June 19th. At 6 A.M. we sighted an empty lifeboat. Don’t know where it came from, as there was no name. We also saw two objects floating quite far off and thought they were corpses, but were not sure.... Stood two watches and had an abandon ship drill and gun practice. Wrote some letters, but don’t know when we can mail them. Sighted a big whale not fifty yards from the ship. It scared me. I was at the wheel and thought it was a submarine. Sleeping in my bunk for the first time since leaving New York.
21st. We are having a typical northeaster and the ship is burying her rails in the sea now and then. We have joined the second group of the fleet. It consists of the Birmingham, four transports, a destroyer, ourselves, and the Aphrodite.... 22nd. The northeaster is still on in full blast and the sea is running high. We hope to reach France Tuesday. The food and the life on this ship are pretty bad, and when this war is over and I sign off I shall devoutly thank God.
23rd. A pretty bad day all round. High sea, rain, and fog. We are now in the war zone and zigzagging back and forth across the ocean. The Birmingham has kept us busy all day with signals. The ship has been very hard to steer and I am tired out. Broke a filling out of my tooth and it hurts. Hope I will get a chance to have it fixed in France. A toothache out here would certainly be bad. Have been unable to take a bath for a week. Am washing in a bucket of water.
24th. Another day of nasty weather. The mid-watch was the worst I ever stood. The fog was awful and when I was at the wheel we almost rammed the Antilles. We also dodged two suspicious-looking steel drums that looked very much like mines.... 25th. Our coal is getting low and we will surely land some time to-morrow morning. I wish I could talk French. Everybody is writing letters home to-day. Stood a terrible watch with Mr. Tod on the bridge. He and Captain Kittinger took turns bawling me out. I almost rammed a destroyer twice by obeying orders to the letter, but the officers were in a bad temper and blamed me. Gad, but I’ll be glad to set foot on dry land.
Somewhat later this same young man was jotting down:
Whoever reads this diary will probably notice my changed attitude toward what we have to put up with. What seemed unbearable a few months ago amounts to nothing, now that we have become hardened to all things. I have read the whole diary through and laughed at my early grouches.
And so the Corsair came to France and rested in the quaint old port of Saint-Nazaire while her men beheld the troops of Pershing’s First Division stream down the gangways and receive a welcome thrilling beyond words, the cheers and outstretched hands, the laughter and the tears of a people who hailed these tall, careless fighting men as crusaders come to succor them. This was a sight worth seeing and remembering. And when the American sailors went ashore there was an ovation for them, flowers and kisses and smiles, and if such courtesies were bestowed upon the bluejackets of the Corsair, they gallantly returned them, it is quite needless to say.
Seven of the crew were granted liberty for a hasty trip to Paris. Seaman Arthur Coffey was in the party and his written impressions convey a glimpse of what it meant to these young Americans to come into contact with the sombre realities of the struggle which France was enduring with her back to the wall. It surprised and amused them to find the American infantrymen already so much at home in Saint-Nazaire that their liveliest interest was in shooting craps at the street corners:
Here were soldiers and sailors who had just crossed an ocean full of hidden terrors [observed Arthur Coffey], and most of them were to face worse terrors later on, but did they consider these things? Not for a minute! They had money in their pockets and beer under their belts and this “spiggoty” currency, as they called the wads of paper notes, made them feel like millionaires. The marines had not arrived to police the streets, so they rattled the dice in crowds. For all they saw or cared, they might have been in their own home towns, perfectly indifferent to their surroundings. The French onlookers were different. They were appraising these new comrades-in-arms, whispering among themselves, admiring the equipment and the rugged stature of these soldiers from beyond the seas. We watched the fun until it was time to find the train for Paris and moved away with cries of, “Shoot the cinq-froncs,” “Fade him for a cart-wheel, Bill,” “Come on, you baby,” ringing in our ears.
We got aboard the right train with the kind assistance of a French lady who interpreted for us. It was great luck to get the seventy-two-hour leave, and the crowd was congenial, five men from Princeton, one from Yale, and one from Cornell. The trip to Paris was lengthy because we had to travel second class and sit up all night, being Navy gobs and not officers. The French took us for plain, ordinary bluejackets and fraternized at once. Their style of opening a conversation was to sit and look at you for a time, smile, and then having attracted your attention, with a terrifying grimace ejaculate: “Le boche, ah-h-h-k!” drawing a hand across the throat. This done they would beam expectantly and, needless to say, we responded with grimaces even more terrifying and repeated the formula. Having mutually slit the gullet of the hated foe, I would add, to show off my French, “Je n’aime pas le boche!” Then the way was opened for a conversation.