The Corsair lay in port ten days to coal, paint ship, and otherwise prepare for the job of cruising in the Bay of Biscay. An unofficial log, as kept by one of the seamen, briefly notes:
July 2nd. Sailed for Brest from Saint-Nazaire at 4 A.M. Arrived at 3 P.M. and received four submarine warnings on the way. We thought we saw two periscopes, but they may have been buoys. We have added a French pilot to our crew. No shore liberty, as we are too tired. We hear we are to be over here a long time, with Brest as our base.
July 3rd. I spent the day painting the bridge. The ship looks fine. I am also standing a twelve-hour watch in order to give the other signal-men shore liberty. We caught a bunch of mackerel over the side to-day and will fry them. The Aphrodite has challenged us to row them a race to-morrow. A big French dirigible went out to sea to look for submarines.
July 4th. A national holiday, but not for us. We won the race from the Aphrodite. The Noma and the Kanawha arrived this morning. They fought a submarine, but no damage was done on either side. We expect to get under way any minute and will look for the U-boat that shot at the Noma. We had water sports in the afternoon and they were good fun.
July 5th. The Sultana arrived to-day. She picked up all the survivors of the S.S. Orleans which was torpedoed on the 3rd. Five of them were put aboard this ship and their description of the sinking was harrowing. Only two lifeboats got away. Four men were killed. The ship sank in ten minutes. According to the dope, the Corsair will sink in three minutes, if struck. Cheerful, what?
July 6th. This was my first liberty in Brest. It is a very old town high on the cliffs. We went through the Duke of Brittany’s old castle which dates back some fifteen hundred years and was once the homestead of Anne of Brittany. The dungeons were mighty interesting. They surely did treat ’em rough in those days. These rooms are more than two hundred feet down in the solid rock and have been dark for ages. I should call them unhealthy. The tortures they used to inflict on the prisoners were diabolical. And yet you’ll hear gobs growling about the Navy. All of which reminds me that life on shipboard has been running along without much change. Several Russian destroyers came into the harbor this afternoon.
July 7th. A lot more of the men got Paris liberty to-day. We had a bad little accident on board. The hook at the bow of the small motor sailer pulled out when the boat was suspended about forty feet above the water. It fell and three men working in it were spilled into the drink. Mr. Mason, assistant engineer, struck his back and head and was badly bruised.... 9th. I certainly will be glad when the other signal-men get back from Paris. These twelve-hour watches are wearing me out. There are two rumors—one that we are to go to sea again for three days, put in at Saint-Nazaire, out again three days, and then back. The other rumor is that we are going to England. I hope this is correct. This is the first time I have felt homesick, and for some reason to-night I do. I guess it is because poor old Art Coffey is to be shipped back to the States. His eye trouble can’t be treated over here. Nothing has happened aboard ship excepting that the commander told Art that the Corsair would not go back home for a long, long time, if he could help it. Golly, but I would like to go; not to stay, but just to get a glimpse of home and the folks.
July 13th. Spent the morning washing my white clothes. A new rumor! We are to leave here Saturday for five days, put into Queenstown for coal and then back to the States, spend a couple of weeks there and then convoy the National Guardsmen or more of the Regular Army back. I hope this is true. How I would like to see a real country again. France is beautiful, but dead. Brest is no livelier than Edgartown and there is only one Paris. Its name is New York. This was Friday, the 13th, so I was mighty careful to watch my step. To-morrow is the French Fourth of July and it is a big fête day. Wish I were going ashore to see the celebration. Met some Yale men off the Harvard and they are very nice chaps. I am improving on the blinker signals and feel encouraged. No more dope!
The Corsair sailed next day on her first patrol cruise, and the author of the foregoing observations affords us a glimpse of what the job seemed like while they were becoming hardened to it. He goes on to say:
July 15th. At sea. A cold, rough day. I feel a bit shaky and have a sore throat. Our work out here is answering S.O.S. calls, looking for submarines, and convoying merchant ships. We convoyed one Dane and two Britishers most of the day. One of the Limies had swapped shots with a sub.... No chance to take off my clothes or wash. Took a practice shot at a barrel and hit it at half a mile.... 17th. Ran over a submarine at 2.15 A.M. but could not get a shot at it. This trip has been awful weather most of the time, rain, mist, wind, and fog. Nothing is dry on the whole ship. Anybody that says life in the Navy is a cinch has never been in it. If this war lasts a year we shall all be changed men.