Pete Ellis: Amphibious Warfare Prophet

At 0620, 21 May 1923, a State Department clerk in Washington logged in the following cable from the American Embassy in Tokyo:

I AM INFORMED BY GOVERNOR GENERAL OF JAPANESE SOUTH SEA ISLANDS THAT R.H.ELLIS, REPRESENTATIVE OF HUGHES TRADING COMPANY, #2 RECTOR ST., NEW YORK CITY, HOLDER OF DEPARTMENT PASSPORT NO. 4249, DIED AT PARAO, CAROLINE ISLANDS ON MAY 12TH. REMAINS AND EFFECTS IN POSSESSION OF GOVERNMENT AWAITING INSTRUCTIONS.

WILSON

A routine follow-up with the Hughes company by a State Department investigator revealed that the president was a retired Marine Corps colonel who appeared uneasy as the questioning began. Finally, the colonel blurted out that Earl H. Ellis was never his employee but was an active duty Marine Corps lieutenant colonel on an intelligence mission. At the request of Marine Corps authorities, he had permitted his company to be used as a cover for Ellis.

A copy of the State Department cable was passed via Captain Luke McNamee, the Director of Naval Intelligence, to the Major General Commandant of the Marine Corps, John Archer Lejeune. Lejeune had been “Pete” Ellis’ friend and patron since they first served together in the Philippines in 1908. At first, Lejeune tried to protect the nation, the Marine Corps, and Ellis by saying nothing. But the story soon leaked and hit front pages all over the country. Reporters demanded to know what a Marine Corps officer was doing in the Japanese islands of Micronesia.

General Lejeune kept silent for as long as possible. Then, at the prodding of Admiral Robert E. Coontz, the Chief of Naval Operations, he issued the only statement he ever made on the subject, saying that Ellis was absent without leave. Colonel Ellis, he said, had been a patient at the Naval Hospital, Yokohama, Japan, suffering from nephritis (inflammation of the kidneys) and was last seen on 6 October 1922. He had been on leave touring the Orient. That leave had been revoked before Ellis vanished from the hospital. The official records backed up the general’s statement.

The commandant’s cold official statement was probably meant only to protect the Marine Corps and the nation from an embarrassing international scandal. His official statement is belied by the warmth with which he corresponded with Ellis’ brother

Ralph. One year older than Pete, Ralph was the managing editor of the Kansas City Journal and the family spokesman. That Pete Ellis himself certainly would have approved of Lejeune’s action is evidenced by the contents of an envelope he left with Lejeune. When opened soon after Ellis’ death, it contained the colonel’s signed but undated letter of resignation from the Marine Corps. Lejeune destroyed it.

The reporters would have had a more startling angle if they had known that two years earlier Ellis had written a secret operation plan for the invasion of Japan’s mandated islands. His 30,000-word document was entitled Advanced Base Operations In Micronesia. Part of the secret operation plan, it is one of the most amazingly prophetic documents in military history. Approved by General Lejeune on 2) July 1921, it became the keystone of Marine Corps strategic plans for a Pacific war. It formed the basis for the first Orange Plan approved in 1924 by the Joint Board of the Army and Navy for offensive operations against Japan in the event of war.

Ellis’ predictions as to the general course of a future war against Japan and his recommendations for the prosecution of that war reveal rare insight. "Japan is a World Power,” he wrote. “Considering out consistent policy of non-aggression, she will probably initiate the war; which will indicate that . . . she believes that . . . she has sufficient military strength to defeat our fleet.” He prophesied the progress of the war in the Pacific, the swift Japanese onslaught. He planned that the U.S. drive should be straight through the Marshalls and Carolines, then northward toward the homeland. This might well have been the actual route in World War II had not the initial enemy success compelled us to fight in the South and Southwest Pacific, and if General Douglas MacArthur and political considerations had not made recapture of the Philippines obligatory in 1944.

Ellis went even further than strategic operations; he got into the details of new tactical concepts- Night amphibious operations were discouraged, but Ellis concluded that transports with assault troops should approach under cover of darkness and attach in the early morning to have the advantage of the maximum number of daylight hours. He foresaw future requirements such as underwater demolition teams, the shore party organization, naval gunfire spotters with troops, and other special purpose units “Task forces must be formed before leaving base port,” he wrote, “and must be embarked as such. No shifting of troops or material between ships on blue waters is practicable.” Foreseeing the requirement for task organization and combat loading, he wrote, "Signal troops, field artillery, demolition experts and other specialists will accompany the first waves of assault.” He described the employment of boatheads [beachheads], beach markers with large placards or flags for beach identification and control, aerial bombing support, naval gunfire, feints and the other ABCs of World War II-type amphibious operations. More realistic than later military planners, he foresaw that we probably would lose the Philippines at the start of the war. Some of his estimates were upheld with amazing accuracy. He listed 4,000 assault troops in his tactical plan for Eniwetok in the Marshalls, and this was approximately the number of Army and Marine troops who secured the atoll in 1944.

His document was revolutionary in many respects, but his main theme—which later proved to be the salvation of the Marine Corps and paved the way for victory in the Pacific—was his conviction that the Marines’ primary role should be offensive amphibious operations. Many outlying bases would have to be seized from the Japanese. The seizure of such bases naturally would fall on the Marine Corps as the advanced base force of the Navy. This was right on the heels of the failure of the British offensive amphibious operation at Gallipoli during World War I.

Most military leaders of the Twenties, including many senior Marine Corps officers, were still thinking in terms of World War I trench warfare. At best, the Marine Corps’ role was thought to be that of advanced base defense, primarily coastal artillery units. But there was no widespread interest in this advanced base defense work even in its pure defensive aspects among officers in the Marine Corps immediately after World War I.² And they surely were not thinking about landing against defended shores in the World War II sense.

In addition to being a master military planner, strategist, and tactician, Pete Ellis was also a very complicated, sick, and neurotic man. Prone to melancholia, he was hospitalized many times for neurasthenia and psychasthenia.³ He was hyperactive, and his record is replete with accounts of his forking around the clock to finish a project, then ^ending up in a hospital with shattered nerves.

Ellis began his career by enlisting as a private on 3 September 1900 at Chicago. At a time when many enlisted men could neither read nor write, he was a high school graduate. While an enlisted man, he performed guard duty at the Washington Navy Yard. He won a commission on 21 December 1901, two days after his 21st birthday. His abilities were recognized early in his career. Consequently, he was given choice assignments usually reserved for more senior officers. General Lejeune had this to say in a letter to Ellis’ mother, ”... he had a brilliant mind and by reason of continued study and application he became one of the best informed officers on military and naval subjects in any branch of the service.” A lifelong bachelor, Ellis devoted his life to the Marine Corps.

Young Lieutenant Ellis landed at Cavite in the Philippines on 13 April 1902 for his first duty assignment as an officer. There he came under the influence of such Marine Corps notables as Major Littleton W.T. “Tony” Waller, Marine Captain Smedley D. Butler, and others who helped him form his attitudes and objectives. On 21 January 1903, Lieutenant Ellis reported aboard the USS Kentucky (later BB-6), the flagship of the Asiatic Fleet. For the next year and a half, he visited the principal ports of China and Japan. The Kentucky frequently stopped at Yokohama, thus providing Ellis an excellent opportunity to begin his study of Japan. A second tour in the Philippines (1907-1911) as a first lieutenant and captain found him assigned to such duties as the litigation of land cases at Olongapo, serving as officer in charge of the Advanced Base Material (chiefly guns taken off U.S. warships) and commanding fortifications on Grande Island in the defense of Subic Bay. During this tour in the Philippines, Ellis began his long friendship with Lejeune, then a major, and with Joseph H. Pendleton, then a lieutenant colonel.

It was in the Philippines that the inane side of Ellis’ personality first came to the attention of his superiors. The brigade chaplain called on him while he was living in a palm frond house on Grande Island with two Marine lieutenants. The chaplain’s overly righteous attitude discouraged any kind of rapport. A few drinks and stories before dinner only worsened matters. After the four had eaten in silence and were waiting for the houseboy to remove the plates, Ellis apparently found the situation too oppressive, so he whipped out his revolver and shot the plates off the table.

Such bizarre behavior did not deter his superiors from giving him the most responsible assignments. From the Philippines he was ordered to the Naval War College. There, as a very junior captain between 1911 and 1913, he taught officers who became admirals and generals and later helped set the Navy’s course for victory in World War II. On the staff with Ellis was Captain William S. Sims, one of the Navy’s most brilliant officers and one of Ellis’ closest friends. Sims later became president of the War College. While at the college, Ellis wrote a series of papers on advanced base forces and the defense of several Pacific islands, including Guam, Peleliu, and Samoa. He also made numerous converts to his then-radical idea of offensive amphibious operations to seize islands as advanced bases for the Navy in time of war. In a 1912 fitness report at the War College he requested that he be assigned . . duty in making personal reconnaissances of ports in the Atlantic and Pacific likely to be occupied as advanced bases in time of war.”

But the commandant had other plans for Pete Ellis in 1914. Assigned to the staff of the Advanced Base School at the Philadelphia Navy Yard, he made a reconnaissance of Culebra and Vieques islands ne3t Puerto Rico for the 1914 advanced base exercise. Then, the Secretary of the Navy requested that he be assigned to a joint Army and Navy board scheduled to convene on Guam in March 1914 to prepare 9 defense plan for the island. On completion of the plan, he remained as military secretary and aide to Navy Captain William J. Maxwell, Governor of Guam.

While on Guam in 1915, Ellis was confined to the hospital for several months, one of the first serious indications of his psychological and hyperactivity problems. His medical record reads, "March 1915. . . loss of self control and tending to hysteria. . . . Bad effects enhanced by short hours sleep and long hours at desk work. Advise reduction in work and increase in recreation.” A 28 June 1915 entry reads, "Very much depressed and extremely nervous ...”

During his Guam tour, Ellis had at least one confrontation with the governor and also one with a Japanese policeman on Saipan. The governor noted on his fitness report, “I considered Captain Ellis’s manner and tone disrespectful and called him sharply to account for it . . .” While visiting a native friend on Saipan, he expressed his resentment of the  inquisitiveness of a Japanese policeman by knocking the man down a flight of stairs. Again, neither of these two incidents nor his frequent hospitalizations swayed his seniors’ confidence in him.

On 2 January 1915, Colonel Lejeune was assigned as Assistant Commandant of the Marine Corps World War I was six months under way, and the corps was busy with plans for expansion. Lejeune soon found that he needed a small staff to assist him. He immediately had three of the most promising junior officers in the Marine Corps transferred to his office. These were Pete Ellis, Thomas Holcomb, Jr. and Ralph S. Keyser. Holcomb later became the Marines’ first Lieutenant General Commandant, serving from 1936 through 1943.

The United States declared war on Germany of Good Friday, 6 April 1917. Three days later, Ellis was promoted to major. In June 1918, Brigade General Lejeune and Major Ellis sailed together on board the USS Henderson for France. Lejeune, soon promoted to major general, was assigned command of the 2nd Army-Marine Division. Ellis, promoted to temporary lieutenant colonel, was assigned as adjutant of the 4th Marine Brigade, which along with the Army’s 3rd Infantry Brigade comprised Lejeune’s 2nd Division.

As part of the French Army, the 2nd Division, at Lejeune’s request, was assigned the mission of assaulting Blanc Mont Ridge, a key German strong point on the Hindenburg Line, in early October 1918. Lejeune sent his aide for Ellis, and the aide reported back that the colonel was indisposed and that the indisposition could be expected to last several hours. Lejeune had the utmost confidence in Ellis—regardless of the indisposition—and wanted his advice on planning the assault. Later, Ellis prepared the plan for an assault which resulted in a penetration of the entire German defensive position forcing them to withdraw 30 kilometers; a Frenchman railed it “the greatest single achievement of the 1918 campaign.” General Henri Gouraud, whose plan Ellis recommended be discarded, rewarded Ellis with the Croix de Guerre and Palm and the Legion of Honor, grade of Chevalier. Ellis also was awarded the Navy Cross, not on the usual grounds of combat heroism but for excellence in his staff duties. The ritation mentioned his imperviousness to fatigue and alertness under strain and sleeplessness, words which indicate that the nervousness and physical disorders diagnosed under headings such as neurasthenia and psychasthenia were becoming much more frequent and serious.

In 1919, Pete Ellis’ services were sought by both the Navy and Marine Corps, but the routine of peacetime duty failed to supply mental stimulus to an officer of his caliber. From 1918 on, entries of hospitalization and sick leave in his record indicate a rapid nervous and physical decline. He took to drinking with increasing regularity. During the years 1919-1920, his friends noticed a very rapid decline in his physical appearance. In January 1920, Navy doctors declared him unfit for active service and prescribed three months’ sick leave.

In present times, Ellis might have been assigned to a rehabilitation program. But these were the passive days of the Twenties, so it was not surprising to find him being assigned, at his request, as the intelligence officer of the 2nd Marine Brigade in Santo Domingo. When the brigade commander was queried as to whether he “desired the services of Major Ellis” (he reverted to his permanent rank of major on 20 August 1919), the response was immediate, “Services desired and earnestly requested.” When he reported in from sick leave on 17 April 1920, his orders to Santo Domingo were waiting for him. Tropical Santo Domingo was not exactly a health spa in the Twenties. It was the last place Pete Ellis should have gone to recuperate. A dry atmosphere would have been far better.

On 30 June 1920, Major General Lejeune was appointed Commandant. Pete Ellis saw in this the opportunity for approval of the request he made in his 1912 fitness report. On 20 August 1920, Ellis sent a letter to General Lejeune:

1. In order that the Marine Corps may have the necessary information on which to base its plans for further operations in South America and the Pacific Ocean I have to request that I be ordered to those areas for the purpose of making the necessary reconnaissance.

2. In the performance of such duties I will undertake to adopt any personal measures (submit undated resignations, travel as civilian, etc.) . . . necessary to ensure that the United States shall not become embarrassed through my operations.

On 2 August 1920, Admiral Sims requested that Ellis be assigned to the staff of the Naval War College. Lejeune wrote to Sims, expressing regret that he could not comply with the request. Instead, Ellis reported to the commandant on 23 December 1920 and was assigned to the newly created Operations and Training Division to work on his war plan. On 3 February 1921, he checked in at the Naval Hospital, Washington, D.C. where he stated that he had felt his latest breakdown coming on while he was in Santo Domingo. On 7 March, his problem was diagnosed as neurasthenia. On 17 March, he began to subsist on the outside and report to the hospital every morning. His subsisting on the outside consisted of working night and day on his war plan in a dingy little office, Room 209, Headquarters, Marine Corps where a “No Admittance” sign was tacked to the door. The midwatch logs invariably showed the entry, “Lights burning in 209- Office occupied.”⁴ On 9 April, Ellis requested a three-month leave to visit Belgium, France, Germany, and England. On 12 April, he was released from the hospital, allowing only a few days to tie up loose ends at headquarters before departing for Micronesia. The three months’ leave was a cover for his mission to Micronesia. Before he could get away, he found himself back in the hospital on 18 April with the same old problem, neurasthenia. “Origin on duty . . . nervous and tense, was emotionally unstable . . . coarse tremors of the hands and tongue,” said the medical report. “Complained of insomnia, nausea and an irritative cough . . . prescribed hypnotics. . . . Developed what he describes as the ‘shakes.’ ”

On 4 May, Ellis was discharged from the hospital to return to duty; on that same day, Lejeune, in a letter to the Secretary of the Navy, requested permission for Ellis to leave the continental limits of the United States while on leave to visit Belgium, France, Germany, and England. The next day, 5 May, the letter was returned approved by Franklin Roosevelt, Acting Secretary of the Navy. If a written directive for his mission was ever given by Ellis, it has not survived.

Prior to his departure, Ellis called at the commandant’s office to say goodbye. During their farewell conversation, the commandant’s secretary noticed Ellis hand Lejeune a sealed envelope which the general took without comment and slipped into his desk drawer. Ellis then departed. It was the last time they ever saw each other.

Looking at the mission in hindsight, the whole thing seems amateurish to a fault. There is no evidence of detailed planning. His cover as a trader was easily seen through by the German traders of Micronesia since he knew little or nothing about the business. The Navy Department apparently never bothered to tell the U. S. Naval Attaché in Tokyo about Ellis, although the attaché had primary intelligence responsibility for Micronesia. But with the laissez-faire atmosphere of the Twenties and the amateurish state of U.S. intelligence, permission for such a fishing expedition and the manner in which it was carried out were not so implausible as would be the case nowadays. To reconnoiter an area of such magnitude today might call for the combined resources of the civilian and military intelligence communities. But in May 1921, there was one lone, sick, and neurotic Marine. Nevertheless, he was brilliant, courageous, and fired with a deep sense of duty. He was ready to embark on his mission with only the moral support of a pat on the back, a handshake, and wishes for good luck from the few senior officers who were privy to his mission. These included Generals Lejeune, Neville, Haines, and Logan Feland.

Ellis paid a last visit to his family in Pratt, Kansas. He told them he was going to travel for his health, but they would be unable to contact each other. If everything went well, they would hear from him in eight months. But if they did not hear from him, he wanted them to do nothing. There should be no inquiries through Senators Charles Curtis or Arthur Capper, or through Congressman Homer Hoch, no publicity, no letters to the Marine Corps. Then he walked out the door of his boyhood home and vanished for almost a year. He was never seen in Europe. When he failed to return at the end of his 90-day leave, an administrative officer at headquarters sent a brief memo to the Adjutant-Inspector, Brigadier General Henry Haines, “The leave granted Lieut. Col. Ellis has expired. How shall he be carried on the muster roll?” The memo came back with a note scrawled across the bottom, “Carry on leave.” then, as if an afterthought, “until return.” was added.

In late March 1922, Colonel Robert H. Dunlap, a close friend and confidant of Ellis on duty at Quantico, Virginia, received the following cablegram from Sydney, Australia:

IMPRACTICABLE HERE. PROCEEDING JAPAN. EVERYTHING ALL RIGHT CABLE CLUB MANILA IF NOT AGREEABLE.

PETE

He had just been released from a Sydney hospital where he had been treated for nephritis.

Years later, in 1948, the Commandant of the Marine Corps asked General Douglas MacArthur to search Japanese files for information on Ellis. Four messages were found, dated October 1921. They were exchanged between the Consul General in Sydney, the Foreign Minister, and the Minister of the Navy. Using his cover as a trader for the Hughes Company, Ellis had requested a visa to visit the Marshall and Caroline Islands on business. The Minister of the Navy said the visa could be granted, but he wanted Ellis’ itinerary in advance. Armed with his visa, Ellis tried to reach the Japanese mandated islands from Sydney, but no ships were available. His failure to get passage out of Australia forced him to seek transportation into the islands from Japan, which of course increased the risk.

He booked passage at Sydney on board the Tango Maru to Manila. Becoming sick en route, he was placed in a civilian hospital upon arrival at Manila. By chance, a Marine Corps officer recognized him and had him transferred to the naval hospital at Canacao, Cavite, where the admission entry in his medical record reads, “5-17-22. Complains of nervousness . . . very restless, twitching of muscles of face and arms . . . Diagnosis changed to nephritis acute.”

On 19 June, Ellis sent the following secret message to Brigadier General Feland at Marine Corps Headquarters:

IT IS ESSENTIAL TO REACH OBJECTIVE BY NORTHERN ROUTE. I HAVE GAINED COMPLETE AUTHORITY AND I DO NOT THINK THERE WILL BE ANY FURTHER DIFFICULTY. DELAYED HERE WHILE ILL BUT ALL WELL NOW. I DESIRE TO CONTINUE AND IF NECESSARY TO TAKE SIX MONTHS EXTENSION TIME. I POSSESS NECESSARY FUNDS. YOUR REPLY IS DESIRED BY RADIO TO NAVSTA CAVITE.

SIGNED ELLIS

Neither Ellis’ serious illness nor his delay in getting into Micronesia swayed General Lejeune’s confidence in him. The reply, signed by the Assistant to the Commandant, went out "priority" the same day Ellis’ message was received:

EXTENSION GRANTED FOR PERIOD OF SIX MONTHS OR AS MUCH OF THAT TIME AS MAY BE NECESSARY PERIOD.

SIGNED W C NEVILLE

Upon being released from the hospital, Ellis stayed at the Delmonico Hotel in the Intramuros (Walled City), Manila. Late in July 1922, he left Manila on board the SS President Jackson for Yokohama with a reservation through to San Francisco. The latter action was apparently an attempt to throw the Japanese off his trail. It was one of the last rational, albeit naive, acts of his life.

Early in August 1922, he landed at Yokohama and checked into the Grand Hotel. On 12 August, Commander Ulys R. Webb, Medical Corps, U.S. Navy, commanding officer at the Naval Hospital, Yokohama, received a telephone call from a very excited desk clerk at the Grand Hotel who said that an American guest was quite sick. He asked if a doctor could come quickly. Webb found a man in civilian clothing suffering from nephritis, and there was also evidence that he had been drinking heavily. Determining that immediate hospitalization was necessary, the doctor had the man sent to the naval hospital. Upon admission, the patient identified himself as Lieutenant Colonel Earl H. Ellis, U.S. Marine Corps, and said he was touring Japan while on leave. His medical record reads, “August 12, 1922 Diagnosis: #548 Nephritis acute. . . . Probably from condition incident to service in the tropics. Patient also has probably been over indulging in alcoholics. ... 23 August, to duty much improved, U. R. Webb, Comdr, MC, USN.”

A week later, Ellis was admitted again, “9-1-22 #548 Nephritis acute. Readmitted, same symptom, same treatment. 9-14-22 Discharged to duty much improved, at his own request in order to continue his journey. U. R. Webb, Cmdr, MC, USN.”

Captain Ellis M. Zacharias, in 1922 a lieutenant commander assigned to the naval attaché’s office in Tokyo, wrote in his book Secret Missions (New York: G. P. Putnam’s Sons, 1946):

The attention of the naval attache [Captain Lyman A. Cotten, USN] was directed to an American who had just arrived in Yokohama and who was seen frequently in rather shabby drinking places and geisha houses . . . As he [Ellis] told it during his lighter moments in Yokohama, he was selected by Washington to go to the mandated islands in the guise of an innocuous traveler “to find out what the hell was going on down there.” . . . For several days we maintained our surveillance over the “agent” and watched him toboggan rapidly in Yokohama bars. Every one of his appearances there revealed more data on his proposed trip, not only to us but obviously to Japanese counter-intelligence as well; and we realized that this “secret agent” had outlived his usefulness long before he could embark on his actual mission.

On 20 September, Webb had an ambulance pick up Ellis at the Grand Hotel and admitted him to the hospital. His medical report reads, “Poison, alcohol, acute. . . . Not duty. Due to his own misconduct. . . delirium tremens ... so shaky cannot feed himself . . . throws everything in his room out of the window. Treated with whiskey, sedatives and food.” When Ellis sobered he found himself in a private room attended by Chief Pharmacist Lawrence Zembsch who acted more as jailer than nurse.

Cotten had never been informed of Ellis’ mission. If he had been under secret orders from the highest echelon of the government, Cotten would have been in serious trouble for terminating or otherwise disrupting the execution of those orders. Lieutenant Colonel Ellis was obviously in extremely poor physical condition and required immediate medical help which was not available in Japan. So he proposed to have Webb certify him as sick for further transfer to the United States for treatment.

Captain Zacharias said in Secret Missions, “Although originally motivated by security considerations, Cotten’s concern about the Colonel’s physical condition appeared fully justified after Dr. Webb’s first examination . . . The Colonel was in no shape even for transportation back home, so we were advised to permit him to regain at least some of his strength in his private ward before sending him on a strenuous journey by transport.” Webb prepared the necessary report certifying Ellis as sick and requiring medical treatment in the United States. Upon receipt of Webb’s report, General Lejeune revoked Ellis’ leave and ordered him to report. But Pete Ellis never received those orders.

Webb gave Ellis his choice of going home by government transportation or buying his own ticket for a commercial liner. He decided instead to turn his back on the security of returning to the United States. On 4 October 1922, Ellis cabled his bank in San Francisco for $1,000. Two days later, he received it. On the night of 6-7 October, he slipped out of the hospital against Webb’s specific orders not to leave and departed forever the official custody of the naval service.

Starting at the Grand Hotel in Yokohama where Ellis had been staying, Captain Cotten and his intelligence agents began to make discreet inquiries. They found he had paid his bill at the hotel and ordered an automobile to take some luggage to the Yokohama railway station. Cotten even went to the extent of enlisting the aid of the Japanese missing persons bureau and other local authorities in the search. Both U.S. and Japanese authorities searched Tokyo and Yokohama without success. Ellis probably departed from either Kobe or Moji, using the visa stamped in his passport at Sydney a year earlier as his “ticket” to the mandated islands.

Apparently, he first went to Jaluit in the Marshalls where he stayed about two months. There he became acquainted with Arthur Herrman, a German trader. Herrman was in San Francisco on business on 23 May 1923. There he read about Ellis’ death in a newspaper, then called on Major General George i Barnett at Headquarters, Department of the Pacific. The following is from General Barnett’s 25 May 1923 letter to the Major General Commandant. He reported Herrman said the following:

(a) Stated that he saw Colonel Ellis in Kusaie, Eastern Caroline Islands; and that he also had a brother there who was acquainted with Colonel Ellis.

(b) That he left on the same steamer with Colonel Ellis, and went as far as Palew [Palau] with him in the Western Caroline Islands. This was about April 16, 1923.

(c) That Colonel Ellis at that time was in good health.

(d) That he (Herrman) had known Colonel Ellis for about two months, while at the Marshall Islands. While there Colonel Ellis had heard from the Japanese that there was to be war between the United States and Japan. A great many of the Japanese were drunk, and it was their intention of putting Colonel Ellis in jail.

(e) According to Mr. Herrman, Colonel Ellis was en route from Palew to New Guinea.

(f) That on the steamer between Kusaie and Palew, Colonel Ellis has [sic] eaten some canned eels and had drunk some beer, which made him (Ellis) very ill.

(g) That he (Herrman) saw Colonel Ellis at Jaliut [sic] and was later a patient at the hospital there.

(h) Herrman stated . . . that Colonel Ellis carried a considerable amount of money with him.

(i)…Mr. Herrman stated that there was every evidence that the Japanese wanted no foreigners on the islands, and they were very anxious to get rid of Colonel Ellis.

This was the first smattering of information of Ellis’ activities since he disappeared from the naval hospital at Yokohama on the night of 6-7 October 1922. Years later, others were to add bits and pieces to the story. In November 1923, Cornelius Vanderbilt III talked with a medical missionary, Miss Jesse Hoppin, when the Japanese allowed his yacht to lie to at Jaluit for repairs after a storm. She said she had known Ellis and had nursed him in her home when he was seriously ill at Kusaie. The Japanese, she recalled, had been furious with him when he entered certain forbidden areas. She had heard threats against his life and felt Ellis had sailed from the Carolines just in time, though she was sure he was under surveillance wherever he went in the Pacific. She gave him a clean bill of health on his departure from Kusaie.

In 1926, Ellis’ two sisters had a brief visit with Miss Hoppin between trains at Wichita when Miss Hoppin was returning to Kusaie after a leave to her home in Auburndale, Massachusetts. Miss Hoppin added nothing new during this brief visit. She promised to write to Ellis’ sisters, but she never did. In 1933, Miss Hoppin again returned to her home on leave. Now 67 years old, she had spent most of her life in the Marshalls and had lost touch with the United States. Three days after her return home, a Marine Corps officer paid her a visit. Miss Hoppin was more reserved than she had been with Vanderbilt ten years earlier. She refused point-blank to discuss Ellis or his activities. The officer left convinced that the elderly missionary had been warned not to discuss the affairs of the islands to which she intended to return. In 1939, Miss Hoppin went to her home in the United States. The Japanese did not permit her to return to the Marshalls.

In March 1950, the commandant, hoping to learn more about Colonel Ellis’ last days, sent Lieutenant Colonel Waite W. Worden to Koror to interview natives who knew Ellis. Colonel Worden’s report revealed the following.

Upon arriving at Koror in April 1923, Ellis was met by the chief of native police, Jose Tellei, who checked all incoming passengers. Tellei told Colonel Worden that Ellis’ papers showed him as a businessman. He said that neither the Japanese nor anyone else knew Ellis was a Marine, but the commissioner of police, who was Japanese, directed that Ellis be followed at all times and further directed that the police wear civilian clothes. The Japanese police thought Ellis was a spy. Ellis stayed at Koror about three days, went to Ponape, then returned to Koror for six weeks. Tellei said everyone called him “Mr. Ellis,” indicating that no one knew he was a Marine Corps officer.

When Ellis returned to Koror after his three-day visit to Ponape, he went to live with William Gibbon, a half-caste Englishman, and his native wife, Ngerdako. Gibbon was the only person at Koror who spoke English. After about a week, Ellis asked Gibbon to find him a house in the native area. He said he wanted privacy and didn't want to live in the Japanese community. Gibbon obtained the island chief’s house for Ellis. The chief’s house was owned by the community, but was unoccupied at the time because the chief then preferred to live in his own private house. Shortly after Ellis moved in, a 25-year-old native girl, Metauie, came to live with him as a concubine. She lived with him until he died.

Metauie said Ellis drank constantly while at Koror. William Gibbon’s widow Ngerdako confirmed this at the same time, saying that Ellis drank heavily, sake, beer, whiskey, anything he could get. Once he had no liquor and he came to Gibbon’s house to demand something to drink. When Gibbon told him he had nothing to drink, Ellis, drunk at the time, tried to rip the walls apart with his hands, thinking Gibbon’s supply of whiskey was hidden in the wall.

Although Ellis knew he was dying, he continued his daily search, Metauie said. He would leave the house every day saying he was going to take a walk- She didn’t know what he was looking for.

Mrs. Gibbon said that he would walk around during the day, looking things over, and was constantly watched by the Japanese. Frequently the Japanese were discovered peeking into his window at night, and loitering on his premises. Ellis went out of the house on several occasions to beat up with his fists such Japanese as were peeking into his quarters.

Jose Tellei also stated that Ellis did a lot of walking around, looking things over, and was shadowed by the Japanese or native police at all times.

Near his end, Ellis must have realized his chances of making any sort of an intelligence find were quite remote. One can only guess at his despair and bitterness of spirit because his search had come to nothing- There was a cruel irony—it was not their strength which the Japanese were trying to conceal. It was their weakness. There were no Singapores, Gibraltars, or Verduns in the mandated islands before World War II. The Japanese plan was to use these islands as an offensive springboard, not for defense. Much later, the Japanese skill in building improvised defenses, usually from local materials such as coconut logs and coral, was much in evidence. This became especially manifest in the toll of American lives it cost to take such positions. But these were somewhat hastily built after our Makin Island raid in 1942. For example, the elaborate cave system on Peleliu that cost 1,000 Marine lives was built between March and September 1944.

One morning Ellis went “crazy drunk,” according to Ngerdako Gibbon, and by 1700 that day he was dead. She and her husband built a coffin for Ellis, and the next day they buried him in the native cemetery. Metauie, by 1950 a woman of about 53, said she thought Ellis died from “too much sake.” It is likely that Colonel Ellis died from the cumulative effects of drinking and his various diseases. There is also at least the possibility that he was poisoned by the Japanese, but the actual cause of death remains unknown.

The day before Ellis died, Captain Cotten was called by the Japanese Navy Ministry to receive news that Colonel Ellis had been located at Koror, but that the doctors there didn’t expect him to live much longer. Captain Cotten asked the official at the Navy Ministry to send Colonel Ellis back as soon as possible. The Japanese official replied that details for his return would be arranged within 24 hours, and Colonel Ellis would be brought home at once.

The next morning, a call from the Navy Ministry informed the naval attache that Colonel Ellis had died the night before. Captain Cotten saw in the act of picking up Ellis’ remains at Koror a great opportunity to do some on-the-spot intelligence work. “I will send a representative to take charge of the ashes,” he informed the Japanese, “This gentleman Was an important personality in the United States, and we wish to bury him with the ceremony due his status.”

Captain Cotten’s request caught the Japanese spokesman off guard, because he was not prepared to handle such a request. After consulting with his superiors, he called Cotten back to say they interposed no objections to sending Chief Pharmacist Zembsch to Koror. After being carefully prepared for the trip in the attache’s office, Zembsch sailed from Yokohama on 4 June 1923 to bring back Ellis’ remains.

In the 1950 interview, William Gibbon’s widow stated that shortly after Ellis died, an American whose name she did not know arrived from Japan. Then she, her husband, and Jose Tellei dug up Ellis’ body and cremated it in the open on a pile of rocks. The American placed Ellis’ ashes in a small box he had brought with him. He then departed Koror, saying he was going to the states via Japan. She said that he was in civilian clothes, of which he had many kinds, but he “looked like a soldier.”

Metauie reported that when the American came, he went to the Koror Government to inquire about Ellis. The Koror Government called her, William Gibbon, and his wife to point out the burial place. Then the Japanese police, the American and a native working party disinterred the body in the presence of her, William Gibbon, Mrs. Gibbon, and Jose Tellei. Metauie stated further that the American had a small box. When the body was disinterred, it was cremated on some rocks in the open, after which the American placed the ashes in the small box. The American then waited for a Japanese ship, saying he would return to Japan and then go to America. The American was in civilian clothes. The Japanese police took all of Ellis’ personal effects and turned them over to the Koror Government. When the American picked up the ashes, she saw the box of effects in the government building and thought that the American took this box with him.

Jose Tellei stated that he was present at the time Ellis’ body was disinterred, and he witnessed the cremation. He said that the American who picked up the ashes was a Mr. Lorenz (Lawrence Zembsch), whom he knew was a naval officer.

The Japanese kept the naval attache advised of Zembsch’s progress and of his arrival at Koror. But then the news abruptly ceased. On 13 August 1923, the Navy Ministry called the attache to say that Zembsch would arrive by ship in Yokohama the next day. Dr. Webb, Lieutenant Commander Zacharias, and several members of the attache staff went down to the pier to meet Zembsch.

After the ship was tied up, they waited a reasonable time for Zembsch to appear, then went aboard to locate him. They were greeted politely by the captain of the ship who personally conducted them to Zembsch’s cabin. As they opened the door to the cabin, they saw Zembsch sitting on his bunk. He was unshaven, unkempt, and deranged in mind and physical appearance. Completely unmoved by Dr. Webb’s appearance, he did not rise to greet him, but simply stared off into space. Clasped tightly in his arms was the white box used by the Japanese for the ashes of the cremated.

Despite the most attentive medical treatment, Zembsch remained in a catatonic stupor. Webb did not leave his bedside for four days, applying all known methods of mental therapy to get him back to a state of mental coherence. After showing some little improvement, he developed an acute case of amnesia which prevented him from remembering anything of the immediate past. Dr. Webb was convinced that he was heavily drugged. On 28 August, Webb finally got a statement from Zembsch that the Japanese had known Ellis for what he actually was.

Dr. Webb had scheduled another session with Zembsch on the afternoon of 1 September 1923. That morning Zembsch’s wife had visited him at the hospital and was getting ready to leave right before noon. At 1142, a devastating earthquake struck the Yokohama area. The hospital was completely destroyed and both Zembsch and his wife perished in the ruins.

After U.S. authorities dug through the debris of the earthquake, the following was received by the American Consul General in Yokohama from the Commander-in-Chief, Asiatic Fleet:

Ashes of LtCoI Earl H. Ellis, born on 19 December 1880 died Palau, Caroline Islands 12 May 1923; were found in the ruins of receiving vault and identified by Lt. T. P. Riddle, ChC, USN, through a typewritten slip pasted to a strip of wood which had evidently been a part of the outer case of a small casket. Ashes being sent to the United States on instructions of the Department.

The remains were finally laid to rest on Pete Ellis’ birthday, 19 December 1923, in his home town of Pratt, Kansas. Today the Amphibious Training building at the Marine Corps Schools, Quantico, Virginia, is named Ellis Hall. In the foyer is a bronze plaque which reads:

EARL HANCOCK ELLIS LIEUTENANT COLONEL UNITED STATES MARINE CORPS

PIONEER AMPHIBIOUS PROPHET—WAR PLANNER

BORN AT IUKA, KANSAS, 19 DEC 1880

HE FORECAST THE EVENTUAL AMPHIBIOUS STRUGGLE FOR THE PACIFIC AND GAVE HIS LIFE FOR HIS COUNTRY AS AN INTELLIGENCE OFFICER AT KOROR TOWN IN THE JAPANESE, PALA ISLANDS, 12 MAY 1923

"HIS CHARACTER WAS A MOST LOVEABLE ONE AND HIS HEART WAS DAUNTLES AND FULL OF COURAGE."

JOHN A. LEJEUNE