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September 7

Our first day in the Mediterranean - bright, sunny, a fresh breeze, everything fine except for the ominous lowering of life boats, and the conspicuous British flags flying, to remind us that we are now going through a war zone. All boats are swung out on davits, and a big British ensign is painted on the canvas awning of the boat deck. Several British merchantmen have been sunk this week off the coast of Spain, the theory being that the Italians have mistaken them for Russian ships carrying supplies to the Loyalists.

The giraffe we got in Port Sudan are doing well, except that the littlest refuses to drink tinned milk. I suggested today using Lactol, and to our great delight he drank the Lactol. We have enough for about four more feedings, and perhaps by that time he will have forgotten the tast of fresh milk and be willing to drink one of the several brands of canned milk that we have aboard.

The shoebills are doing well on alternate days, which is about as well as could be expected. One day one of them east four fish, the other one; next day the one that wouldn't eat yesterday eats four fish, and the well-fed one has merely one. They are fine big specimens.

September 8 - 

The little gibbon that has lived on air for so long, has finally died. I don't know how he survived this long. He always seemed so interested in everything that went on, was always ready to play, and was so affectionate. But at the mere sight of food he would turn away in revulsion, and for weeks now has had nothing more substantial than a few drops of Lactol, or a sip of tea.

September 9 - 

As we approach Malta, the Captain radios to the Admiralty for instructions, as per his orders from New York. Nothing happens, and we plow along through cool and slightly rolling seas.

September 10 - 

The Captain got an answer to his wireless, which was "No special instructions. Keep ten miles off the Spanish Coast, and look out for floating mines." Later in the morning he got a radio message from a French ship that a mine had been sighted by them, and the Silverash altered course accordingly.

Conversation at meal times is all of war, and what America and Britain ought to do, and what they would have done in Nelson's day, and so forth. Everyone hangs over the radio news in the evening. And I want to know what mines and torpedoes and submarines really look like, and how big is a bomb, and what effect all these war-like implements have when dropped on a merchant ship in peacetime. None of the answers are at all encouraging. But the coast of Tunis, which is close this afternoon, looks peaceful, and except for a few sailing vessels, we have seen no one - friend or enemy.