by the sea; the British officers have the mess building formerly belonging to the Italians. Now I have a very comfortable room (in a building we converted from an office building) set safely back from the sea in the middle of a hot plain, and we have no mess or recreation facilities at all of our own, but we are guests in the British mess hall.
On one thing, however, we have the edge – we own all the air-conditioning equipment here and they get none of it. I don’t shed any tears at all if they swelter while I sleep in comfort.
About the water, that’s safe enough, too. We drink only bottled water from up in the hills, though frankly, the city water here is, I think, safe too. The whole town, including the English, mostly drink that and they have no troubles.
As a commentary on how busy I am between salvage and ship repairs, you may not believe this, but it’s true. Among my other acquisitions, I have a huge evaporating plant left by the Italians which is running under my command at this base, and on which I know I could do wonders in improving production over the Italian system, and I haven’t even spent 10 minutes in it yet to see what it needs to convert it to Evaporator Bills’s methods. And over in the town there’s another one, even bigger, which I could have if I wanted it, and I haven’t even been over to look at it! Some day, when I get a vacation, I’ll relax redesigning both of them. (Ed: Ellsberg developed, but did not patent, the submerged-coil type low-pressure evaporator system on the U.S.S. Raleigh and the U.S.S.Denver in 1923, and published an article about his method).
Yes, I got the last V-mail you sent - #70 of Aug. 9, mailed from Southwest Harbor. It came in an envelope something like what the telephone bills come in. I hope it is the last V-mail letter I’ll get so long as the regular mail goes through.
And now, it being about 11 PM, I’ll close this letter which I started about 2 PM (with time out for dinner). 16 pages is a fair days’ work for any author (better than my daily average of ten).
One last word about the bridge club letter. Give them all my thanks, and it was a pleasure to read their notes – even including Sid’s, where it took me ten minutes to decipher each word (twenty minutes on “apotheosis”). But your note ending it was best of all. I’m glad I married a girl who is unlucky at cards.
Lovingly, Ned
Letter #64
Oct. 19, 1942
As usual
Lucy dearest:
Your letter #106 of Oct. 2 from Springfield arrived today, in which you said you had received nothing from here in two weeks. No period such as that has elapsed between letters sent. #58 of Sept. 9 you have mentioned receiving. #59 went Sept. 15; #60 Sept. 21; and with the exception of a gap of six days between #63 and #64, there has been no period exceeding four days between letters.
The trouble is probably the mail service, not the state of my health, which is excellent as usual. Now that the maximum summer heat is passed, I expect even less liability to illness. I haven’t had a sick day since I’ve been here, and since my habits are temperate, I suppose that will continue, especially since I never dine around in any public restaurants.
My last salvage ship was last heard from in the American port where Whiteside left her. She may be on her way, but I have no definite word that she has even left there nor when. I’ll expect her when I see her, and that goes also for the toaster and the rest of my clothes.
I notice your letter #106 was written the day after we lifted Frauenfels and were engaged in straightening her up in a storm. We had a devil of a time that day dodging wrecks and shoals with our waterlogged derelict. I sent you seven pictures yesterday dealing with that subject.
In #66 of Oct. 8 I sent you a Christmas card photograph of myself taken when I was last “somewhere in Egypt,” and in letter #60 of Sept. 21 I sent you a check for $130 from the same spot. That, I think, is the only check you have not yet acknowledged, but that letter couldn’t have reached you when your #106 was written.
I commented in my letter of yesterday about the improbability of Nina’s ever staying out of New York if she could ever earn, beg, or borrow the money to finance living there, so don’t count on her. I hope you can find someone else, but failing that I suggested you see if you couldn’t get one of the Westfield school teachers to move in.
I wrote you yesterday (#69 – Ed. #63) quite the longest letter I have ever sent from here, so this one must be brief to let me catch up on some other matters.
With love, Ned
Letter #65
Oct. 23, 1942
As usual
Lucy dearest:
Two days ago, I received four letters from you - #95 of Sept. 14 via home office (probably your last that way); #108 of Oct. 7; 109 of Oct. 9; and a letter (unnumbered) of Oct. 10 containing a birthday card. All these came Oct. 21.
In #108, you asked to be informed as to whether the air mail stamp you put on it hurried delivery over regular mail. The answer is as always, no. Air mail stamps are just a waste of whatever the extra cost is. Here it was well illustrated by the fact that #108 & #109 which both bore air mail stamps were delivered at the same time as the unnumbered letter of Oct. 10 which bore only a regular stamp, but which was mailed 3 days after #108 and one day after #109.
At the present time, #109 is the highest number yet received. Those missing are #101 and 107.
About my being in better health than when I left home, I think it proves only that I’m getting a lot of outdoor exercise and have worked off a lot of excess weight, which is a benefit. I still weigh about 149 lbs., at which point I seem stabilized. It doesn’t prove home life didn’t agree with me, but only that a desk job didn’t and never has.
About the missing whisk broom in the Lewis & Conger package, it doesn’t make any difference. I have one, which must have come in my second trunk.
I note you are sending me another book, “West With the Night.” Thanks, but I mentioned the other day I read very little, and had enough on hand to last me the rest of my stay. Please don’t bother to send any more.
I did read “The Moon is Down” two nights ago, it being a rather short book. It interested me mainly because I’m sitting on the other side of the fence from Steinbeck’s hero – I’m the colonel, so to speak, in “Occupied Enemy Territory” who is sent into a conquered country with orders (figuratively) to get out the maximum amount of coal that can be obtained from the local mines, and to see that the conquered inhabitants (the Italians in this case) produce their quota.
So I read with some attention Steinbeck’s account of the colonel and his staff, from his major down thru the captains to the two young lieutenants, who gradually went all to hell from the animosity engendered by their efforts to force a conquered village to work.
I won’t agree, of course, that the two cases are wholly similar, but perhaps to some Italians they might seem so. I don’t go around armed, though some of my officers do. I’ve had to send some Italians to concentration camps for refusal to work and some for suspected sabotage, but nobody has been shot (yet) for anything and I don’t expect anybody is going to be.
Most of the Italians here aren’t fascists and have no heart for Mussolini’s schemes of conquest, so to them there isn’t anything really distressing in the present situation. But to the minority who are fascists (and still out of concentration camps) I suppose there seems little difference between me and the Colonel Lanser of whom Steinbeck writes. However, there is at least a wide difference between us in the methods we employ in obtaining our rather similar objectives – work from a conquered populace. And it might seem odd back home to some to know that I have far less trouble in getting cooperation from the conquered Italians than I do from the American company that is supposed to be the servant of our government in this undertaking.
I read also with close attention, Rear Admiral Rowcliff’s article on the Airplane and the Battleship, which you sent me. It is a clear enough presentation and an instructive one for those who want to be instructed (but they are few). I wonder who Rowcliff thought his readers would be? The average American has changed a lot if even now, he’ll spend the time really to study such an article.
I note you’ve fired up your cannel coal grate and have the living room up to 70º F. Such is life! At considerable expense, I manage to keep the temperature of my living room down to 80º F.
I suppose the grate is a good idea for cool days when you haven’t really to push the furnace. Well, it’s pleasant anyway to look at.
Sorry to hear of all your troubles over the thermostat clock. I hope ultimately you get ours back! If ever you do, (or a satisfactory substitute) be careful you get and keep it in the proper day and night cycle, and don’t imitate Rose Morgan in cooling her house in the daytime and heating it at night.
From the clippings you’ve sent me, the new tax bill does look as if it is going to be a crusher. It still annoys me lots to know however, that our nouveaux riche (correct?), the artisan who is patriotically doing his bit for fantastic wages plus overtime on Saturdays and Sundays, is going to let the rest of us hold up his end on the tax burden.
To get back to heat a moment, I notice you talk about setting the thermostat to 65º. I’m afraid that’s too cold for your health. Better try 68º, and with all the storm sash you are having, I should think you could maintain it without undue oil consumption.
I am very sorry for your father’s sake to learn he failed of reelection – a real hurt difficult to swallow when he knows he really did a wonderful job for the town (Ed: Willimantic, CT), and is so rewarded for it. As ever, I know he’ll take it without complaint or self-pity, but as you say, it puts your family in a tough spot. Without question, they’ll need help soon if they don’t right now. For your father’s self-respect, I do hope he finds something else to do, but as a practical matter, some dollars regularly every month are going to mean a whole lot more than oceans of sympathy, however real it may be. Will you please look into this to see what he needs, and so far as we are able, send it regularly.
Perhaps it may have been explained in one of the two yet missing letters, but I did not get the reference to “that picture of you which the United Campaign is using.” What picture of me? And I’m a little curious as to how they’re using it to persuade our fellow citizens to “give generously to the fund.”
With love, Ned
Letter #66
Oct. 24, 1942
As usual
Lucy dearest:
The letter from Rose Ackerson (Ed: a neighbor in Westfield, NJ) which you mentioned as mailing Oct. 8 arrived today. It would have given the censor a laugh had he ever seen it, especially the P.S. addressed to him, but for some reason not a letter coming thru APO for several weeks has been opened by any censor. However, I laughed over it, especially over the sketch at the heading which is quite alluring. You just tell Rose I haven’t seen a pink cheeked girl since I left Westfield, let alone any pink cheeked mermaids. They do have some gorgeously colored fish tails that I’ve seen around here on my wanderings below, but unfortunately they weren’t topped by anything more seductive than goggle-eyed fish – one might as well stay on the surface.
I did gather from Rose’s letter some more detailed information about the war chest circular. However, I am curious to know just what picture of me was used to illustrate what a headache I was to the Axis.
You tell Rose that if she has started to write poetry, then she’s even more cracked than I had previously given her credit for being. Tell her to stick to kidding her friends – there’s more in it.
The rest of the day’s news wasn’t so intriguing as Rose’s letter. No letter from you – that always makes the day seem dark. Then a dispatch saying I could expect the ex-Whiteside tub about the middle of February! I could hardly believe my eyes, but they read aright. The middle of February! And I had thought I was being overly pessimistic when I had set Christmas as the probable date! She is to stay for repairs at the island to which John Paul (Ed: Jones) fled with Tom Folger’s aid (after he skipped the Betsey) until about Dec. 15, when she is expected to proceed again. What a crew, what a crew! Find out for me, if you can, from Mr. Dixon what the devil is and has been the matter with her from the start and write me fully about it. Don’t worry about the censor.
Meanwhile, if thru Mr. Dixon you can get my clothes and the rest of the things put aboard for me last June or July, taken off and put aboard anything else, I’ll appreciate it. Next February! And I sailed from home last February, to ask for those things almost as soon as I got here!
To put the situation quite baldly, the crew of the craft which sailed from the west coast (which we went to inspect) is a worthless lot of riffraff who have not in a month accomplished what any decent crew could have done in two days. And the trouble they’ve caused me here since they arrived in August has been beyond belief. For a fact, everything so far accomplished here in salvage has been done by the two little groups (totaling 27 men) who arrived here last May. And I’ve now practically given up hope that I’ll ever get any real help from any others.
But the big chief takes the cake. I tell you literally I could get from New York further in a rowboat in the same time. From July to mid-December to get beyond Trinidad will long stand as a record. And how long will it take them to get from there to here? Next February? Rot! I won’t see them till next July, if then!
Sunday evening
Oct. 25
Well, anyway, as Aunt Olive used to say, it’s a nice day. There’s a lovely moon shining over the Red Sea, shimmering in a marvelous silver radiance over the waves right to the shore – totally wasted. What good is the moon when I’m alone by the shores of the Red or any other sea? This night was made for lovers if ever one was – calm, glowing under the tropic stars, warm and fragrant with the waves breaking melodiously on the beach, and that glorious moon! And I’m 12,000 miles away from the smiling eyes, the burning lips, and the throbbing heart that alone can make that moon have any purpose for me! How much longer, Oh Lord? How much longer?
Ned
Letter #67
Oct. 27, 1942
As usual
Lucy dearest:
Your letters 110, 111, & 112 arrived today, the last only 13 days en route. Still missing are only 101 & 107.
To answer a few questions. Gerald (Ed: Gerald Foster, who illustrated several of EE’s books) has not been subjected to any unpleasant experiences by Dodd, Mead and I hope you inform Eleanor of that before she goes off the deep end. Dodd, Mead were correct when they said the total number of copies sold being 3247, he was entitled to no royalties till they passed the 5000 mark (if they ever do). You are in error in adding 3247 on your royalty report and 3247 on mine and coming out with 6494 as the number sold. The total number shown by their royalty report is 3247, just as they say. They report that on each royalty report and pay you half the total royalty for each copy and me the other half, which is also the case on a number of other books where the royalties are split, as for instance, Captain Paul.
I am returning the royalty reports. I see that even the Dodd, Mead royalty clerk finally became disgusted with Spanish Ingots as a title and has now renamed it Spanish Ignots, which for all I know may be just as little intriguing to prospective readers as the original title.
Either the censors on letters coming this way have at last seen the light, or they’ve become disgusted and quit. The News of the Week comes through now uncut, and aside from that, no letter from you or from anybody has even been opened by a censor for weeks. They come thru as private as any letters in peace time.
If my letter #64 (Ed: actually #58 above) commenting on Frauenfels reached you by Oct. 12, it was really remarkable delivery – eight days. My check sheet shows it was mailed Oct. 4, though it may have been started Sept. 30. The intervening time was spent out with the salvage crew, and I don’t think that letter went until we came home with the bacon.
If Pat wrote me any letter last August, it hasn’t arrived yet. Usually letters addressed here by name of city and country go by ship and arrive in time for next Fourth of July. Don’t send any that way; stick to the key number given you.
I have an idea the Army are getting ready to give JDP a swift kick in the pants for their impudent attempts to take command of the salvage work. I’ll know soon, I guess. Meanwhile, I’m sitting on a seething volcano, ready to erupt if something isn’t soon done to cool it off.
I had a letter today from some company furnishing Army packages to Altman’s that they are sending me a package ordered. Some day I’ll see it, I suppose, together with the others you mention, though heaven alone knows when the things you sent via Whiteside’s spitkid will ever arrive now that it’s settled down for the winter season in the West Indies.
Thanks for getting me the rayon underwear. I’m down to about four shirts which I wash out myself every day or so – the rest are long since rags and even these four aren’t so hot. I don’t believe hot flat irons ruined them, it was just a case of their coming away in fistfuls when I tried to haul a soaked shirt off my back without any loving fingers around to lend a hand.
Thanks for sending me some shoulder marks. I hope they were sent first class by Rogers Peet.
As regards Mr. Settlemeyer and the overflow pipe from the humidifier, I long ago deduced that from pure mathematics, one was necessary, even if it didn’t come with the humidifying apparatus. So the humidifying pan which I had made to go over my study radiator had an overflow pipe built into it. I’m surprised Mr. Settlemeyer didn’t see it. It is in the middle of the pan, rather toward the back side, and is about half an inch or so below the level of the top of the pan, so that if the humidifier sticks and fails to shut off the water, it overflows down the pipe before it can overflow the pan. I am no dumber than the plumbers when it comes to such things, and that at least is one thing you won’t have to worry about, overflowing. However, as I said before, jiggle the float valve every week or so with a ruler so that it doesn’t stick shut and leave the pan dry.
Sorry Nina hasn’t landed a job yet. I hope she does soon, and I trust it’ll be around New York.
Now there’s lot more I’ve got to say but I’ve had a hectic day and I’m turning in early so I’ll save it for tomorrow.
With love, Ned
Letter #68
October 30, 1942
As usual
Lucy darling:
Your letter #114 arrived today enclosing the first undershirt, which I now have on, being about the only decent one in my possession. Many thanks, and I’ll be glad to see the rest of the first half dozen coming the same way. When those that come as a Christmas package will arrive, I don’t know, but frankly I don’t expect to see them till Easter. Packages come by ship, and ship deliveries take three months when all goes well, and how much more when it doesn’t, you already know. If anything can ever be sent in a letter or in the guise of one, always send it that way (not air mail, of course). Marking things “Christmas Package” doesn’t make the slightest difference on ship deliveries – the ship doesn’t go a bit faster, and I very much doubt that such marking will secure air delivery on packages sent as such and not first class.
At the present moment, the missing letters are 101, 107, and 113. I note that the home office service has been discontinued as of Sept. 12 but all letters sent that way have nevertheless already arrived. I would appreciate a list from you of my missing letters to date. I see you have received all the checks so far sent you.
I notice you say fall has arrived (Oct. 12) in Westfield, judging by all the falling leaves. Today it seemed to me that summer had returned here, the sun was so damned hot I felt it worse than in July.
Our salvage work is progressing. Tomorrow I hope to start lowering pontoons to salvage a sunken derrick the British spent six months on and then gave up as hopeless, recommending demolition. The pontoons are quite huge but impromptu – they are gasoline tanks I cabbaged from an Italian airport near here and have made into pontoons. They are somewhat bigger than any we have ever used on subs but unfortunately have none of the improvements I had built into our American pontoons after our S-51 experiences. These will, I think, be tough babies to handle. However, everything I know about handling pontoons goes into the handling of these, so I trust we’ll make out. My one worry is whether they’ll prove strong enough for the job – I had to take the tanks as they were or go without any pontoons at all, and nothing else will do this job. We’ll soon see what happens. Meanwhile, we are working two other ships. One of which I have some hopes of getting in a couple of weeks, but the other will take longer, and I’m afraid, prove quite a headache on the bottom before she comes up.
A few days ago we raised steam on the first ship we salvaged here, and today for the first time, we gave the main engines a trial after their overhaul after their long submergence of over a year. Everything worked all right, so all we need is a new crew and our first salvaged ship (the one we brought in on the Fourth of July) will be ready to steam away.
We drydocked one of our lately salvaged jobs yesterday for hull repairs – she has two big holes blasted in her sides. Quite a ticklish job dragging the hulk onto the dock (my English dockmaster balked at trying, but I told him I’d heave him overboard if he didn’t carry out orders) still we got her safely landed and out of the water. Now if I only had some workmen! Our first contingent of Britishers is promised in about ten days, but I’ve had promises enough already to sink the biggest freighter ever built. Meanwhile we’ll struggle along on the repairs with the handful of mechanics I have.
I was very much distressed to read of your physical troubles as indicated by Monty’s examination. I hope his treatment will do something to ameliorate the difficulty. God knows what the answer to all this is. I wish I could chuck this job into the Red Sea and come home to you! Before next summer, I can hope to get a relief and get out of here, but there is little chance of anything sooner than that. A year here is plenty for anybody and I have hopes that I can make the general commanding see that, and if necessary, the Navy Department too.
Letter #69
Nov. 3, 1942
As usual
Lucy darling:
Two letters I have received from you this last week have by their news pained me seriously. The first, #111, commenting on your physical difficulties, gave me quite a shock. The second, #116, which came today, gave me a blow of a different kind. You said, “All the reports that come to me from people who have seen you say that you are a completely happy man” and you go on to discuss how those reports struck you. All I can say is that those who made any such reports were either trying to be charitable or were very unobservant and were unable to distinguish between enthusiasm over our achievements, and happiness. Frankly, I have been completely miserable out here for long months, and nothing has kept me going except a grim determination not to be licked. Otherwise I should have been glad to quit months ago and chuck the whole business up. That I should have to stay on this job to fight mercenary workmen, complacent Englishmen, uncomprehending Army officers, and venal and incompetent contractors executives bent only on their own pleasure, intriguing all the time to oust me as an obstacle to their slothfulness, has certainly in no degree contributed to making me happy in any sense.
There is a fierce joy in overcoming obstacles and in getting some things done that will help smash our enemies in this war, and that I have had here in large measure, but that is not happiness. I have never had any happiness in this life except in your arms, and I never expect to. I can never be happy again until I get back to you.
I had an unhappy childhood, for reasons which you know well. College years are supposed to be happy ones, but I can tell you that my four years at the Naval Academy were nothing but hard work with no recollections now of any happiness – nothing but struggle, possibly mostly my own fault. I never learned even what happiness meant until after I met you, and even then it took me some years to learn, but certainly you taught me long ago that there were some things other than complete absorption in work that were necessary to any real satisfaction of soul.
But now I am back where I started. You are half the world away from me and that effectually ends any happiness for me now. If there are any women in Eritrea, black or white, I haven’t even observed them or their existence, for none of them could in the slightest degree contribute to my happiness. There is nothing here for me except the work I was sent to do, and that I have plunged into as I have into any task I’ve ever had. I’ve been successful, too, performing what to our British friends and most Americans, may have seemed almost miracles, but while that has made me proud, it hasn’t made me happy. The first happy day I’ll have in Eritrea will come when I shake the dust off this miserable place from my shoes and start home to you.
Those who have come back to tell you that I’m happy here are blind. I’m well, thank God; I’m proud of what I’ve achieved here with little to work with; I’m still completely undefeated by any obstacles, human or material, that have crossed my path – all this may seem to some complete happiness, but not to me. Until again I have the loving light of your glowing eyes shining into my soul and the warm caresses of your arms, your lips, your breasts, and your whole body making me one with you, I’ll not know happiness.
Ned
Letter #70
Nov. 3, 1942
As usual
Lucy dearest:
I had a letter from Mary today, dated (last part) Sunday afternoon, Oct. 18, which contained the best news I’ve heard from her in months – she and Mike have broken up! Now if there is any way you can get her not to see him again even casually, it will be perfect.
She mentions earlier in the letter, written a couple of days before the bust-up, that you are to visit Baltimore about Nov. 7. Of course, that will be long by when you get this, but I trust you were able to get in some effective advice.
I received two letters, #116 & #117 (both written Oct. 19, I note) from you today, together with another birthday card of Oct. 16 (unnumbered). That makes the missing list now 101, 107, 113, and 115.
You mention my enclosure about Dr. Salvati and something about shortly people will have to dispose of all tires, etc. I want to warn you that the tires you are referring to are not your tires, they are mine. I’m in the armed services and I’m saving those tires for military use when I get back to the United States and they are not to be surrendered on any pretext to anybody. Don’t let anybody wangle my tires out of my possession when I’m not there to claim them.
The second shirt came today in #116. Thank heaven I now have two whole shirts to my back!
We’ve been working the last week with our pontoons on the salvage of the sunken derrick I mentioned. Everything is working out according to Hoyle. No pontoon salvage job is complete without having at least one pontoon standing on its nose on the bottom, and this job followed the rule. These pontoons, being the worst possible design for the job, tended to be completely unmanageable, but at least I knew enough about that to manage them and kept the first one reasonably level until we got it properly sunk in position and secured above the submerged derrick. But then we had a stiff blow on the surface which rocked the pontoon below enough to break a securing line, so that the damned pontoon stood on end with the lower end buried three feet in the mud. We had quite a time getting it free of the mud and up again but after four hours blowing on it, floated it up again to the surface, leaving us just where we were three days ago when we first started to sink it. At the moment, our main problem is still to get the last cradle sling in position under the derrick, and I trust we’ll get somewhere with it tomorrow. I once spent a week pulling one cable under the S-51 and practically tore one tug apart doing it. This wire sling seems stuck just as hard under the derrick, but we may have more luck in getting it through. Here at least we have been able to saw three cables under the derrick without any tunneling, and if we get the fourth one into position the same way we’ll be in a fairly good position. I hope three more weeks will see us through on this job, provided our ex-gasoline tank pontoons don’t collapse under the lifting load.
These pontoons are quite elephantine, being longer than our house from end to end and considerably greater in diameter than the height of our living room. It is quite a sight to see these huge cylinders bobbing about in the waves, and a real trick to juggle them around and keep them level while they are being sunk, which is the last thing the confounded things want to do. I’d give a lot to have my own design pontoons (which are as docile as poodles) on this job, but out here one takes what one can get and gives thanks that he can find anything which can possibly serve the end in view, however poorly. I smoked up two packages of Camels steadying my nerves sinking the first pontoon, and at that I think my nerves were much steadier than the pontoon at any time.
You ask what it means that we’ve taken over the salvage work the British failed on. Nothing much. We already have the major ship they bungled, on our drydock, under repair. So that’s over as a salvage task. The sunken derrick mentioned above was their biggest fiasco, but we’ll get that without too much delay. Aside from these two, it means only another wreck and that tossed into the general pot around here doesn’t amount to much. The addition of their wrecks to ours won’t prolong or shorten my stay, and the addition of their salvage gear, which we took over when we inherited their contract, in a way will help us somewhat.
As I see the situation, our British workmen (not here yet) when they arrive in a couple of weeks (I hope) can be organized enough in a few months to be quite a help. If I can get the base running with them in a reasonable manner in a few months, I intend to ask then to be relieved. There are wrecks enough left to keep the salvage crews going more than a year yet, but there is no good reason why I have to stay to see it out. Sometime in January I’m going to start my campaign to get a relief and get out of here, which I hope can be accomplished by next March. A year’s service in Massawa is punishment enough for any man and the Navy I think can be made to see it, though the Army may not be so keen about letting me out. But I’ve already had two months more service in this spot than any Army officer, and over twice as much as most of them. I’m quite willing to call this task a day now at any time and let someone else try his hand at it.
With love, Ned
P.S. Pat’s letter of last September, which you mentioned, arrived today.
Letter #71
Nov. 4, 1942
As usual
Lucy dearest:
We had a little luck today in getting through our cradle sling for the pontoons for lifting our derrick. A heavy wire sling which yesterday we were not able to haul through with a twenty ton pull on one end, we today succeeded in dragging out the other side and managed to get a new sling back in its place and apparently in proper position. We worked rather late tonight rigging up for lowering again our first pontoon. Early tomorrow morning we are going to sink it into position just above the derrick, and if all goes well, I hope we can get its mate sunk into position on the other side of the derrick, thus giving us our first pair of pontoons. There are a lot of “ifs” in carrying through this program, running the scale from having good weather throughout the operation down to the hope that nothing breaks on us while we have those immense pontoons flooded alongside our salvage ship and going slowly (I trust) down.
Meanwhile, a few days ago I finally lost my pocket slide rule. A week or so past, in writing you what might be sent me for Christmas that would do me some good, I mentioned sending out a pocket slide rule against the possibility of my losing my solitary one. Now it’s gone. Please send me immediately by first class mail, a so-called six-inch pocket slide rule in a leather case. The scale of such a slide rule is actually about five-inches long. A simple slide rule made by Keuffel and Esser or any similar company will do – I do not need anything but a slide rule which is capable of multiplication, division and squares, carrying on its face what are usually marked scales A, B, C and D. More elaborate scales are not needed, and the smaller and thinner the slide rule the better, so that it can easily be carried in a shirt breast pocket. Meanwhile I am up against it on the calculations I must do on my pontoon work and have to carry around to do it a ten-inch slide rule which I can’t put in my pocket at all and which cramps my style in getting about. So please expedite the slide rule.
With love, Ned
P.S. What is the censorship status of my letters now to you?
Letter #72
Nov. 5, 1942
As usual
Lucy dearest:
Your letter #121 arrived today enclosing the third undershirt. The letter came through fast enough, in 14 days, but the gaps in the deliveries puzzle me. The missing list is now 101, 107, 113, 115, 118, 119, 120. Whether this means that some letters (at random in batches) are being held up for censorship examination and are thus much delayed, while others not so selected come thru in a hurry, I don’t know. I can figure it out better when some of the missing ones come through.
My prize example of censorship and delay reached me yesterday. On June 26 last, the general commanding wrote me a letter from headquarters congratulating me on my promotion. It was sent from Cairo in an envelope marked “Official” and bearing the U.S. Army Headquarters legend. It was opened by some censor, bore the stamps on the envelope of two other British censorship stations (one much east of here) and finally reached me yesterday, over four months on the way from Cairo. What would have happened had it contained instead some important orders, I can’t imagine.
I got your report that you had seen Monie and delivered my message to Mal. I hope you can see more of Monie; she’s a fine girl and I like her; besides which I do suppose a common misery gives you both a fellow feeling.
By the way, if any patriotic group in Westfield such as the D. A. R. or other, would like to present an American flag to this station, I’d be glad to fly it here in their honor. The only American flag we’ve ever had, I first hoisted here last May 20 and we’ve flown it since daily over this naval base, but now it is getting much frayed, and while it may seem strange, I don’t know where I can get another out here. (The first one I got from the ship which Col. Claterbos was torpedoed on going home). I can’t use a silk flag or anything special – I just need a regular wool bunting flag suitable for a flagpole. It should if possible, be sent by some quick conveyance and not left to take some months en route; possibly Mr. Dixon could forward it.
As I reported some time ago, the birthday box reached me intact and all its contents are already in use, even though my birthday is still two weeks off. I also received Mary’s birthday gift (sent in a letter) which at her request, I’m not opening until Nov. 21.
In letter #60 of Oct. 8 I sent you a photograph taken when I was last in Cairo, this being in the form of a Xmas card. I haven’t yet received any acknowledgement of its receipt, but this may have been in some of the missing letters. (I also sent one at the same time to Mary, and I’ll shortly send the remaining few as Xmas cards to your family, Clara, and my mother).
My letter of Nov. 4 I think I forgot to number. It should have been #77 (Ed: Ellsberg’s numbering system was way off).
I received a few election returns via B.B.C. with some very laughable (to an American) comments by British interpreters of what the results meant. I’m glad to see Dewey was elected governor of New York. About two or three weeks ago, we received here forms to fill out if we wanted to cast absentee ballots in our home states. That is a good joke, also. I filled out an application for one to the Secretary of State of New Jersey. I suppose I’ll get it in time to vote in the presidential election of 1944.
For the last hour I have been listening to the radio reports from London on the defeat of Rommel’s army in the desert – a situation which looks now as if it may be approaching a rout for the Nazis. I’m wild to see that happen. Bombs from hardly sixty miles away fell on Alexandria and Cairo during the periods when last I was there. What the situation was last June and July I can hardly describe – it looked hopeless, for the fall of Egypt meant the fall of Eritrea, and there are no exits from Eritrea. And Eritrea was so full then of refugees from Egypt who wouldn’t flee any further that in a way it resembled the period just before the fall of France.
But since then you should have seen the shiploads of planes and tanks from America that have passed thru here en route to the desert. They made the change – the planes and the tanks and the guns that gave the Eighth Army something to fight with. But carrying them all were the ships – the plain, ugly freighters without which nothing, and for them we are struggling here with the mud and the barnacles of the ocean floor and the heat of Eritrea to blast Hitler and Mussolini with munitions brought up to the front lines in their own ships – ships they thought they had finished off forever.
And our drydock has done its part. Seventy-seven ships since last May have been over our dock. I think I can honestly say no dock in the world has ever served so many ships in so short a period. We’ve certainly doubled the capacity of the merchant fleet serving the Mediterranean, for ship after ship has come onto our dock so foul from two years without docking it could hardly make five knots, and has gone off doing over ten. It was for that aid to the ships serving the Eighth Army continuously, that the C in C, Mediterranean, officially commended me.
To get back to the matters of everyday life here. I hardly slept last night for involuntarily there kept running through my head the problems of getting our first pontoon safely down. To get an early start on the job, I rolled out at 5 AM and we started at 6.
As expected we had a gay time keeping our makeshift pontoon level while we flooded it down, and spent until after lunch juggling it, first one end up, then the other, before we finally succeeded in balancing it well enough to get both ends under water at once and heavy enough to sink. After that it went down smoothly enough (but only by inches at a time) till it went into position at last and we got it safely secured. However by that time it was too late to try sinking the mate pontoon, which I trust we can get down tomorrow. But handling these pontoons is very much like balancing a pencil on its point. Thank goodness, at least I’ve had experience enough with the confounded things since 1925 at least to anticipate what they’ll do, and nothing they do surprises me, though most of the others here are goggle-eyed at what’s happening in sinking a pontoon.
Tonight I think I can sleep, and it being now 11:30 PM, I think I’ll try.
With love, Ned
Letter #73
Nov. 6, 1942
As usual
Lucy darling:
We had another one of our big days today – another scuttled Italian ship came into harbor afloat again with the American flag whipping in the breeze at her masthead! This one we lifted in the remarkably short period of six days; work started last Saturday and was finished with the ship afloat yesterday and towed in today (Friday). I could kiss the Italian captain who scuttled her, on both cheeks for the favor he did me. He exploded no bombs in her holds – just opened the sea cocks and let her flood. So all we had to do on this one was to close the valves, close about a hundred portholes and doors to seal up the holds, and pump her out, and up she came. A very fine passenger ship this time, moderate size, hailing from Napoli, which will need only a machinery overhaul and some cleaning up to go back into service as a troop transport. To make the situation a little more ironical for Mussolini, the vessel (which he has already lost) bears the name of that province in North Africa which he is in a very fair way to lose also – the province where back in 1805 fought the Tripolitan pirates.
So now we have four salvaged ships and two drydocks on our hands and our naval harbor so full I haven’t another safe berth at which I can moor another wreck.
On our sunken derrick today we got a second pontoon into position and rigged up ready to sink in the morning. Tomorrow I hope we get that one down without mishap.
Your letter #118 arrived today with the fourth undershirt so far received. Thanks.
No workmen and no officers have so far arrived here to lend a hand. Who said America needed ships? Or Britain?
With love, Ned
Letter #74
Sunday
Nov. 8, 1942
As usual
Lucy dearest:
The air is full of news today – grand news, all of it. Rommel’s army is fleeing westward in complete rout, and America has landed in North Africa. This last I have long expected as being the only strategic solution to getting control of the Mediterranean. I am glad that at last that we have abandoned soft-headed tactics with respect to our enemies, the Vichy French, and have started to fight fire with fire. And that all ideas of defending America have been abandoned in favor of going and smashing the enemy on his soil, not ours.
The news from the western desert and the African North Atlantic coast will be welcomed everywhere there are Americans, but none can greet the stories coming in as those in Eritrea. Our existence depended wholly on keeping the axis out of Egypt – now it seems assured. You would be amazed at how the turn of events in Libya has influenced conduct here. When Rommel was within less than a day’s march of Alexandria and Cairo and was next day expected there (by some) you could see it mirrored in the Italian population here – a sudden recrudescence of Fascist influence, a marked change in the conduct of our Italian prisoner of war workmen, a not wholly unvoiced feeling in Italian circles that soon it would be we who would be working as prisoners of war instead of them. Now that’s all over. A more docile and anxious to please lot than our Italian workmen and the civil populace here it would be hard to find.
But I never spent any time worrying about the situation here last June and July. We had arms and we could fight, and for the Italians here then and now I have the utmost contempt as adversaries. What might have happened when Rommel’s divisions continued eastward was something else, but I never expected him to get into Cairo anyway so I gave it no thought, and saved myself a lot of unnecessary loss of sleep as it now turns out.
For the last couple of days (and nights) we have been struggling with pontoons, which unfortunately when you have them by the tail, you can’t let go of just because darkness falls. Early this evening we finally got our first pair down and secured. They’ll need some straightening up yet before the lifting operation, but at least for the first pair the sinking is over and the locking pins are in place. We still have a second pair certainly, and a third pair possibly, to send down. I expected trouble with these pontoons and I haven’t been disappointed. I can thank my previous experiences for the ability to get these cranky cylinders down at all, but one learns something new on every job.
Anyway tonight we have two safely down and I can sleep in my own bed instead of under the stars on deck. I’ll bet I’ve drunk six gallons of iced tea at least and nearly worn out a borrowed slide rule feverishly figuring out buoyancies every few minutes.
One salvage job every few years should be enough for anyone’s lifetime. To have four going at once with half a dozen to look over in retrospect and the whole horizon ahead filled with more I should have considered unbelievable once. It is fortunate I am blessed with a low blood pressure. That has been a great help in every situation out here – that and an intense interest in keeping well till I get home to you.
With love, Ned
Letter #75
Nov. 9, 1942
As usual
Lucy darling:
The mail certainly arrived today in a big way – five letters from you and one from Mary. Your letters were #101, 107, 113, 115, and 122. The missing list now is #118, 119, and 120. Every other numbered letter you ever sent, V-mail or otherwise, through #122 has now arrived, whether specially acknowledged or not. The fifth undershirt came in today. One more is apparently yet on its way. Thanks. All the enclosures in all letters have also come, even though not specifically mentioned on arrival.
I should be much interested to receive a copy of Mrs. Whiteside’s letter on why her husband did not come out. Keep the original, but send a copy and if the censor mangles it, let him. You’ll still have the original. Incidentally no letter in over a month has been opened by any censor, including those received today, which were mostly (for some unknown reason) slower in getting here than others sent later. As the ex-Whiteside craft won’t be here till Valentine’s day, I’d like to know what information Mrs. Whiteside’s letter throws on the situation.
Regarding the tax situation, I’d appreciate any newspaper or magazine outline immediately on what’s in the bill, the more detailed the better. And as soon as they are printed and out (usually about Jan. 1) send me at least one tax form (3 preferably) which you might get the bank to wangle somewhere for you. Meanwhile, I rather judge our combined taxes for next year will be somewhere between four and five thousand dollars at least, probably more. I’d like as much time as possible to figure up the situation and see where the money is going to come from. Meanwhile, I have no doubt we’ll keep up my insurance payments even though something else has to suffer, bond purchases possibly, and heaven knows what else. As I understand it, we should have a reserve fund of about $1200 to $1500 set aside for taxes, which I originally thought would perhaps cover half of what was necessary.
So far as I can judge now, it looks as if the D. M. (Ed: Dodd, Mead) royalties had all best be postponed unless the Ruml plan or a substitute goes through (all of which I doubt). You may have to make a quick decision on that late in December if any late action is taken. But now it looks as if we’ll need the money far more next year than this, as in addition to much increased taxes, we’ll have a much reduced income both from dividends and royalties.
In your letter #107 I received the war chest circular which I had been wondering about. That’s the only photograph I ever had taken with my mouth open, which I see they took advantage of. I rather imagine the original of that picture, unretouched, is vivid enough. I’m glad you have it, probably in its original state. And if in any way, that picture helped raise the war chest fund (which I see was considerably over subscribed) I’m gladder. Helping to raise things seems my mission in life.
Meanwhile I enclose the sixth picture you asked for. The others have all been sent as I outlined. This last picture, I regret to say, has a slight blemish on the print, for which reason I had not intended to send it to anyone. A small spot appears over the left side of the mouth, which since you know I don’t have, I don’t mind your having it (the picture that is, not the blemish).
As regards the D. M. royalty statements, in which you note some books appear on my royalty sheets only and some only on yours, that’s the way it is. Some were wholly assigned to you (mostly early ones), some were divided, and some (mainly Men Under the Sea) left wholly on mine. No use now going into the reasons; I haven’t time.
While you can thank Howard Lewis about his kind offer of the tax adviser, I doubt it will be necessary, especially if I get the data in time. I’d prefer to do mine, yours, and if necessary Mary’s.
About the tires for my car. In connection with the reserved tires I have, you may report them, but call attention to the fact they are mine and I want them saved for my official use on duty when I get back. If they cannot be saved, then do as you think best as to which to keep and which to turn in.
I had meant to write more, but as it is now half an hour after midnight and I’ve not had too much sleep lately, I’ll stop.
We got our first pair of pontoons fairly well straightened out in position today above our derrick, and tomorrow I’m giving all hands a rest before we tackle the second pair.
With love, Ned
Letter #76
Nov. 10, 1942
As usual
Lucy darling:
Three more letters from you today, #123, 124, and 125. The missing list consists solely of #118, 119 and 120.
I sent you yesterday the duplicate photograph on a Christmas card that you asked for.
My promised workmen (1/3 of them only) are supposed to sail for here tomorrow. With luck they should arrive about Nov. 15. When the remaining 2/3 will start, there is no word at all.
I’m glad you had a visit from your father and I hope the change rested him a bit. I think his achievement in Willimantic was marvelous, especially so in these days, and I admire his fighting spirit. I earnestly hope he gets the opening he is looking for, but as I said before, if he needs any help, don’t hesitate to extend it.
As regards Nina, I am in no way surprised. I was sure she would never stay in Westfield other than temporarily as suited her convenience. I concur in your decision that we cannot now lend any money there. Nina really doesn’t need any help; what she really needs is a sharp dash of cold water on her manner of life. So don’t worry yourself about her, and if she stays a while, for heaven’s sake, don’t wear yourself out waiting on her.
I think I’ve received the Reader’s Digest through August; perhaps others are on the way. But I haven’t had time ever to look inside one, so don’t bother to renew that or anything else. I do appreciate the clippings; they give me more news than I get elsewhere and I can look them over hastily as they come in.
At present, everything regarding JDP is in the status quo; I think I have them stopped and I am pressing for a definite action which will clear up this situation. If I can’t get it, I’ll try drastic action soon.
As regards your difficulties with the wrong sized Minneapolis clock, I think the best solution is to insist they give you now the thermostat to fit the clock, or better still, return the clock and get a complete new electric clock with a new thermostat all in one unit. In this case take note that what is required is a thermostat operating directly on 120 volts (approximately) with no transformers. The whole business can be easily installed in place of our present thermostat by any oil furnace service man. Minneapolis makes them, I’m sure. Sears, Roebuck in Plainfield may also have the proper kind, but don’t get one there unless they’ll install it for you. The best bet is to get an oil burner service man who can without delay get a proper thermostat and install the whole works. However, don’t let them sell you the idea of substituting a low voltage thermostat (six or twelve volts) for there will be a devil of a lot of additional gadgets necessary to hook it up to our present oil burner, and I’m not sure they’ll be successful. Meanwhile if you change, hang on to our present thermostat until you are sure the new one works successfully.
With love, Ned
P.S. I enclose a late copy of our national newspaper here, so you can see how we get the news in full as compared to New York. This paper really runs a fairly unbiased account of what’s going on, good or bad. Note the Italian section for the benefit of our axis neighbors here.
Letter #77
Nov. 11, 1942
As usual
Lucy darling:
Today is Armistice Day. I look back with a wry smile to the wild joy with which we celebrated it twenty-four years ago. We had won, all right, but every result for peace that might have ensued we allowed to slip away because we ended that war too soon for Germany’s enlightenment, and because our heads were even softer than our hearts. Next time I trust we will have learned something from experience and will show more sense. There must be no armistice this time – with Cato in similar circumstances, I believe that Germany must be destroyed as a nation if the rest of the world ever expects to live again in peace. And that goes for Japan also. As for Italy, it is beneath contempt. I firmly believe that before the end, we shall see Italy first a non-belligerent, and then actively in arms against Germany in the attempt to mitigate her own losses from her initial folly. Mussolini by that time, will of course be out of the picture, probably assassinated by some other Italian.
I received my per diem check for October today and I am enclosing it in this letter. It is a Treasury check for $186, endorsed for deposit only. I have on hand here in the Barclay’s Bank, the huge sum of 600 shillings (after all my bills are paid) which being translated amounts to $120. This looks sufficient for a while yet.
Your first Christmas card (mailed Oct. 28) arrived today with its heartfelt message. May we all before Christmas 1943 arrives be together and in peace, though the latter can hardly come so soon.
The weather here has greatly improved, being what we might call moderate summer weather at home. The days are no longer unbearably hot, though they are hot enough to make naked to the waist the most comfortable costume for salvage work afloat.
The North African news continues to be good. We’ll soon see American troops in Tripoli and Rommel will find he has nowhere to retreat to. I have been listening to Berlin radio (in very cultured English) informing me that the German and Italian troops of Rommel’s army are “falling back according to plan.” I suppose Hitler has here marvelously displayed his military genius in developing a plan for Rommel which involves throwing into the arms of the Eighth Army 500 tanks, 1000 guns, 54,000 men of the Afrika Corps and their Italian comrades, and no one knows how many planes. What a plan! What a plan! It made me laugh outright into the radio.
Locally we are still soaked up in salvage. My salvage ship which lately raised the Tripolitania in a week, has gone back to work on the Brenta, which job we suspended temporarily while we were examining the unexploded mines and torpedo warheads we had already removed from the forehold of that vessel. Another salvage ship began rigging up for lowering the second pair of pontoons on our sunken derrick. My third ship is working sealing up the submerged deck of the XXIII Marzo (Mussolini could explain what that means) which we shall try to lift with compressed air, as the holes in her bottom are quite terrific. And my fourth salvage ship is wintering as you know, in the salubrious climate of the West Indies. Perhaps Mrs. Whiteside’s letter (when I get it from you) will help to explain why.
And our drydock is making a record time in repairing the holes blown in the bottom of the Gera, which you will recall we took over in dangerous condition from the British salvors. It is heartening to see some Americans who never saw a ship’s hull before they got here, doing such a fine shipfitting job in getting out and welding up the new plates in the curved bilges of the bottom, the most difficult part of a ship’s form because of the curvature of the hull there. We’ll have the ship off the dock in four days more, a week ahead of schedule.
I hope you can get me a new flag to fly over this naval base soon. I have now as a memento the tattered Stars and Stripes I first hoisted over this station last May 20, but that banner is too far gone ever to fly again. Now we have no colors over us at all, while a little to the east of us the British banner streams out daily over the British part of this peninsula, making it look as if it were all theirs, which situation irks me considerably as America is doing everything that is being done here.
With love, Ned
P.S. I enclose an application for a job from 3 Somalis. They got the job. I couldn’t resist the appeal of that last paragraph.
The application:
I most respectfully beg your kind consideration. That we are two young fellows and we were seamen and we have our certificates. That we beg to inform you that we required from you to help us and give good work, either sea or land.
I pray ever that God may deliver you from harm & grant you your desire. Also your long life & your family a happy time and God safe (sic) you from harm.
Yours obedient servant
1. Abdulla Mohamed
2. Ahmed Giana ?
3. Mohamed Worsama
District British Somaliland Berbera
Letter #78
Nov. 13, 1942
Friday
As usual
Lucy darling:
This may be Friday, the thirteenth, but for me it is not an unlucky day. Thank God, today my first contingent of British mechanics actually arrived! Their ship is alongside the pier and tomorrow they land, this group consisting of one-third the total number promised. When the other two-thirds will start for here I have no knowledge, but the group here gives me the largest gang of mechanics I have ever had here. Seventy men may not seem like much, but compared to the few dozens I have had, they seem an army. We should start to go to town on our ship and dock repair work now.
And on top of this, Tobruk has fallen, but this time into British hands. What Tobruk means around here can hardly be realized in America – it is the bastion on which the defense of the Middle East has always hinged. Rommel will never see it again, and Eritrea breathes far more freely.
So all in all, Friday the thirteenth has not been unkind to us hereabouts.
Tomorrow we sink our third pontoon on our sunken derrick. A busy day for me, I imagine. Today we removed a second mine from the hulk of the Brenta (we have already removed one and eight torpedo warheads) but find on closer examination of the hold that there are four more mines and about a dozen warheads still left to hoist out.
No letters from you for several days, which makes them quite featureless.
I sent you a couple of days ago in letter #83 (Ed: Ellsberg’s misnumber) a Treasury check for $186. Please let me know when it arrives.
With love, Ned
P.S. Two British naval officers have also reported here for duty with me.
Letter #79
Nov. 15, 1942
Sunday
As usual
Lucy dearest:
Today we worked all day sinking our fourth pontoon and getting it secured to the cradle slings. We got our third one down yesterday and our fourth today – two strenuous days. Whether four pontoons will lift this derrick or not, I don’t know. We have no plans of the derrick to give its weight, but on a chance, I am going to try a lift in a few days when we get these pontoons all lashed fore and aft so that they shall not slide out when the bow comes out (as happened to the Squalus salvagers).
I earnestly hope that four pontoons will do the job, for if we have to use the last pair we have on hand, it will be the devil’s own job to get slings under the derrick to take them, for its size and shape do not lend themselves to attaching more than four.
Getting these four pontoons down, getting the cradle slings under for them, and getting them lashed down so far as we have gone already, was a heartbreaking task, and perhaps the worst is yet to come from our ex-gasoline tanks now masquerading as pontoons. I am not too certain that they will not collapse under the heavy lifting strain and in spite of all my calculations which indicate they should stand up, there can be no certainty till the actual strain has been put upon them. May I be spared from ever again having to work with such makeshifts!
The one light in my long days here is the arrival of your letters, but for five days now I have had none. I imagine the mail service (via air) has been somewhat disrupted by the air needs of the American forces now fighting in French North Africa, and this interval means nothing more than that. But it leaves me in gloom nevertheless.
Tonight over the radio I have been listening to the bells of England ringing out in wild celebration over the victory in Egypt – my heart goes out to them in rejoicing over this victory which should be the prelude to the others which will finally smash the Nazi and the Fascist ideal as well as the Japanese lust for conquest – and let us live together in peace again.
With love, Ned
Letter #80
Nov. 17, 1942
As usual
Lucy darling:
Today was lighted up by the arrival of three letters from you and one from Mary, which came in with the first mail that has reached Eritrea in about a week. The North African campaign got apparently all the plane service for that period, and there may be similar and longer prolonged periods to follow on the mail coming this way.
Your letters were #126, 127, and 128. The missing list is only 118, 119, and 120.
We have our sunken derrick with four pontoons secured to it and all the lashings on to hold them in place. Tomorrow morning we shall attempt to raise it. Pray for us.
With love, Ned
Letter #81
Nov. 20, 1942
As usual
Lucy darling:
It is all over so far as our sunken derrick is concerned. There comes back to my mind the one newspaper headline of long ago which of all has meant the most to me, a headline in the Boston Post of July 5, 1926
“Gallant Tars Finally Win”
Once again I had the pleasure of seeing my pontoons come up, dragging with them the wreck we were fighting for.
Two mornings ago we went out very early to raise the derrick we had struggled for. I’ve written you of some of my fears – over the pontoons, over whether we had enough to make the lift, over the cradle slings, over the fastenings. So we secured, connected up our air hoses, and started up our air compressors; for nearly an hour I played a tune on the bank of valves and gauges before me trying to keep some proper balance in the unseen pontoons below. Then, smoothly, slowly, and beautifully, the derrick started to rise, bow first as intended, till she was up forward, after which all the air was switched aft and in about ten minutes more the stern followed, to complete a perfect lifting job.
During the tow in, we had some nerve racking moments while at sea when some of the fastening clamps slipped on the slings under the heavy strain and dropped the derrick about three feet before they finally seized again but we got her safely into our naval harbor where I had the drydock ready to take her. But unfortunately, the derrick was then drawing too much water to go on the dock because of the slipping slings, so there was nothing for it save to drag her into shallow water and beach her while we released the pontoons and resecured them lower down. That took all night, with the wind blowing hard, the sea kicking up, and our pontoons bouncing about quite playfully under our feet while we worked resecuring them. Yesterday morning we dragged our derrick still hanging deeply in its slings onto a dock which normally cannot be dropped low enough to take it. We got her on the dock nevertheless, but she knocked over so many keel blocks that I nearly had heart failure when we got the dock up out of the water to find out how few blocks were left to take the weight. However on what seemed an almost complete lack of anything to support her, miraculously the derrick remained level till we could get more shores under her. We let the pontoons go, cast loose the slings, and this morning floated the derrick off the dock, fully afloat on her own buoyancy, and ready for service again as soon as we have cleaned off the barnacles and overhauled the machinery.
So in about five weeks we have salvaged a vessel that the British struggled with from February to September and then gave up as hopeless, recommending demolition. And I think myself that of all the salvage jobs we have done here, this one was the hardest and the most uncertain of success because of our impromptu pontoons. But like the others, it was completely successful in spite of all our inadequacies, and for all that I shall truly have cause for giving thanks.
And now I shall turn in and catch up a bit on my sleep. Another scuttled vessel is afloat again to do its bit in the battle against the totalitarians.
With love, Ned
Letter #82
Nov. 21, 1942
As usual
Lucy dearest:
This is my birthday, but not until noon while out on the drydocks, did I remember it. However, I had more cause to when I got back to the office, to find there four letters from you, #131, 132, 134 and 135, and a letter from Mary of Nov. 5. In your letter 135 of Nov. 7 you close with, “Perhaps this will reach you on your birthday.” It did, my dear, and at least I had that reminder of your love and constant thoughtfulness to mark the day a little apart.
I am sorry you are so much concerned over my supposed desire to stay here indefinitely. I have no such desire. I earnestly hope that long before spring is over, I may be relieved here and sent back home. So far as I can see, I have no further obligation here except to see that the base gets running smoothly with our new working force, and when that is achieved, which should be by January or February, I’ll be ready to go.
How I may get away then is what puzzles me. I might start by asking the army command here to detach me and send me back to the navy, but whether they would do it or not, I don’t know. Perhaps by then I can make them see I have done my bit on this station and they’ll acquiesce. A second method might be to approach directly somebody in the Navy Department and see whether they won’t order me back and send someone else out in my place. Properly handled through the right channels, that could produce results, but it could also misfire and mess up the situation. I think in a couple of months I can safely approach the commanding general and ask to be relieved. However, in case it might seem better to work directly from the navy angle, I’d like to know what Broshek’s job now is, since I think he might be the best person to approach. I notice you say he is an admiral now, which I’m happy to learn. He well deserves it. John Hale can give you some information on this, and perhaps on other possible lines of attack.
As for me, I’ve long since had more than enough of separation, and I know that I’ve done everything here that might reasonably be expected of me. So my conscience doesn’t hurt me in considering ways and means now of shaking forever the dust of this part of Africa from my shoes.
I’ve had enough. I’ve had enough of broken American promises, enough of dilatory fulfillment of British promises, enough of intrigue, enough of inefficiency of contractors, enough of battling for the chance to do the war job I was sent out here to do. The things that were supposed to make this spot impossible to live in and work in have never bothered me much – the terrible heat, the unbearable humidity, the tropical diseases – I’ve worked in spite of all of them. Even the other things I never expected to be factors here, have not stopped me or my men from doing our jobs, but we could have done far more if not for them.
Things are somewhat better now, at least for the present. The contractor has got no where in his underhanded attempts to take over, though the army has not yet done any thing clearcut to rectify the basic situation. Matters are in the status quo because I’ve knocked the contractor flat in his intrigues which were so crude as to be almost laughable. The British have furnished me with exactly one-third so far of the officers and men promised, and I may someday get the others – they still say they are coming, but when? They don’t say that. However, those here have turned to well enough and certainly improved my situation tremendously.
As for the salvage work, unless my force is completely disrupted on me, I have them well enough trained on various methods now so they could do a fair job under any reasonably competent officer. I think I can do better with them that anyone else ever will, but I’m quite willing to forgo that pleasure.
I really do think myself I can do some more good for the war effort some where else, and this in spite of the fact that this station offers the greatest opportunity for restoring tonnage to service of any place I know about. But any officer who really is capable of doing the task will find, as I have, that he is hamstrung in his efforts by lack of knowledge in Washington of what is required here resulting in failure to carry through American operation, and by British inability really to turn to and produce results in an unusual situation.
I’ve done enough here. I can look around at a harbor so full of ships and docks and derricks that we’ve raised that is difficult now to find anchorages for even one more ship. I can look around at a set of shops which I found all smashed by the Italians when I got here, and all running now in better shape than they ever were in Italian hands. I’m willing to pass on the job and struggle in some field at home instead. And I dream night after night of nothing but getting home again to you.
To change the subject a bit and answer some questions. There were 900 gallons of fuel oil in our tank in June of 1941. I had the tank filled practically up in May and June of that year to get the lowest oil prices, and that oil was used up together with everything bought for the winter season of 1941-42. I should say that our total consumption of fuel oil for that winter season was about 2800 gallons, part of which was the oil bought in May and June of the early summer before.
As regards coffee, with the three pounds you say you’re sending, I’ll have more than enough for the rest of my stay here.
About evaporators, I don’t expect to stay here to redesign any. I’ve scarcely looked at them.
I received yesterday one dozen pairs of dark glasses sent here by Kandel. Some of them, of course, I’ll give away as he suggested. Thank him for me.
I was notified by dispatch a week or so ago the big chief was never coming, which your letters of today confirm. I’m sorry; she would have been my most effective unit as regards size. Do not bother to reorder for shipment here anything that was on her. In case within a reasonable time, say a month, the packages are recovered, send them along via JDP. If their return is delayed much beyond that, it may not be worth reshipping, as two to three months will be required for arrival and by that time I should hope not to be here, or at least not to be here for long after their arrival.
Letters #118, 119, 120, 129, 130, and 133 are missing. All others have arrived. One of the missing letters must contain an undershirt, as five only out of six sent have so far been received.
I notice the tire question seems to be settled by turning in the tires.
And now, please, some definite information on what the new income tax bill is. It must be available somewhere, as the bill has been passed and signed and can no longer be a secret. Some actual data on what the rates are is what I need. If nobody else can get them for you, ask Luther Huston. He’s in Washington and should be able to get the facts.
I shouldn’t economize too much on the heat if I were you. Use what oil you need now, and if that uses up your quota before spring, use it up. If you can’t get any more then (conditions may improve) close the house and go south.
With love, Ned
Letter #83
Nov. 24, 1942
As usual
Lucy darling:
This is, thank God, probably the last letter you will receive from me from “As usual.”
About the middle of the afternoon I was called to the hills to be shown a dispatch just received ordering me to proceed without delay for duty under the general most recently arrived on this continent for “urgent salvage work” in the area recently acquired. So I am moving on to Oran by air, leaving this country at 8 AM Wednesday morning (which it now is).
I have been packing all evening and now at 2 AM I am just finished. A fair amount of my clothes I am taking with me, but the rest must go with my ships when they move.
And so ends my episode in the hottest climate on earth. I am grateful that we got that derrick up before my detachment as it would have hurt to have left that job unfinished. As for the rest, somebody else can do them if they ever get the men and equipment here to work with.
Send no more letters, parcels or anything else here. Those on the road already will some day reach me on the other side of this continent, I hope. I’m sorry your letters for a month or two will not be delivered to me. You can find out from the post office what the APO number of Eisenhower’s command is. Advise Mary.
That I am glad to get out of here is putting it mildly, though I never expected my detachment to come this way. There will be plenty to do up on the front line I have no doubt, though how soon my equipment will get there to do anything with I don’t know.
The last letter of yours received was 135. I notified you yesterday or day before of which letters were missing, 118, 119, 120, 129, 130, and 133. These are quoted from memory and may be inexact. The correct list has already been given you. I am getting out of here at 4 AM (in about an hour and a half) so I’ll receive nothing more. Please duplicate any special information in all missing letters and in all letters from 135 on till you get this (or a cable which I’ll send as soon as I get where I can send one) in the first letters sent to the new address. I’ll also cable you when I get there if I can, which may be dubious.
What effect this may have on my ultimate detachment I can’t say now. Anyway I’ll be closer to home by eight thousand miles by sea. And meanwhile I’m going to be working directly with Americans from now on and no longer with the British, so I’ll not any more be in an “area of British responsibility” when it comes to getting something out of Washington.
As I said before, I can leave here with a clear conscience. What I’ll find in the newly battered port except work, I don’t know yet. I hope they don’t expect too much of me till I get something there to work with.
With love, Ned
The End