Although foreshadowed by rumor and report, the news of the armistice which meant the end of the war came as a certain shock to the ships and sailors on the French coast. It was curiously difficult to realize, because long service had made the hard routine a matter of habit and the mind had adjusted itself to the feeling that things were bound to go on as they were for an indefinite period. The old life, as it had been lived in the days of peace, seemed vaguely remote and discarded, and the Navy thought only of guarding convoys and hunting submarines, world without end. Then, at a word, on November 11, 1918, the great game was finished, the U-boats turned sullenly in the direction of their own bases to harry the seas no more as outlaws, and the darkened transports and cargo steamers ran without fear, the cabin windows ablaze with light.
It was this which most impressed the crews of the yachts and destroyers, that they would steer no more shrouded courses and dice with the peril of collision while they zigzagged among the huge ships that threatened to stamp them under, or dodged to find the rendezvous where the routes of traffic crossed and the nights were black and menacing. More by instinct than by sight, the Navy had learned to feel its way in the dark, and it was actually true that the ocean seemed unfamiliar when the running lights shone again and the almost forgotten rules of the road had to be observed.
The job was finished. Two million soldiers were in France to testify that the Navy had done its share. And now, as soon as the sense of bewilderment lifted, with one common impulse all hands of this battered, intrepid fleet that flew the Stars and Stripes talked and dreamed of going home. There was nothing else to it. All the sundered ties and yearnings awoke and the faces of these young sailors were turned westward, toward Sandy Hook instead of the roadstead of Brest and the fairway of the Gironde. Every wife and sweetheart was tugging at the other end of the long tow-rope.
The Corsair went to sea for her last convoy cruise on October 24th. Returning from this errand, she was ordered to Bordeaux and was moored there until November 10th for necessary repair work. On the day of the armistice she dropped down the river to Royan and the log-book makes no mention of one of the greatest events in the history of mankind, excepting this entry in the “Communication Record,” as a signal sent from shore by the Port Officer:
Have you any colors you can lend the French balloon station to-day?
In the sailors’ diaries there was one brief note, but it concerned itself also with a mishap to the beef stew served on that day, as a matter of importance:
Armistice signed. Great stuff. Found a cockroach in the mulligan. Could you beat it?
From Royan the Corsair moved to Verdon, and there received orders on November 13th to proceed to sea and intercept incoming ships, warning them how to keep clear of mine-fields and instructing them as to destinations. The yacht went out, but received a radio next day from the District Commander, telling her to return to Pauillac. Another message set the crew to wondering:
Corsair detached from this District and will go to Brest. State requirements.
As soon as he could get ashore, at midnight, Commander Porter used the telephone to Rochefort and was informed by the District Commander that the Corsair “had a fine job ahead of her,” but here the information stopped. This was just enough to set everybody guessing wildly and once more “the scuttle-butt was full of rumors.” Pursuant to instructions the Corsair promptly took on supplies and sailed for Brest, arriving on November 16th. There the other yachts were all astir with the expectation of flying their homeward-bound pennants. They were soon to set out on the blithe voyage across the Atlantic, by way of the Azores and Bermuda—the first division comprising the Vidette, Corona, Sultana, Emiline, and Nokomis; in the second division the Christabel, May, Remlik, and Wanderer, veterans of the coastal convoy routes and the wild weather offshore.