They were learning that the service in the war zone was not all adventure and exhilaration, but, for the most part, monotonous toil and discomfort, just as the soldier in the trenches had found it out for himself. To be wet and cold and slung about in a rolling ship, to return to port and shovel coal until almost ready to go to sea again—this was to be their lot month after month. The danger of it was always present, but they soon became cheerfully indifferent. It went without saying that at the explosion of a torpedo the yacht would fly apart like a box of matches, but these young men snored soundly in their uneasy bunks until the cruel boatswain’s mate bade them “show a leg” or “rise and shine.”
With the elasticity of the American spirit they adjusted themselves to this new manner of life and to the ways of the Navy. Their language suffered an extraordinary sea change. They talked the lingo of the bluejacket, which is not so much slang as a strong and racy sort of expression. The officers were called “bolo-men” because they adorned themselves with swords on official occasions. One spoke of the ship’s cooks as “food destroyers,” or “belly robbers,” which was sometimes unjust. To pipe down for mess, or the call to meals, was shortened to “chow down,” and the meal pennant was the “bean rag.” “A hash mark” had nothing to do with food, but was the service stripe on a sailor’s sleeve.
THE BURNING AMERICAN SCHOONER AUGUSTUS WELD
FROM THE CORSAIR’S MAIN-TOP THE CONVOY STEAMS OUT
A “canary” was a man who slept in a hammock instead of a bunk, and when he got up in the morning he “hit the deck.” The Corsair never departed from port, but always “shoved off,” and when her crew was granted liberty they “hit the beach.” Instead of putting on clean clothes they “broke them out.” This phrase was used in so many ways that a boyish seaman whose best girl had discarded him for a doughboy was heard to confide that he “had broke out a pippin of a new one.”
The period of enlistment was a “hitch” or a “cruise.” The depth charges were seldom called such, but figured as “mines,” “ash cans,” or “battle-bricks,” and the deck upon which they were carried was always “topside.” Almost any foreigner was a “Spic,” barring the Briton who was always a “Limey.” The yeomen, gunner’s mates, and quartermasters of the Corsair were “politicians,” which slurred their habits of industry. “Four bells” meant to move rapidly, and the weary sailor did not fall asleep, but “calked off.” At the mess table it might divert a landsman to see the catsup bottle pass in reply to a request for the “red lead,” or to hear, “Put a fair wind behind the lighthouse” when the salt cellar was desired.
During these early months of foreign service, both the morals and the morale of a ship’s company were bound to be tested. Jack ashore was traditionally presumed to take the town apart to see what made it tick. But this was a different navy, just as the American Army was to set new standards of behavior and self-respect. Among the crew of the Corsair were all sorts and conditions of youth released from the restraints of home ties and subjected to all the demoralizing influences which must ever go hand-in-hand with war. It was a saying among troops freshly landed, when they were inclined to run riot, that France had gone to their heads, and there was something in the excuse.
It was most noteworthy that the conduct of the sailors of the American naval forces was everywhere commendable, whether ashore in Brittany, or at Queenstown, or with the Grand Fleet at Edinburgh. They were, in a sense, on honor to acquit themselves as became the flag and the uniform, and in character, intelligence, and upbringing a large percentage of them represented the best blood of the United States. This was true of the Corsair and also typical of the other ships manned by the Naval Reserve Force on the coast of France.